Ten Light-Years To Insanity E-Book

C. M. Dancha

• Herausgeber: Next Chapter
• Kategorie: Fantasy und Science-Fiction
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022

Beschreibung

Joseph Conway is the most obnoxious, abrasive human Invasion Trooper Morg has ever met. He wants to get rid of the jerky young man, but is blackmailed into delivering him to Earth in one piece. Failure to do so will be devastating to his career, and to his home planet of Yanda.

In less than two light-years out of Yanda, the mission goes awry. A body of Morg's mate is found in the cargo bay, and they are forced to land on the ultimate vice entertainment planet. Feltte Six offers every form of depravity imaginable and beings from throughout the universe flock there to experience the seedy side of life. They blast off of Feltte Six minutes before Conway is arrested for numerous crimes.

For the next eight light-years, their journey is filled with deceit, mayhem, and disaster. Can the unlikely duo avoid arrest, conspiracies, deadly secrets, and biological threats? What Morg thought was a simple escort mission leads to a chain of unexpected events no one could have foreseen. The universe will never be the same.

Leseprobe

10 LIGHT-YEARS TO INSANITY

C. M. DANCHA

CONTENTS

Other Books by C. M. Dancha

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Request

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About the Author

Notes

Copyright (C) 2018 Charles M. Dancha

Layout design and Copyright (C) 2022 by Next Chapter

Published 2022 by Next Chapter

Edited by Graham, Fading Street Services

Cover art by CoverMint

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the author's permission.

OTHER BOOKS BY C. M. DANCHA

The ReLife Project-2156 (volume 1)

The ReLife Project – World War (volume 2)

The ButtPutty Gang – (vol. 1) The Mystery Begins

The ButtPutty Gang – (volume 2) In Trouble Again

The ButtPutty Gang – (volume 3) Versus Evil

Scarpelli’s Heist

Found – The Beginning of Miracles - (volume 1)

Killing Gimpy

For my wife who keeps my brain focused.

1

Officer Morg sat in the captain’s gyro chair1 trying to look busy and ignore the Earthling sitting next to him.

He mumbled to himself in Yandish. “⟟⎎ ⏁⊑⟟⌇ ⟒⏃⍀⏁⊑⌰⟟⋏☌ ⎅⍜⟒⌇⋏’⏁ ⌇⊑⎍⏁ ⏁⊑⟒ ⊑⟒⌰⌰ ⎍⌿, ⟟’⋔ ☌⍜⟟⋏☌ ⏁⍜ ⌿⎍⏁ ⊑⟟⋔ ⟟⋏ ⏁⊑⟒ ⍀⟒⎎⎍⌇⟒ ⟟⋏⏁⟒….?” “If this Earthling doesn’t shut the hell up, I’m going to put him in the refuse interlock and eject him into space. Doesn’t he ever shut his voice hole?”

“What did you say, Morg? You know I don’t understand Yandish. Turn on your translator2 so I understand what you’re saying.”

Morg was more irritated with himself than the Earthling. He had turned off his translator but forgot not to talk to himself. He had reached a breaking point and couldn’t help himself. Talking out loud was the best way he knew to drown out the Earthling’s continuous blabbering.

Morg flipped the translator to voice mode. “Sorry, Earthling. I must have hit the translator off switch by mistake. What were you saying?”

That’s all it took to get the Earthling yapping again. “Ah, …. You know, I don’t remember. After a few seconds of reflection and believing he had Morg’s attention, the Earthling began to ramble again.

“Morg, did I ever tell you about how I ended up on Yanda? It was about eight years ago when I was nineteen years old. I was minding my business behind ….”

In the past month, Morg had heard this story at least three dozen times. He had it memorized and could repeat it verbatim. Listening to it was almost intolerable. With each retelling of the story, the Earthling made himself more heroic. If this continued, he would be a superhero by the end of their trip. Morg could imagine the final version. The kid would save the universe from a wicked, evil force.

Morg scrambled to think of a way not to listen to the story again. If he could wait until the Earthling got wrapped up in his ridiculous, heroic tale he could flip off his translator. Too bad there wasn’t a way to avoid hearing the melodic drone of the Earthling's words and see his animated arm, hand, and eye movements. But at least he wouldn't have to hear the Yandish translation of the story again. If the Earthling got extremely carried away with himself, Morg could mentally sneak away and think of better times on his home planet of Yanda.

“…. the old man’s place, having a couple of tokes on a fantasy stick when out of nowhere this UFO drops out of the sky and sets down. Let me tell you, it freaked me out. I hate to admit it, but I was scared. I had never seen a spacecraft before. I thought aliens from outer space were a bunch of B.S. But there it was, a large elliptical spacecraft pulsating like a throbbing boner.” Morg had no idea what a boner was but the Earthling cackled with laughter each time he said the word.

“I turned to run, but before I could take one stride, something grabbed me from behind.”

