Chapter 11 - The Yearning Nightcaller Pt. 1 - Final (Patreon)

The pain was the first thing Seb recognized when he awoke. With each beat of his heart, his head felt like it was going to explode. All he could do was groan and grip the sides of his temples with the tips of his fingers. He touched the back of his head and winced as the piercing dagger of agony reminded him of his wound. When he finally opened his eyes, he looked at his bloodstained hand.

The light in the mechanic’s room made his headache even worse. He crawled on the floor, opening his eyes barely enough to be shielded by his eyelashes. When he reached his bag, he dumped the contents on the floor. He rummaged through the various food, water, and medical supplies until he found the familiar, black roll-up pouch of the stim pens.

He didn’t look at the colors before popping the top and jabbing the first one in his neck. It wasn’t until he didn’t feel any relief that he looked down, noticing he’d grabbed the ‘detox’ stim. He fumbled with the pouch, struggling to open its strap with one hand while covering his brow with the other. He hunched himself over, doing everything he could to minimize his light exposure. Finally, he grabbed the ‘regen’ stim and administered it. Unbeknownst to Seb, the pain was about to get a lot worse.

Without the pain relief stim like what was paired in the all-in-one stim, there was nothing stopping him from feeling every second of his body rebuilding his nerves and flesh back to its original form. The tearing and rebuilding process was not a pleasant one. Seb gritted his teeth while the stim’s regenerative concoction augmented his body. It felt as though someone were sewing grafts of skin a millimeter at a time until his wound was closed. Since it was being closed all over, his brain was being assaulted by dozens of small, stabbing picks.

When the sensation concluded, Seb rolled to his back, panting through the traumatic experience he’d just endured. Certain it was finally over, Seb sat up and unscrewed one of his water pouches. He drank the contents within seconds, satiating his dry throat. It was then that he realized his room was too quiet.

Seb looked up at the engine across from him. The datapad he had taped to the side was dim, indicating that there had been no activity in quite some time. He pushed himself up to his feet and tapped the electronic’s surface. It was obvious that the ship’s engines weren’t running, but based on the timestamps and the device’s internal galactic clock, they had been turned off almost two hours ago.

The last thing I remember is Francisca trying to make a run for it, Seb thought. Since I’m not dead and the ship is still standing, we’ve landed somewhere. I need to check to see where everyone is at.

Seb walked over to the door and opened it. Then immediately closed it when he saw the back of an unfamiliar guard standing at the edge of the hallway. He kept the door cracked ever so slightly so he could get a good-enough view without being seen.

The man had long dreadlocks tied into a ponytail. He was wearing a tattered, tan jacket and torn pants. He had two empty bandoliers wrapped across his back and was resting his arms across some kind of rifle.

“Hey, I’m going to take a shit,” the man shouted down the hallway. When no response came, the man cursed under his breath and walked to the bathroom.

Shit. There could be dozens on the ship, Seb thought. He took what few seconds he had to make a decision and decided that action was better than nothing. One thing was certain, he needed more information.

Seb quickly scoured the room. He grabbed all the loose ammo he could find and picked up his survival knife from the upended gear that was scattered across the floor. He crouched and peeked out of the door. With no one in sight, Seb shuffled his way to the end of the hallway. He glanced left and right, ensuring no one was nearby, before taking up a position on the side of the bathroom door. He pulled out his knife and waited.

When the door shunted open with a hiss, Seb shot his hand up to cover the man’s mouth and pushed him backward with the blade directly at his throat. The man stumbled backward until he sat on top of the sink counter with Seb looming over him. Seb waited until the door shut before he spoke.

“Don’t you say a fucking word unless I ask,” Seb said, letting the man feel the scrape of the blade against his neck. “Do you understand me?” The pirate nodded quickly with wide eyes. “Good, now I’m going to remove my hand. If you make a peep louder than a whisper, I’m going to make sure you don’t say another word again, got it?” The man nodded again.

Seb shifted his hand to the man’s jaw as he began his line of questioning. “How many of you are there on board?”

“A-almost a thousand,” the pirate said.

Seb squished the man’s cheeks together and pushed the tip of his knife into his throat. “I said whisper, and I meant on THIS ship.”

“S-sorry. Only me, Sam, and Lulu.”

“Where are we?”

“Is that like a . . . rhetorical question, man?”

“No, you idiot. Did we land? Are we on a ship?”

“Oh, we’re on the Yearning Nightcaller. Captain Blue-tongue’s ship.”

Fuck, just as I’d thought. The rest are probably in cages by now. “Where’s my cargo and crew?” When the man didn’t immediately respond, Seb pressed the knife even harder, drawing a small bead of blood down the man’s neck.

“Okay, okay,” the man said, wincing. “They’re probably down in the pits.”

“What are the pits?”

“It’s a room where the floors are cells stacked side by side with walkways above. It’s where the captain puts all the cargo we transport.”

