Warhawk's Amnesty - Ch. 4 - Blue Ice and Red Spice - Final (Patreon)

Seb let out a laugh and dropped his bags before taking a seat at the end of the bar. It was the chair closest to the wall-mounted heat lamps that hung along the curved walls. As soon as he sat on the stool, the rusted robot jerked alive, sending a grinding squeal throughout the room as it slid along its rail mount.

“Good evening, s-sirs ,” the bartender said. Its voice was weak and broken from age. “H-how can I help you?”

“I want the best of everything,” Seb said. “The best appetizer, meal, and dessert. Oh, and the largest beer you serve.”

“I w-would recommend the inkstone calamari, our glowfish stew, and a piece of crumble berry fruit pie. It pairs well with a pitcher of Blue Ice.”

“I have no idea what any of that is, but I’ll take it!”

“Right away, s-sir,” the robot said before reaching down and pulling out a plastic pitcher from under the bar. The bartender pulled on one of the nearby beer tap handles, filling the jug  with a clear, dark-blue liquid topped with a thin layer of foam. It set the pitcher and a plastic cup in front of Seb before skirting along the rail, disappearing behind the divider in the hut. Kitchen sounds echoed from behind the partition, filling the room with the smell of fried fish. 

Seb wasted no time picking up the pitcher and chugging the beer. It was so sour and tart, it made Seb’s lips purse. However, he did not let that deter him from enjoying his first real beer in a long time. The former inmate set the pitcher down, letting the entire hut know of his satisfaction with an echoed belch.

“Damn, that hit the spot,” Seb said, enjoying the warmth spreading throughout his stomach.

“W-we don’t have time for this,” Dover said, his teeth chattering while he huddled under the heat lamp. “We need to find the nearest communication relay to get a message back to the WCC, then  find some suitable clothes.”

Seb took another large gulp of his beer before swiveling in his chair. “There’s no point in rushing right now. You’d probably freeze to death before we found out where the communication relay is.”

“We need to go now. Command needs this information.”

“Command can wait. Thirty minutes is not going to make a difference.”

Seb turned and picked up the pitcher, growing to love the sourness of the strong beverage. He heard a shuffling behind him before hearing the familiar click of the laser pistol’s biometric safety switching off. The two patrons at the other side of the bar quickly returned to the realm of consciousness, scurrying out of the bar at the sign of trouble. Seb slowly lowered the pitcher as the bartender returned to slide  three plates onto the bar.

“P-please enjoy!” the bartender said, sliding down the bar to clean up the departed patrons’ empty glasses. Seb slowly swiveled in his chair, his eyes squinting at the man holding the shaking pistol in front of him.

“Inmate 5313, I’m ordering—”

“My name is Seb!” the former prisoner hissed. “Let’s get something perfectly clear. You don’t order me to do shit. I’m a free man now, badge. I’ve earned this. Now, you can either attempt to shoot me and it ends up being the last thing you do, or you can sit your ass down and enjoy a piece of this crumble berry fruit pie. Your call.”

Seb knew the boy’s answer before he said anything. It was the fear in his eyes that gave it away. Lieutenant Dover swallowed hard before holstering the gun underneath his mirrorlike  poncho.

Seb turned in his chair, pulled the nearby stool out, and slid the dessert in front of the officer. He ordered another pitcher of beer after pouring the rest of his pitcher into a glass and handing it to Dover. The two men ate in silence over the next hour. They each finished their meals and split a third  pitcher of beer.

“I’m sorry about earlier,” Lieutenant Dover said, not looking up from his glass.

Seb looked down at the officer and smiled. “It’s all right. I knew you weren’t going to do it, anyway.”

“I could have.”

“No, you couldn’t.”

“I could have too!” Dover said, slamming his fist onto the table. “I’ve put down inmates before.”

Seb let out a sigh and turned to look at Dover’s red face and tightened fist. “There’s a difference between killing in cold-blood and defending yourself. You’re not a killer, Dover. This entire mission of yours is enough to see that you’re not that kind of person.”

“You don’t know a damned thing about me.”