Morg wanted to break in with the smarmy comment of, “Gee, let me guess. Could it have been a harness beam?” but decided not to irritate the little creep sitting next to him.

“The next thing I knew was that I woke up inside a holding pen with about a hundred other humans. There were men and women, but no children. I found this kinda strange, but it made perfect sense when I found out where we were being taken. Sorry, I’m jumping ahead of myself. Anyhow, there were people from virtually every country on Earth in the holding pen. A man who spoke English told me we were on the alien spacecraft. I thought he was nuts and this had to be a gag. I changed my mind when an alien brought in a couple of pails of food and body waste containers. My god, he was an ugly son-of-a-bitch. Morg, compared to that alien you are photogenic.”

It took every bit of control Morg had not to leap from his gyro chair and throttle the Earthling. He slowly calmed down and thought to himself how he would like to lay into the Earthling. Making fun of anyone’s appearance was the last thing the Earthling had a right to do. Talk about ugly. He had traveled the universe as a Yandan Invasion Trooper but never ran into a creature as ugly as the Earthling. Pale white skin, yellow filaments sprouting from the top of his body, and beady little eyes. His bone and muscle systems were very underdeveloped which limited his lifting capability to no more than three Stralocks3. What a wimp.

Also, the coloring of this Earth creature defied the universal laws of nature. On every planet Morg took part in conquering, the male of the species was always adorned in vibrant pastels, primary and secondary colors. From the neon blue and reds of the Tworks to the aqua and rust-colored Asislyians. It was always the same. The male was vibrantly colored to draw the attention of predators. This allowed the female to flee and hide. But not on Earth. The male and female were covered with the same dirty off-white to dark-brown outer layer. That was the norm. Any mutations like albinos and ginger-colored Earthlings were shunned by the rest of society. What a drab and monotonous place the planet Earth must be.

“Anyhow, this space vehicle turned out to be a slave transport operated by Crelons. You know who they are, don’t you, Morg?” The Earthling didn’t wait for Morg to respond. If he had, he would have waited a long time.

As the Earthling jabbered on, Morg sat back and thought about how he got himself into this mess. The memory of being selected to escort the Earthling halfway across the universe was cloudy. It seemed like eons ago even though it had only been a very short time.

He remembered being summoned to the commander’s field office on the newly-invaded planet of Goltog. The Yandan invasion force was still encountering stiff resistance from the undermanned and underequipped Goltogian army. One look at the commander was all it took for Morg to know his future wasn’t stellar.

“Officer Morg, how have you been? Care for some Cannis?”

The commander’s offer to share the expensive and rare drug was another bad sign. It was well known that the commander only offered the drug to soldiers who were being reassigned to a life and death mission or an undertaking no one else wanted. Either way, it rarely ended well.

“Morg, I'm sure you're wondering why I sent for you.” Here it comes, the slap in the face for over a hundred years of faithful service.

“I need a dependable agent to take a high priority item to a planet we are considering for colonization.”

“May I ask which planet and what is the cargo?”

“It’s not important Morg, but if you must know, the planet is Earth and the cargo is one of their kind. I think they are referred to as Earthlings. Your cargo is the offspring of a high-ranking official on Earth.”

The last thing Morg expected was to be an escort for a living being. An inanimate object would have been a reasonable piece of cargo. The destination was also a surprise. He had a good working knowledge of the planets within the Yandan Empire. He could recite those already part of the alliance and those targeted for colonization. But he never heard of Earth which meant it had to be many light-years away. That meant he would be gone for months, if not years, on this babysitting detail.

“Commander, don’t you think this would be a better detail for an agent who has less invasion experience than I do? After all, I have over ten decades of….”

That’s as far as Morg got trying to talk his way out of the assignment. The commander shot a menacing glare in his direction and the tips of his sensory antennae leaned forward and turned from purple to crimson. Morg knew it was time to shut up and accept the task forced upon him. To avoid any further confrontation with the commander, Morg went to the Cannis dispenser and took a deep snort of the drug. He might as well get something beneficial out of this crappy assignment.

“Commander, it would be my honor to fulfill this assignment. When do I leave?”

“Your transport is being readied as we speak. The Earthling will meet you on Yanda when you dock there.”

The Cannis started to cloud his thoughts and euphoria spread through his armored, skeletal body plates. It had been years since he inhaled the rare and expensive drug. It was potent, very potent. It took his mind off the lousy assignment. Being sent on a second-rate detail for months and having his career sliding downward didn't seem so bad now. He’d have plenty of time during the escort detail to figure out who he pissed off. He must have crossed a high-ranking official to get such a crappy detail.

He bowed to the commander and headed to the exit.

“Officer Morg, I forgot to tell you something. I know what you think about this assignment. After all, I was your time and grade once. So, to make sure you get the cargo to its destination alive and well, I will be holding your offspring and mate hostage. They will be released when the Earthling reaches his home planet. For their sake, don’t screw this up, Morg.”