“Why would he keep them in cells? Isn’t he going to turn them over to the Pyrus Station authorities?”

“I don’t know, man. The boss does what the boss does. I just follow orders.”

“How do I get there from here?”

The man raised his hand, causing Seb to press harder. “Woah, settle down, man. You’re super uptight. Before you slice my neck, I’m just trying to bring up the ship map. It’s a damn maze in here, and I only started a week ago, so I don’t even know all the turns and floors to get there.”

“If you do anything—”

“I know the drill, man . . . I just want to say, this is really killing my buzz right now.” Seb nodded, and the man brought up the map on his comm. “If I had to guess, man. I think it’s around this area.”

Seb removed his hand from the man’s face and transferred the information over to his own comm. After the process completed, he pulled the knife away from the man’s throat, sheathed it, and extended his hand to the pirate, pulling him up to his feet.

“Only one more question,” Seb said. “What’s your name?”

“Reggie, but my friends call me Milknut—”

Seb dropped the man with a right hook across the jaw. He grabbed the pirate's comm device and smashed it with his boot before rummaging through the rest of his gear. Outside of his rifle, a handful of credits, and several used nox injectors, there wasn’t anything else of value.

He pocketed the credits before picking up and examining the rifle. The LED lit up after he turned the safety off, displaying 893 shots left on the current battery. He smiled as he looked down at the aftermarket suppressor, knowing it would come in handy if things needed to get nasty. Although, it left him feeling confused why a man of Milknut’s caliber carried such a nice weapon. Maybe they managed to get into Francisca’s armory? he wondered.

Seb stood, shouldered the rifle, and took a deep breath in preparation of handling the other two pirates on the ship. When the ship doors opened, he rounded the corner and tiptoed down the hallway. He could hear the others tearing the place apart, throwing boxes and slamming the cabinets open in the kitchen.

Peeking around the corner, he saw a man and a woman searching through the kitchen drawers. The woman had pale-white skin and long ears, familiar to that of the sectorum. The man was wearing an enclosed helmet with two hoses tied to a rebreather system on his chest.

Seb waited until both of them had their backs turned to him before making his presence known with a whistle. When they turned around, they both stared wide-eyed and petrified. He motioned with the tip of his weapon to move from behind the counter. They looked at each other without speaking, causing Seb to tighten his grip. He knew what was going to happen.

The woman’s hand darted for her holster, and Seb pulled his trigger. A three-shot burst of laser fire exited his muzzle. Two bolts connected into the woman’s chest and eye, while the third hit a cabinet behind her, leaving a scorching hole in the furniture.

Seb turned and aimed at the man who was fumbling with his holster. He squeezed the trigger again. While not perfect, both shots connected into the man’s upper torso. The pirate fell backward into the cabinets before sliding onto the floor. The encounter took less than fifteen seconds, and Seb was already panting from the adrenaline. He approached both bodies and checked their necks for a pulse. There was nothing.

Blame and anger are all that he felt. It enraged him that they made him pull the trigger. He didn’t have the intention of killing them, but they left him with no alternative. It’s your own damn faults, he told himself.

He marched straight to the bridge, grabbed Francisca’s bottle of Renegade’s Spiced Classic, and took a gulp to help calm his nerves. The sweet burning sensation filled his body with warmth. It was enough for him to refocus on his next steps.

He returned to the two bodies in the kitchen and dragged them both back into the mechanic’s area. Seb figured that if the pirates hadn’t found him when they initially boarded the ship, this would be as good a place as any to hide a couple of bodies.

With them taken care of, Seb grabbed his roll of duct tape and headed back into the bathroom. He tied up Milknut to one of the metal handrails near the toilet. When the door shut behind him, he took a few minutes to rewire the door to lock from the outside. Even if he manages to free himself, that should keep him contained, he thought.

Seb entered the engine room and paced around the room while he thought about the next phase of his plan. A broken-down ship, a captured crew, and roughly a thousand pirates between us and them. No big deal . . . I’ll just fix the ship and rescue everyone. How? There’s no way I am going to walk around without being noticed.

Seb paused as he looked down at the helmet and rebreather. Okay . . . there’s an idea. The helmet's speaker should mask my voice somewhat, and my clothes . . . well, they look the part. I’ll just need to find spare floridium rods on this ship that will fit the FTL core. And then . . .

A worrisome thought dug its way into Seb’s consciousness. With the FTL core fixed, he didn’t need Francisca or the crew. He’d take the ship, drop it off at some backwater, and never look back. This wasn’t his fight. He barely knew these people. He’d spent ten years of his life trying to get out. All he needed was to play it cool, and he could be sleeping in an actual bed for a change. However, a flash of Nalla’s warm smile and terrible thoughts of her locked away in a cage just like the people back on Inoi 3 were enough to shock some sense into him.

I need to try.