“I know enough,” Seb said, laughing. “I know you’re the kind of guy stupid enough to do what your Captain is asking of you.”

“It’s part of my duty. I’m not going to let those bastards get away with it!”

“Get away with what? Why don’t you tell me the details around this little mission of yours?”

Lieutenant Dover opened his mouth before turning back to his glass. “It’s classified.”

“Classified?” Seb asked before busting out into laughter. “You’re not some UHC intelligence officer, Dover, you’re a damned corrections officer.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about! My people died on that ship. My friends and coworkers .”

“And you feel like you owe it to them to set the record straight, yeah? And somehow the warden is at the center of it?” Lieutenant Dover’s jaw dropped at Seb’s revelation. “Don’t you remember? I read your Captain’s transmission. It’s clear you and Hawthorne think he’s involved somehow.”

Lieutenant Dover finished the remainder of his glass before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His eyes darted back and forth as he lost his mind in thought. He cursed before he glanced over at Seb.

“Captain Hawthorne had a bad feeling before we even left Marcum. Warden Williams was a last-minute replacement for Warden Palmer. That in and of itself put everyone on edge.”

“What’s so important about him?”

“You’re joking, right?” Dover asked. “Williams . . . of Williams Correctional Corp.”

“Wait, he owns the company?”

“No, of course not, but his grandfather does.”

“Okay, that makes a bit more sense.”

“Anyway, we weren’t given a reason for the sudden change. But that wasn’t the half of it. Our cargo was supposed to be minimum security only with a light transport of five hundred. Warden Williams changed all of that. We soon found ourselves filled to the brim with inmates. Because of the short timeframe we were working with, we couldn’t handle any of our normal transfer processes. We had no gender or level segregation, were completely understaffed, and placed on a ship that is older than I am.”

“That’s what I would call a shit show.”

“That’s putting it lightly,” Dover smirked. “But we managed like we were trained to do. However, the worst part of it was in transit. Going back to what I was talking about around our staffing, there’s normally a number of deputy wardens underneath the warden. But for this jump, there were none. The next highest-ranking officer was Commander Firebrand, who was commanding the ship. Once we left, though, Warden Williams kept leaving his post, leaving Commander Firebrand playing double duty.”

“I remember the constant calls over the intercom for the warden.”

“Exactly! There were times where he would just go missing, and no one could find him. The final thing was the course correction.”

“Yeah, I was wondering how we ended up all the way out here.”

“This was a direct order given from Williams after he said he received special instructions ahead of the jump to correct our trajectory due to security concerns. The fucking security concern was him!”

“Sounds like a pretty open-and-shut  case.”

Lieutenant Dover finished his glass before slumping in his chair. “All the evidence we have is circumstantial, though. I have no idea how the board is going to take it.”

Seb looked over at the man sitting next to him. The story resonated deep into his core. It all felt too familiar to him. There were too many conveniences for a single man to be doing this without some sort of help. He admired Dover’s sense of duty, to bring those who wronged him to justice. Seb had held on to the same sentiment for ten long years. An unfinished betrayal that eventually needed to be corrected. However, the sole officer was way out of his element, just like he was so long ago. Seb watched the young man pull out a metal necklace, grip it between his hands, and close his eyes.

“What’s that you got there?” Seb asked, pointing to the chain.

“Oh this? It’s just a necklace my sister gave me for good luck.”

“What’s that symbol, though?”

Dover turned it and raised it in front of Seb’s face. “It’s the Maker’s symbol. Each triangle is supposed to reference a basic element of all creation. It sits on top of a background of stars, which is supposed to be our galaxy.”

“Huh, I didn’t take you as a devout man.”

“Oh, I’m not, but at this point I’d take all the help I can get.”

Seb nodded and smiled before turning and waving at the robot, which was currently hunched over, unmoving. “Bartender, we need to close out the tab.” At the sound of Seb’s call, it sprang to life. After sliding down the rail and screeching to a halt in front of him, it extended its robotic palm, where a small slot opened. Seb fumbled under his shiny, makeshift coat, pulling out his stolen credit chip and then  inserting it into the robot’s hand.