He wanted to turn and put a pincer through the commander’s torso. Unfortunately, that wouldn’t achieve a thing other than his own death and the elimination of his entire lineage. Assaulting ranking officers was an automatic death sentence no matter what the circumstances. He must keep his temper and need for revenge in check until it passed or better conditions presented themselves.

As he walked away from the commander’s hooch, he debated whether to proceed immediately to Yanda or return to the front lines for some last-minute killing of Goltogians. The euphoric high from the Cannis gave him a feeling of infallibility and pushed him toward the killing fields. But then, reality crept into his consciousness. If he got hurt or wounded, the penalty would be…. would be too terrible to imagine. It was best not to think about what the commander and Trifect4 would do to him, his mate, and his offspring.

Four days later he met the Earthling on Yanda. He quickly understood why he was being blackmailed. The scrawny, pathetic loudmouth was unbearable. He introduced himself as Joe something-or-other. Morg couldn't care less. He decided to call him Earthling or kid. Using the kid's given name would imply a personal relationship and that was the last thing Morg wanted to present to the universe.

Before they lifted off from Yanda, Morg considered killing the Earthling several times. As hard as he tried, he couldn’t think of how to make the Earthling’s death appear to be an accident. Plus, he couldn't chance to be the primary suspect. In the end, it was the need to keep his mate safe that convinced Morg to buck up and fulfill the escort mission.

His memory began to evaporate as he resigned himself to a disgusting future. There was no sense lamenting the past; it was unchangeable.

Morg had to give the Trifect credit. They perfectly anticipated his reaction to being locked in a small space transport with the Earthling for months. What he didn’t know was that the Trifect chose him because of his military background and psychological profile. He was the only trained pilot with military invasion experience and enough patience to put up with the Earthling’s outrageous personality. All the other Yandan candidates for the mission were deemed unacceptable. They would kill the Earthling within a few short weeks, without regard for the consequences to their offspring and mates. Morg was the only candidate who had a reasonable chance of making it to Earth with his cargo in one piece.

“I thought I was going to lose my mind before we got to Crelon or wherever we were being taken. The humans I was locked up with were a bunch of dullards. All they could do was cry, moan, groan, and worry about what was going to happen. You know me, Morg. I’m an upbeat kind of guy; a man of action. No sense worrying about the future when there’s plenty of fun and adventure to be had in the present. Anyhow, by the fourth week with these losers, I couldn’t stand to be around them. Thankfully, there was this one bird from Iran or Iraq or some damn place in the Middle East who I got really friendly with, if you know what I mean. You do know what I’m talking about, don’t you, Morg? I’ve never asked you this before, but you do have a reproduction unit, don’t you, Morg? Morg, are you listening to me?”

The Earthling's annoying questions interrupted Morg's daydreaming about his situation, offspring, and mate. Damn him. Why did he have to disturb such wonderful thoughts and memory playback?

“What did you say, Earthling?”

“I said, are you listening to me? If you’re not going to listen, then I’m going to work on the Shadow Drive system5.”

Letting the Earthling near the Shadow Drive system was the last thing Morg wanted. He was unqualified to work on it and lacked the basic intelligence and dexterity to understand the system. The last time he worked on it, the transport’s propulsion system crashed. They drifted in space for four days until Morg could correct the Earthling’s improvements.

Morg fought the urge to physically silence the Earthling. “Yes, I’m listening to you. What a wonderful story. Don’t stop now. Please continue, Earthling.”

“You better listen, Morg. You know what the commander told you about getting me to Earth in one piece and making sure I arrive there happy as hell.”

“Yes, yes, I remember. Please continue. Tell me again about that…what did you call her?”

“A bird. A chickee-poo. A plaything. I swear, you are hopeless, Morg. Have you always been this dense? Let loose a little, buddy. You don’t have to be so uptight with me.”

It was a good thing the Earthling couldn’t read his thoughts. Otherwise, he would find out how close he was to a gruesome, painful death.

“Okay, now try to stay with me, Morg. As I was saying, this bird and I were getting to know each other really good. But you can only screw around so much, right? So, as the days went by, I began to worry about how I was going to get out of this predicament. Somehow, I had to get off this Crelon ship and make my way back to Earth or a friendly planet.”

The Earthling paused and looked over at Morg to see if he was listening. Morg could feel his beady little eyes boring into him so he pretended to listen by flushing his breathing gills. From the time he spent on Yanda, the Earthling knew this meant his shipmate was focused and paying attention, so he continued his story.

“Then, one day, I overheard two Crelon guards laughing about how their human cargo was going to be auctioned off on a planet named Treestte 64. I had been eavesdropping on the Crelon guards for weeks learning their language. What I heard wasn't encouraging. I wasn’t thrilled about being sold to the highest bidder on an alien planet. But what I heard next blew my mind. The inhabitants of Treestte 64 consider humans a delicacy. That’s right, those losers eat humans and are willing to pay big for dining on human flesh and bones.”