Seb unclasped the man’s helmet and put it on. It surprised him at how it connected perfectly to his skinsleeve. Once he secured it around his neck, the helmet’s HUD displayed his skinsleeve’s remaining battery along with the surrounding atmospheric readout. Seb transferred his comm’s data into the helmet’s integrated comm as a last step before heading outside. He wasn’t sure what to expect, but with upgraded armor and a new rifle, he was feeling better prepared.

As he descended the stairs, Seb could see that the cargo bay door was open to the Yearning Nightcaller’s hangar. The lighting was dismal, leaving Seb feeling better about his chances of getting around the place without too many people noticing. When he stepped out of the back of the ship, Seb took a moment to look around.

The hangar had nine landing bays, which were filled up with seven ships, including the Andalusian. Five bays were taken up with single man fighter craft that Seb wasn’t sure the make and models of. They had two wings in a V-like shape and looked to be covered in rusted spikes. They seem to be going for aesthetics over function, Seb thought. The sixth bay held what must have been an orlindrian shuttle based on the ship’s smooth curves and the fact that he could see water completely filling up the ship’s interior.

The light in the hangar was minimal. The area near the openness of space was lit with a pink glow from the atmospheric containment barrier that activated when the hangar doors were open. Inside the hangar, skylights illuminated circular pockets of the brown metal structure every thirty feet.

Seb looked around and didn’t notice anyone else close enough who would be paying attention and hoped anyone watching would just assume he was supposed to be there. He strolled to the closest fighter and climbed on to the mounted stepladder. His guess, based on the positioning of the rear-mounted engines, was that the FTL core was mounted in the middle of the two. He smiled when he recognized a shielded retractable panel commonly used in single pilot strike craft.

Seb jumped into the open cockpit and scanned for the right button. He turned on the electronics, illuminating the holographic HUD. It took him a few minutes to cycle through the menus to find the option to open the FTL refueling panel. The ship rewarded him with the sound of a small door sliding open.

When Seb climbed out of the cockpit, he found the FTL core door open. A used floridium rod sat in the middle. He measured the diameter with his fingers before hitting the eject sequence to swap the rod. The rod popped out of the FTL core with enough force to allow Seb to catch it in his hands.

Before he could celebrate his victory, an electronic voice sounded from behind him. “Hey, what are you doing on my ship?”

Seb jerked around to see a sectorum man with a see-through helmet and flight jumpsuit standing behind him. “Oh, your floridium rod was running dry. I’m just swapping them out with new ones.”

“What happened to Bonesaw? He’s usually the guy who works on the ships.”

“He ate something awful. Got a real severe case of the shits.”

“Really? Was it something that he ate today? I just came back from the mess hall.”

“You better buckle up, then,” Seb said, climbing down the ladder laughing. “You’re probably in for a long night.”

“Fuck me,” the man said, clutching his stomach. “I knew I shouldn’t have had that second helping. Thanks for the heads-up, looks like no flying for me. I refuse to wear one of those diapers or shit in my suit.”

“No problem. Good luck with your situation.”

“Hey, what’s your name?”

“Sam.”

“Sam?!” the man asked, leaning his head back. “You’re new here, aren’t you?”

Seb stalled for a second when a moment of self-doubt seeped in. “Yeah . . . just joined last week.”

“Let me give you a little advice, Sam. Whatever life you had before you joined is gone. You need to cleanse yourself of what you left behind, starting with your name.”

“Oh, you mean like Milknut.”

“No. Don’t use that as an example. Something like Bonesaw or like mine, Jackknife. Something cool that sparks fear into our enemies. You’re a pirate, for fuck's sake!”

“That’s a good point. I’ll work on coming up with something. Thanks for the advice.”

“Any time, and welcome aboard.”

Seb waited until Jackknife was halfway down the hangar before he continued with his plan. He rushed to each of the fighter ships, ejecting all the floridium rods before returning to the Andalusian. Once he reached the mechanic’s room, Seb slid the spare rods into the sorting container, making sure to split the contaminated rods from the good ones.

When he slid one of the used rods into the FTL core, he prayed that this one was good enough. He cycled the system, ensuring the rod passed all the tests. It completed with no errors or warnings.

“Thank the Maker,” Seb said. “Now I just need to figure out where you all are at.”

Seb pulled up the map of the ship and studied it. Milknut was right. The whole thing was a maze. It looked like it was hastily put together, with pieces of various ships bolted on to each other over time as the crew grew. This created a labyrinth of hallways that seemed to end with no purpose whatsoever.

He plotted his path from his current position to the assumed location of the pits. Luckily, it was on the same lower level as the hangar and wasn’t too deep into the ship. The challenge, however, would be getting all twenty plus crew back onto the shuttle without being seen. Something he highly doubted would happen.

Undeterred, Seb grabbed several spare batteries from the fallen bodies in the room, flipped his rifle’s safety off, and marched forward, determined to rescue the crew of the Andalusian.