“T-thank you, Lieutenant Benjamin Dover,” the robot said. “H-have a nice day.”

Dover’s head popped up as he heard the robot speak. “Wait a minute, was that—”

“Best not to ask questions you already know the answer to,” Seb said with a smirk.

The two men stood from their stools and shouldered their packs. The former prisoner inquired from the bartender where they could buy supplies, if there was a nearby communication relay, and where they could get a good night’s sleep. The bartender sent a map of the town, known as Erminea, to Dover’s WICI. After receiving the plans and agreeing that warmer clothes should be their first stop, the two men positioned themselves in front of the door.

“Ready?” Seb asked.

“Ready.”

Seb bounced on the tips of his toes and slapped his  face to psych himself up for the harsh cold. Giving Dover a nod, Seb sprinted at the door. When it opened, he careened face-first  into a heavily armored chest. There was no stopping his momentum. He held out his hands, accidently squeezing a pair of melon-sized breasts. The mass behind them sent him bouncing backward into Dover and onto the floor.

Seb’s scorn quickly shifted as he looked up at the red beauty above him. She bent down to give her horns enough clearance to enter Solitude’s doorway. She wore a large, white fur cloak that matched her braided hair, and her  thorax was heavily plated but left her midsection exposed. The flame from her powersword filled the entire room with more heat than all the heat lamps combined. As Dover helped Seb up, he heard her say something to him with a smirk. She spoke in a deep, guttural tone, in a language he didn’t understand.

“Our apologies, Sister, we meant no offense,” Dover said with a slight bow.

Seb turned and grabbed Dover by the arm. “Wait, you could understand her?”

“Of course I can. She said ‘You should watch where you’re going. I’ve broken a man’s arms for less.’”

“Huh, it sounded like gibberish to me.” Seb turned and smiled, addressing the horned woman. “My apologies, but you don’t have to threaten me with a good time to get me to fall for you.” 

The horned woman raised her eyebrow and snorted, pointing back and forth between Seb and Dover.

“Oh, that’s right,” Dover said, turning and looking at Seb. “All of your plugins would have gotten removed when you… never mind.” The Lieutenant tapped his lip before addressing Solitude’s new arrival. “Apologies, Sister, he doesn’t have a universal communicator.”

“Ah,” the woman said, nodding.

Dover and the white-haired woman spoke briefly until they both bowed. When she straightened, Seb locked on to her golden eyes. He couldn’t tell what she was thinking, but she eventually returned his smile. She turned off her weapon and made her way to the bar. She spoke with a droid who responded to her in the same cryptic language.

“What was all that about?” Seb whispered.

“Didn’t you see the symbol of the holy woman with all the hands painted on her right pec ?” Dover asked.

“No, I was too busy looking at more important things.”

Lieutenant Dover placed his palm on his forehead and shook his head. “That’s the holy symbol of Nimora, and that woman right there is one of the Sisters.”

“Nimora? Never heard of her.”

“I’m not surprised. It’s a relatively new, all-female religious sect. Each sect is led by a Holy Mother who can apparently speak with the deity known as Nimora. They revere here as a goddess of justice. It’s said that when people pray to Nimora, she will sing to a Holy Mother who then in turn issues a song, what they call their orders, to one of the Sisters who enacts her will.

“Sounds like my kind of crazy,” Seb said, attempting to approach the bar, only to be stopped by Dover’s quick grab of his arm.

“Don’t . . . The  Sisters are extremely dangerous, like trained-elite-assassins  kind of dangerous. Plus, I don’t think she’d be interested.”

“Did you see the way she looked at me? She’s definitely interested.”

“I don’t think so,” Dover said, chuckling. “From what I remember, Sisters of Nimora take a vow of celibacy when they join the church.”

Seb jerked his arm away and sprinted over to the bar, sliding in next to the Sister. “May I know your name?”

The Sister cleared an entire pitcher of beer before looking at Seb up and down. “Sister Mischa.”

“That’s a beautiful name, Sister Mischa. My name’s Seb. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Seb extended his hand, only to have the woman of faith look down and back up before rolling her tongue over her teeth.