The Earthling took a couple of sips from the overhead energy feeder6 to clear his throat. “Now, I was starting to worry. How the hell was I going to avoid being a drumstick on a Treestteian’s dinner table?”

One look at the Earthling told Morg he had reached the only enjoyable part of the story. The image of the Earthling roasted and served on a Treestteian banquet table was exhilarating. The mere fact that the Earthling still broke out in a sweat when retelling this part of the story made Morg ecstatic. He wanted to let his pleasure pods7 display their aqua and chartreuse colors of elation but knew this would annoy the Earthling.

“Well, I saw my chance when we got to Treestte 64. Being a clever guy, I noticed right away that the Treestteians loved foul odors. When they came by the holding pens for pre-auction inspections, my fellow inmates with the foulest body odor attracted the most attention. And, let me tell you, after two months on a slave transport without a shower or bath made us very ripe. But some were intolerable. Those were the ones the Treestteians flocked to as though they were celebrities.”

Morg looked for a chance to daydream again but could see the Earthling was keeping a close eye on him while he blabbered away.

“I had a couple of days before the auction, so I did everything I could think of to clean myself and try to smell fresh. I took at least half of my water ration each day and hand washed. When I ran out of water, I stole and begged for more from the other captives. My girlfriend was an easy target. She couldn’t understand why I needed so much water but gave me most of her ration. There was no way I was going to tell her the real reason. I knew one captive might be able to deceive the bidders and auctioneer but two would be unlikely. So, I kept making up stories about why I needed her water. She was a good girl and I should have told her what I was up to, but you know, everything is fair in love and war. Besides, she gave her life for a worthy cause.” The Earthling pointed to himself and started to cackle. He amused himself by lackadaisically describing his girlfriend’s sacrificial death.

“When auction day came, the auctioneer went through the holding pens sniffing each captive. He wanted to make sure they reeked of body odor. When he came to me, he knew something was wrong. He smelled under my arms, on the backside, and from top to bottom. He was not happy that I was nearly odorless. He began to throw a fit but then the auction chimes rang. He mumbled something under his breath and led the other captives to the auction bidding pit. The bidding was hot and furious. The smelliest captives were coveted and commanded the highest prices. The few who still had a few pounds of weight after the long journey on the transport were highly sought after. A few fights broke out in the auction pits over the fattest and smelliest humans.”

As many times as Morg heard this story, he never bothered to ask what happened to the Earthling’s girlfriend. For some strange reason, this time he took the opportunity to ask.

“What’s that? Oh, a gruesome-looking Treestteian bought her. I waved to her and tried to look heartbroken as she was led away in chains. At one point, she collapsed to the ground weeping and shrieking. I’m sure she was a tasty morsel.” The Earthling winked an eye at Morg and grinned. There was no question that this gesture had some type of underlying meaning. Morg didn’t have a clue what it meant but figured it had to be something loathsome. He refused to demean himself by asking for an explanation.

After years as an Invasion Trooper, Morg had become callous and hard. He wasn't very sentimental. But, in this case, he felt sorrow for the female Earthling that got suckered by the jerk sitting next to him.

“Well, when I got to the auction block the bidders backed away. The Treestteian sense of smell is very sensitive. From fifteen to twenty feet, they could tell I was almost free from body odor. In their minds, my fresh scent indicated that I had a terrible disease.”

“The auctioneer opened the bidding and waited. No bids came from the remaining audience. He did everything he could to get a bid, hoping to get rid of me. The bidders started to leave the pit, wanting nothing to do with me. When there were only a few remaining, the Treestteian auctioneer offered to give me away for free. Not one bidder accepted his offer. He finally gave up and put me back in the holding pen, cursing the entire time.”

The auctioneer was livid and laid into the Crelon slavers; “Here, you take this diseased human. Get him out of my sight. And, don’t ever come back here again with an inferior product.”

“The Crelon slavers weren’t happy that they had to haul my ass around after leaving Treestte 64. They decided to make my life as miserable as hell. Every day on their transport was a day of slavery. Clean this, pick up that, make and serve food. And, there were some unmentionable things which an important Earthling, like me, shouldn’t be forced to do.”

Morg thought to himself, “⊬⟒⏃⊑, ⊬⍜⎍’⍀⟒….” “Yeah, you’re important all right. If it wasn’t for your old man, you would be back on Yanda scrubbing trash pits. You're lucky he is the Prefect and General Counsel for Earth’s Global Union Assembly. He demanded your safe return to Earth as a condition for finalizing the treaty agreement with Yanda.”

Morg couldn’t stop the negative thoughts that flooded his mind. He fought to put a positive spin on the situation. “Earthling, if you had been bought on Treestte 64, I wouldn’t be sitting here listening to your whiny, obnoxious diatribe. I’d be doing something important like leading an invasion brigade or rubbing with my mate. Oh well, I lasted this long without throttling you. With the help of my ancestors, I’m sure I can last until this mission is finished.” Morg was ready to flip off his translator when he heard the kid say, “Finally, the Crelon slavers put in at that pathetic planet you call home. Tell me the truth, Morg. Aren't you embarrassed by Yanda? It’s so damn dreary…. and, smelly. By the way, what’s with that constant vibration in the air on Yanda? It never stops and no matter where you go, it follows you.”