“Fair enough,” Seb began. “Now, I am not a man of religion, but I do believe in fate. You have the most beautiful eyes I have ever seen. They will be imprinted in my mind for the rest of my life, however long that may be. When I am at my deepest lows, in the darkest of places, I will remember those eyes paired with the smile you gave me. Thank you for the wonderful gift.”

Sister Mischa rolled her eyes and smiled before waving him off and pointing toward the door. “Go. You look like frozen leftovers.”

“Hey, I understood that,” Seb said, smiling.

“Come on,” Dover said, pulling Seb away from the bar.

“Farewell, Mischa. I hope the winds of fate bring us together again.” Seb was all smiles, not leaving the sight of the Sister’s golden eyes until he was nearly out the door.

“Is she still looking?” Seb whispered.

“What?”

“Is she still watching us leave?” Seb watched Dover look over his shoulder before looking at him and nodding. “Heh, still got it.”

With a false sense of warmth provided by the copious amounts of alcohol, the two men sprinted out into the storm to their first destination, Samael’s Salvage. The bartender highlighted this to be the best place to get gear cheaply and that would likely be willing to barter.

The building was unlike the huts the pair had seen up until this point. While it had a neon sign much like Solitude’s, this building was structured more like a warehouse. It was rectangular, with two levels surrounded by an electrified metal fence that frequently  released blue sparks. Quite the deterrent from anyone trying to access the snow-covered mechanical garbage that lingered in its backyard.

When they entered the building, they were hit with a blast of radiant heat that filled the room from the long, glowing pipes lining the walls. The room was an open floor, organized into piles of various equipment with the organization of a professional hoarder. At the end of the building was a service desk that came up shin-high, with a bulbous man no taller than Seb’s waist sitting behind it. His size and heterochromia were typical of a pracovi.

While they browsed their way to the end of the room, the man behind the counter stood from his chair and greeted them both. “Welcome, customers. My name’s Samael, please let me know if there is anything I can interest you in.” Once Seb and Dover reached the counter, the man with the tied-back hair and green face tattoos leaned across the table and pulled at Seb’s pant leg. “Is that a space blanket?” he asked.

“Space blanket, duct tape, and thermal packs,” Seb said, puffing out his chest.

“Pretty smart. You must have come down with that ship, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, luckily our pod landed nearby .”

“Wait!” Dover shouted, dropping his gear. “You know that a ship crash-landed  here? H-has anyone else been here?”

“Woah, woah, settle down, young gun,” Samael said, raising a hand. “You’re the first newcomers I have seen in a long time, except for that group of mercs with the busted ship down at the docks. I only heard about a potential crash thanks to the friendly gents at the comms tower. They said something about getting emergency beacon signals coming from all over the planet. I paid for the locations of the ones closest to us and then sent Marxus and the boys to go grab any survivors and salvage they could find. However, from what I was told, most of the signals were coming from thousands of miles away. You’d need a ship to get to them.”

“Are there any at the docks that could help us?”

“Hmm . . . maybe if you’re lucky, but not likely. Erminea is a place where people come who don’t wish to be found. We only get shipments once a week, and most people who stop here do so unintentionally. Like I said, the only group I’ve seen recently was that of Captain Francisca and her two crew. But they’ve been stranded here for a few days with engine troubles.”

“Any idea what’s wrong with it?” Seb asked.

“That’s above my head. I just take things apart, not put things back together. You’d have to talk to Lenny and his crew of robots down at the docks. He’s smart with all of that.”

“I need to get to the comms tower, Seb!” Dover shouted, grabbing Seb’s arm. “There could be hundreds of the crew still alive!”

“Hold on now. We can’t continue to go out into that storm without proper gear. Once we finish up here, we can check into the comms tower, get your message out, then figure out things from there.”

Lieutenant Dover raised his clenched fists before turning around and stomping off. 

“Don’t worry about him,” Seb said, pointing over his shoulder. “He just needs some time to cool off.”

“Understandable, given the day you both have had.”

“You don’t know the half of it,” Seb said, laughing. He unshouldered his bags and paired them with the two that Dover was carrying. He took his time whittling down their resources to one bag, primarily focusing on the food and water, two knives, and two multi-tools. Everything else Seb stacked on the counter along with three of the packs.

“If possible, I’d like to barter with what we’ve got here. I’m keeping this bag.”

The pracovi pressed on the top of his table, bringing up a hologram before scouring the wares. “The unused heat packs are probably the most valuable things you’ve got here. Those things are a treasure around these parts. The multi-tools are brand new, so those will be hot commodities, same thing with the medical stims. Everything else I can give you a decent rate on. Do you want to trade what we’ve got in store? I’ll give you more in-store credit rather than Galactic Ruling Council  credits.”

“Yeah, that works for me. We need better insulated gear, a couple pairs of clothes, and larger packs, and I need a WICI if you’ve got one.”

“The first few I can do, the WICI I don’t have. I’ve got a personal comm unit and a datapad, though. It would serve the same functions, just be a bit slower and separated instead of an all-in-one kind of device.”

“That works for me,” Seb said, facing the piles of gear. “Where should we get started? Is this coordinated somehow, or should we just start with one pile and move on to the next?”

“No, there’s a method to the madness. Bring your friend over here. I’ll need to scan you both.”

Seb shouted at Dover, and the sulking officer returned to the front desk. Samael pressed a few buttons on the top of his counter before the hologram expanded around them both. On his command, Sam instructed both men to extend their arms and slowly spin. Green lasers from the front of the hologram’s projection bar covered  their bodies until they completed a full circle.

Sam rounded the corner and waved to the two men. “Okay, follow me.” Seb and Dover followed the shop’s owner to one of the piles of gear near the wall. Once they reached it, Samael dove headfirst into the pile, pushing clothes and armored plates out of the way to find exactly what he was looking for.

What he pulled out were two black jumpsuits. The material looked light and thin, much like spandex. However, when Samael pulled on it, it didn’t lose its transparency like a similar material would. It wasn’t until Samael handed Seb the armor that he saw the plastic clasps around the wrists and neck.

“These are my suggestions based on your previous requests. I have heavier armor with more protection if you need, but this is always a good starting point that you can build up from.”

“What are they?” Seb asked.

“I think they’re skinsleeves,” Dover said.

“The crewcut is right,” Samael said, pointing toward Dover. “Think of them like body socks. They’ll fit tightly against your body, providing you with thermal, radioactive, vacuum, and a small amount of ballistic protection.”

“Seems like it will do a bit of everything,” Seb said.

“Pretty much,” Samael replied. “It’s why most armor systems call for a skinsleeve base layer. They’ll protect you against temperatures down to negative twenty degrees Fahrenheit  and up to one hundred and forty. If you activate the suit, it will provide you with environmental protections that will last twenty-four hours. You can withstand space, breathe underwater, filter out smoke and toxic atmospheres, pretty much everything you need. You’ll just need to make sure you activate it first. Otherwise, you’ll just be walking around in your underwear. If the battery dies, there’s a retractable cable that pulls out of the wrist. You can plug it into any standard outlet or charging port you need.”

Seb pulled the neck opening up to his face to measure the size, but that’s when he caught a whiff of something awful. He sniffed near the neck opening before pulling back and gagging. “Maker’s taint , did someone die in this?”

“You’re in a salvage shop. I guarantee you’re paying for something usable, but I’m not guaranteeing it’s clean.”

“There’s not another one, is there?”

“Just got the one that will fit you.”

Seb threw the skinsleeve on a nearby pile of clothes while he started taking off his makeshift jacket. He stopped when he felt Dover’s eyes on him. The man was wide-eyed, looking down at Seb’s blood-covered, white jumpsuit.

“You’re just going to change here?” Dover asked before looking over at Samael. “Isn’t there a room or something with a bit more privacy?”

“You’re in a—”

“Salvage shop, I remember.”