“Earthling, for your information, that vibration is …”

“I know, I know. It’s something you guys do to maintain orbital balance, blah, blah, blah. That’s not important. Be quiet for a minute and let me finish my story.”

Morg was fuming. He was so mad he couldn’t put together a coherent thought. If he had, the Earthling would have heard a few choice Yandan swear words and curses. He was ready to turn off his translator but decided to keep it on. There was a strange desire to hear if the kid said anything else insulting about Yanda.

“Well, I’m sure you want to hear how I got back at the Crelon slavers, so listen closely because I’m not going to repeat this.”

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to interrupt, you piece …” Morg caught himself before finishing the sentence. He could wait for a better opportunity to verbally blast the Earthling.

“The Crelons sold me to a Yandan creep who wanted a flunky to do his monotonous labor. I was constantly working, cleaning, and taking care of those Yandan Nortels8 you all love to smell and eat. As part of the deal, the Yandan offered his residence as a party house. I must admit, those boys, or girls, I guess Crelons are both, know how to throw a party. It went on around the clock for days. I’ve never seen anything to compare to the addiction, drunkenness, and debauchery the Crelons cooked up. Anyhow, the official departure clearance for the Crelon ship arrived at the Yandan house. I was lucky enough to intercept and read it. I knew exactly when they were cleared to leave Yanda. I had less than six hours to execute my revenge.”

The Earthling took another sip from his energy feeder. Out of the corner of his eye, he scowled at Morg making sure the Yandan was paying attention. After all, this was the best part of the entire story and he wanted to make sure his flight buddy heard every word.

“Before the Crelons left for the launch terminal, I put a couple of cases of Brofult in their vehicle. As you know, they love that drink. I think it tastes like crap but the Crelons and you guys love it. Now, here’s the kicker. What the Crelons didn’t know was that I loaded the Brofult with a laxative. There was enough in each container to turn their insides out.”

The Earthling stopped to shake his head and laugh at his cunning deed. “I knew they would hit the Brofult hard as soon as they jumped a light-year or so away from Yanda. They did, and I watched it on the transponders I hid on their ship. God, it was hilarious. Seeing the expressions on their faces when they started getting sick and doubling over in excruciating pain was great. And, then they started crapping. It was funnier than hell. There was Crelon crap everywhere and, best of all, there were no slaves on board to clean it up.”

Morg sat there and watched the Earthling laugh uproariously for a couple of minutes. The kid was certainly his own best fan. Finally, the laughter faded, and he got up from his gyro chair. “Morg, I got to get some shut-eye. Wake me in a couple of hours, buddy. If you’re lucky, I’ll show you that recording from the bridge of the Crelon ship. Oh, and by the way, put in coordinates to stop at Feltte Six. I hear they got some high-flying birds on that planet.”

Morg watched in disbelief as the Earthling strutted off the ship’s bridge and headed for the sleeping quarters. He was stunned. It took until the Earthling was out of sight before his parting words started to register. With his translator still on, Morg started to mumble under his breath, spitting out each word with increasing anger.

“You want to stop where? What the hell do you think this is, a tour transport? Getting your jerk-ass to Earth is a top-secret mission. But you think it would be fun to stop at a planet known to harbor some of the worst criminals in the universe. Are you insane, Earthling?”

Morg paused to take a deep breath so the anger pods on the top of his head wouldn’t blow open. These pods had never blown open except in combat. But he was in deep space, alone with an inferior creature who had pushed him to his limits. He allowed the Earthling to get under his scales. In war, he could strike back. All he could do now was fume and mumble, “Earthling, if you try to show me that playback of the Crelons crapping all over themselves one more time, I’ll… I’ll… I’ll make you wish that you left Yanda on their ship.”

2

“Do you know there’s a body in the cargo bay?”

The feeler hair on Morg’s backside detected a slight variance in the pressure on the bridge so he turned his gyro chair toward the disturbance. As he suspected, the Earthling was walking his way. He had a large food item stuffed in his voice hole and was trying to chew and talk at the same time. It was bad enough listening to the Earthling’s incessant blabbering. But now, he had to watch bits of food eject and fly around the bridge as the kid tried to get the words out. Morg reluctantly turned on his translator.

“Morg, did you hear me? I said, do you know there’s a body in the cargo bay?”

Morg stared at the Earthling, attempting to detect whether this was another of his practical jokes. If the Earthling was screwing around, he was doing a damn decent job of hiding the truth.

“What do you mean, there’s a body in the cargo bay?”