“Once you get the skinsleeves on, there’s boots, jackets, pants, coats, and hats in those nearby piles,” Samael said, pointing around them. “You’ll have to try everything on yourself. There’s no method to those piles.”

The two men spent the next half hour changing into their skinsleeves and trying out new clothes. Seb found his options limited due to his large hands and feet. However, he managed to find himself a nice fur-lined battlecoat with plenty of pockets.

With the secondary pairs of clothes picked out, they made their way back to the counter, where Samael had transferred their gear to two newly sealed packs. The packs showed signs of wear, but the zippers and clasps were sturdy.

“You’ve still got some credit left, anything else you need?” Samael asked.

“What about weapons? I wouldn’t mind having something to protect myself other than my survival knife.”

“I don’t think so. They tend to be one of the first things to go. Although . . .” Samael turned and disappeared into a room in the back. After a few minutes, he waddled back in, carrying a wooden box underneath one arm and a leather belt and holster in another. He set the box on the counter, opened the metal clasp, and turned it to display the contents to  Seb.

Seb immediately recognized the frame of a revolver thanks to his six years at his university’s shooting club. It had been ten years since he had fired a weapon, but when he picked it up by the animal-bone grip, it felt natural to him. The weight was surprising. It wasn’t as heavy as he thought it would be, but it  carried plenty of heft to counter the obvious kickback the weapon likely had.

“This is a Wayne and Connors Lawbringer. In a world of laser this, plasma that, it may be a bit archaic, but I can assure you these old slugthrowers are just as proficient at turning someone living to dead. I’ve got a belt and holster that I’ll throw in if you want it.”

“I’ve never used one, but I’ve always been a fan of revolvers,” Seb said. “No electronics to fry, reliable, and accurate.” Seb pressed on the cylinder release, looking down the length of the gun. “Only four cylinders, though. What’s this thing chambered in?”

“Sixty-five,” Samael said with a wide smile. “Only four shots, but not many things are getting up after that. Even with a shield and heavy plate, you’ll drop a charging onigaram in a blood rage from the sheer velocity.” Seb side-eyed the shopkeeper after the ridiculous claim. “Okay, maybe not an onigaram during a blood rage, but most things are not going to be happy after a shot from that thing.”

“All right, you don’t have to try to sell me further on it. I’m guessing you’ve got ammo?”

Samael pulled out a box of ammo from his front apron pocket and placed it on the counter. “I’ve got a box of sixteen, so you’ll have to be conservative.” When Seb reached for the box, Samael slammed his hand on it. “These I’m putting in the bag. You can chamber them when you’re out of here.”

“Fair enough,” Seb said. “How much more do I owe ya?”

The shop owner tapped everything into his computer and twisted the hologram to show the total. “I’d say throw in another hundred credits, and we can call it even.”

Seb handed over the credit chip for Samael to complete the transaction. While it was processing, Seb pulled his belt through his holster straps and tightened his buckle. With everything secured, he grabbed his new revolver and slid it into its holster. A green smile hovered in front of them, signifying the transaction completed.

“Here you go,” Samael said, handing Seb back the credit chip. “If you boys need anything else, you know where to find me.”

Seb pocketed the chip, and the two men picked up the bags and walked toward the door. The former inmate didn’t wait until they were out of the building before opening his pack and pulling out the box of ammo. He slid open the container, pulled out four bullets, and chambered them into his revolver. He spun the cylinder before closing it with a quick flick of his wrist.

When the door opened, the quick jolt of wind that hit him in his face reminded Seb to activate his skinsleeve. Hitting the button along his wrist provided immediate relief when the light armor’s shield encircled his face. The minor victories were a fan to the flame of Seb’s excitement.

That was nothing compared to the exhilaration he felt when the front wall of the building next door exploded, sending a burst of laser fire out into the small town’s streets. When the smoke cleared, Seb couldn’t help but smile when he saw the familiar hulking, red vixen from earlier, surrounded by a squad of goons.

A wicked smile crept along Seb’s face before he dumped all of his spare ammo into a side pocket, calling out to his companion. “Dover, you might want to ready that laser pistol of yours. Things are looking to get a bit spicy.”