“My god. You’re a military man; a trained killer. You know what death is and you know what a body is, and you know where the cargo bay is. Add them all together and what do you get?”

Morg unstrapped himself from the gyro chair and headed for the cargo bay. He didn’t say a word to the Earthling but made himself a promise. If there wasn’t something dead in the cargo bay, there would be by the end of the day.

The smell coming from the cargo bay was overwhelming. It was the smell of death. Morg had been in enough battles to know the dead thing on the other side of the door was a Yandan. There was only one creature in the universe that gave off this distinctive acidic and sour odor.

Lying on the floor behind a stack of boxes was Morg’s mate. Even in death, she was still attractive and alluring to him. Sticking in her back, lodged between the third and fourth filter gill was a Yandan military slit knife. Whoever killed her knew precisely where to put the knife to cause instant death. Or, the assailant was damn lucky. Morg bet the killer was well versed in the art of assassination.

Morg had conducted hundreds of postmortem investigations looking for clues about the killer, time, and cause of death. This time, he wasn’t anxious to examine the crime scene and corpse. There was something sacrilegious about touching, prodding, and examining the shell of a being he knew so well and spent countless hours of intimacy with.

It took two hours to complete his examination of the crime scene and victim. All the physical evidence was collected, categorized, and stored. Body samples and fluids from the victim were ready for the forensics analyzer to determine if there were any irregularities. The only bit of evidence that struck Morg as unusual was a tiny piece of spongy, two-tone, material lying by his mate’s head. His first guess was that this material was organic and not synthetic. He wouldn’t know if his guess was right until the forensics analyzer spit out its report.

The shell of his deceased mate had decayed significantly and was only a day or two away from falling apart. If that happened, the internal organs and body fluids would flow in every direction like water cascading through a faulty dam. There was already some seepage on the floor around the corpse which he would have to mop up.

It was obvious she had been dead for weeks. He wondered if she died before take-off from Yanda or was killed in transit? Normally, the forensics analyzer was able to pinpoint the time of death to within twenty-four hours. But, in this case, the cool temperature and varying atmospheric pressure in the cargo bay caused by the Shadow Drive system would corrupt the time of death estimate by at least a few days, plus or minus.

With all the evidence collected and recordings made of the crime scene, there was no reason to keep her on board. Morg gently lifted her shell onto a gurney and pushed it to the refuse interlock. He put a thermal grenade down her gullet and ejected her into space. This type of grenade didn’t need any type of atmosphere to burn. With a two-minute fuse, it would incinerate her insides before blowing the body shell to pieces. Morg thought this would be a fitting ending for his mate who loved space travel and daydreamed about the stars.

On his way back to the bridge, Morg made a mental note to check the ship’s recording system. It might reveal whether the assassin slipped up and left a recording of himself boarding the ship with or without his mate. He didn’t put much hope in recognizing the killer or watching his mate board the transport. Any assassin who killed with such precision, wouldn’t forget to erase or destroy the recordings from a ship’s playback system. On newer transports, recorded playbacks were transmitted immediately to the nearest information storage facility in the solar system. But, the playback recordings on this old tug were stored in a compartment accessible to anyone with modest technical skills.

Morg wondered why the disappearance of his mate wasn't communicated to him in deep space. Even though his offspring were irresponsible much of the time, they would eventually report her missing. He walked back to the bridge, thinking about what questions to ask the Earthling about the crime scene. Halfway there, the answer to the communications question popped into his head. The Trifect must have put a nocomm on his mission. Nothing could be communicated to or from the transport for the entire time it was in transit to Earth. The last thing the Trifect wanted was for their enemies to eavesdrop and find out who was being escorted to Earth.

Morg couldn’t believe his eyes when he entered the bridge. Standing next to the view window with a painter stick in his hands was the Earthling. He was drawing lewd and lecherous illustrations on the view window. To highlight the illustrations he included stars, black holes, and other heavenly bodies. Nude Earthlings, Yandans, Crelons, and other assorted species and creatures covered the entire twenty feet of view window. All were in compromising positions and acts of debauchery. A few of his pictures were death scenes. Morg understood how the kid knew of Earthlings, Yandans, and Crelons, but how did he know about these other beings?

The stupidity of mucking up and using the view window as a full-length mural was almost beyond comprehension. But, on closer examination, Morg had to admit the Earthling’s illustrations were quite ingenious and artful. One of the human figures caught his attention. It was a female Earthling who was sitting between two male Earthlings. All were nude. The woman’s swept-back hair consisted of the fire red and orange of a neighboring solar system’s gases and reflected lights. Her breast nipples were two prominent, rose-colored stars. And, between her inner thighs was a large black hole. If these drawings had been created by a prominent artist, they would have been taken seriously. But there was no doubt in Morg’s mind that the Earthling was screwing around. This was just another way to amuse himself.

Morg was about ready to interrupt the Earthling’s fun and games when the thermal grenade blew. It could be seen off the starboard side of the ship about a quadrant away. Within two seconds, a minor shock wave hit and vibrated through the transport.

The Earthling jumped back from the view window and spun around to find Morg staring at him.

“What the hell was that?”

“I discharged the corpse with a thermal grenade in it?”

“Really? Who was that dead guy in the cargo bay?”

“It wasn’t a guy; it was my mate.”

“Are you kidding? That corpse in the cargo bay was your mate? Wow, that’s unreal.”

Morg waited for some sort of condolence but none came. The closest the Earthling came to saying something pleasant was, “Oh, well. Now both of us have lost a mate.”

At first, Morg didn’t know what the Earthling was talking about. Then, it hit him. “No, I lost a life-long partner. You lost a three-week fling.”

Morg’s jab bounced off the Earthling like a wisp of air. Before either of them could say more, the ship’s Roboland system announced, “Please return to your gyro chairs and buckle the harness straps. Arrival at Feltte Six will be in eighteen minutes. Docking will be at gate 12W. Upon disembarking, proceed to the Process Area with your credentials. Be advised that inadequate or no credentials will result in a quarantine placed upon the arriving ship. The current crime rating on Feltte Six is 8.3 out of 10. Have a productive stay.”

“Morg, are we going to have fun, or what?”

Morg didn’t bother to answer or acknowledge the Earthling. All he could think about was the smartass comment about his deceased mate. If that wasn't irritating enough, there was also the question of how the Earthling diverted their flight to Feltte Six without his knowledge. He couldn’t believe they were making a stop at one of the most crime-infested planets in the universe.

3

The docking bay was like any other in the universe except for one minor detail. Everywhere Morg looked, armed guards, roamed the area carrying the latest armament. The sheer number of armed personnel reminded Morg of how Yandan invasion brigades set a perimeter on newly invaded planets.

Thermal grenades, laser rifles, full-body armor, and barrier shields were prominently displayed. There was no attempt to camouflage the weapons. The authorities wanted each new arrival to know there were limits on Feltte Six. Arriving guests were free to kill each other but shouldn’t give one iota of thought to attacking a government enforcer. When that happened, it was an immediate death penalty; no capture, no incarceration, and no judicial review. It was straight to the afterlife if the offender believed in that sort of mysticism.

“Attention, all new arrivals. Please proceed to the Process Area located behind docking slip 7K. Each new arrival can bring one weapon of choice onto Feltte Six. Do not carry this weapon to the Process Area. Provide the Process Agent with a visual of the weapon and its location on your ship. The weapon will be retrieved and loaded onto the glider transport you choose. Those who wish to buy a weapon may do so after clearing the Process Area. You will find that we have a wonderful selection of the latest weaponry. All weapons are guaranteed to be jam-proof, work in harsh environments, and tested for accuracy.”

Morg was very familiar with glider transports. They were high-speed, conveyance trains that used reflective magnetic current for propulsion. He had ridden on them quite often on Yandan colony planets. What he didn’t understand in the announcement was the reference to choosing a glider. How many places could you go on this planet? He figured he would learn soon enough. In the meantime, he debated whether to take his sabre assault rife1 or leave it in secured storage on the transport. After weighing the pros and cons, he decided it was better to have his favorite weapon at his side. It had kept him safe through many campaigns. With so many unknown dangers on Feltte Six, there were plenty of reasons to have the old friend tag along.

The Process Agent was an import from another planet. Morg guessed he was Krelatian. The short and stout beings were easily identified by the grumpy frowns painted on their blue, oval faces. Krelatians were in high demand throughout the universe because of their ability to treat everyone shabbily. No matter what they were thinking they always projected a cantankerous attitude. It was amazing how many beings admitted to crimes simply because they couldn’t handle a Krelatian’s stare. To fill the dead air, true and bogus admissions came pouring out.

“Is this the sabre assault rife you want to bring onto Feltte Six?”

Morg nodded to the Process Agent.

“It will be tagged with the same serial number which has been imprinted below an undisclosed area of your body shell. This number will be good for thirty hours. If you plan to stay longer, return here for a serial number update.”

Morg turned to walk away and find the Earthling.

“Wait. Are you with the Earthling I processed before you?”

“Unfortunately, yes. Did he insult you or say something stupid?”

“Yes, but don’t worry. He won’t get off this planet alive. Remember, you are responsible for the disposal of his body. Okay, move along.”

Morg wanted to know more but the Krelatian was already processing the next new arrival.

As Morg walked out onto the glider platform he wondered what the Earthling said to the Process Agent. It was either profoundly stupid and insulting or, the Krelatian could pick out the soon-to-be-vaporized from among the new arrivals. Morg chose the latter explanation. After processing thousands of new arrivals, the Krelatian developed a sixth sense. It allowed him to pick out the losers after only a one-minute interview. Morg’s spirits lifted a bit knowing someone else in the universe shared his bottom-of-the-barrel opinion of the Earthling.

The glider platform was chaos and mayhem. It was jammed with new arrivals from every galaxy in the universe. Wall-to-wall beings bumped into each other as they tried to fight their way to the departing gliders of their choice. The excitement in the air was electric. To Morg, it seemed like these beings were acting like children attempting to board a ride at an amusement park.

As he watched the craziness, he scanned the entire platform as far as he could see in each direction. In total, there were a dozen glider transport tubes labeled with destinations such as “Detroit 1967”, “Mytop 2212” and “Fragsten 2156”. Morg was well-versed in the history of the universe. It didn’t take him long to realize that these locations had one thing in common. They were all cities and countries from various sectors of the universe known for crime and violence. In short, they were historical shit-holes of the universe.

Within a couple of minutes, the significance of the four-digit number behind the name became clear. The number corresponded to a year when the location experienced a catastrophic event. 1967 was the year of civil rioting in Detroit by its minority population. 2212 was the year the ruling family of Mytop was ousted from power and a decade of violent civil war ensued. And, 2156 was the year crime syndicates took control of Fragsten.

Morg’s initial impression of this strange world was right. Feltte Six was nothing more than a giant amusement park that catered to the scum, bottom feeders, and low-lifes of the universe. It offered every vice, crime, and form of violence imaginable. Drugs, sex, blackmail, murder, torture, and despotic power were all available. New arrivals only had to reach out for the evil they desired. Then it was a contest between rival guests who wanted the same vice. Whoever was tougher and shrewder won that vice. The other guest usually didn’t leave Feltte Six alive.

There were only two rules in the theme parks. If you killed someone, you were responsible for disposing of the body. You could hire someone to cart the corpse to the incineration station or take it yourself. It didn’t matter. The remaining rule was that government enforcers were untouchables. They were off-limits to assault, battery, harassment, and back-talk. If they gave an order, it was followed without question. Failure to follow these simple rules resulted in an immediate death sentence carried out by an enforcer squad.

Otherwise, there were no rules governing what was allowed in each theme park. It was the law of the jungle. If you wanted something another being had, you could buy it, steal it, or kill for it. If you chose to murder your opponent, it was best to ambush him in a surprise attack. No one was going to condemn you for not playing fair.

Broadcasted glider departure announcements increased in frequency. New arrivals, from the last couple of spaceships landing on Feltte Six, raced to get to their glider departure gates. Pushing and shoving, fistfights, and countless arguments broke out in all areas of the docking platform. Morg expected to see at any moment the Earthling involved in some type of altercation. He figured it was only a matter of time before the Earthling’s obnoxious personality rubbed a mercenary, tough guy, or all-around badass the wrong way.

As each glider departed for its destination, Morg became more concerned that he lost the Earthling. He was beginning to think the Earthling boarded an earlier glider. He might be on his way to one of the cesspools where he would lip-off to the wrong being and get himself vaporized. Morg wouldn’t hear anything about the Earthling's death until the government got around to sending him an official death notice. That might take days and would be a courtesy notification because Morg was his arrival mate. The only thing that would speed up the process was if Morg had to dispose of the body. Regardless of the circumstances, the Earthling’s death would thrust Morg into an untenable situation. What would he do? He would be a disgraced warrior who lost his mate, family, career, and home planet.

“Paging Morg from Yanda. Officer Morg from Yanda. Please respond. Weapon pick-up for Mr. Morg from the planet…”

Morg’s head pivoted to the direction from where his name was called. He was lucky that his ears were shaped like parabolic dishes. This made his hearing very sensitive. His superior sense of hearing more than compensated for average eyesight and smell.

Fifty yards away, he spotted the Earthling in front of the Detroit 1967 departure dock. He was talking with the Feltte dock employee who paged Morg. In the employee's hand was Morg's assault rife. Even from this distance, Morg could tell the Earthling was trying to con the Feltte departure clerk out of something.

Morg came up behind the Earthling in time to hear the Feltte departure clerk say, “Sir, I can’t give you this assault rife. Your embedded serial number doesn’t match with the serial number on the rife.”

“Aw, come on. The owner of the rife is a friend of mine. I promise to give it to him when I see him at the Detroit 1967 park.”

Morg was standing close enough to see the Earthling remove a couple of Cannis capsules from his pants pocket and offer them to the clerk. “Here, take these. You’ve worked hard and deserve a reward. Give me the assault rife, and these are yours.”

The dock clerk’s eyes opened to twice their normal size when he spotted the Cannis capsules. He couldn’t stop staring at them. He knew they were worth a small fortune. At least twice his yearly wage on the black market.

“Okay, but you have to promise not to tell anyone. I could get in big trouble letting you have a rife registered to another being.”

The Earthling reached out to take the rife from the clerk, but his hand never touched the weapon. Morg stepped between the two crooks and grabbed the rife and Cannis capsules.

“Son, I suggest you take your dishonest ass out of here, right now. And, so you know, I’m Morg from Yanda and this is my rife. Now get.”