cascaded down the corridor and slammed into the outer wall, sending a fine mist of rock dust floating from the ceiling. The sound grew louder as the room shuddered uncontrollably; and just when Colonel Abalias, Otto, Dr. Blink, and Malo seriously considered that the worn timbers supporting the excavated chamber might collapse under the strain of the quaking, the sounds stopped. At that moment, something knocked heavily at the examination room door.
Boom! Boom! BOOM!
“Come in,” the colonel said firmly.
The door opened and something that looked like it had fallen from the rocky disks around the seventh moon of Aldeen trundled through the door. For all the weight of his footsteps, the figure was average in size and just short of Abalias’ full height. Now that he was in the room, the pounding of his walk was accompanied by the dull, dry sound of stone grinding against stone. Jagged spikes jutted from his brow and encircled his entire head, leaving a shallow crater in the center. He had sharp cheeks and dark eyes that were too small for his long features. If he had a nose, it was not visible in the countless cracks and indentations that adorned him, and a large portion of his face, just below his left cheek, looked like it had been broken off. A strap ran the expanse of his barreled chest and held an enormous gun in place across his back. He was carrying a large battle hammer in his big, rough hand and he used the other to raise a grinding salute to the colonel.
“At ease, Sergeant Graale.”
“Yes, sir.” The sergeant’s voice cracked with the same grinding noise he made when he moved, making everyone in the room wonder if his insides were as hard and as desolate as his gritty exterior.
Sergeant Graale gave a slight grin as he leaned over and handed Malo his battle hammer before turning once again to face the colonel.
“What’ve you got?”
“Sir, our lookouts posted on the north and south ridges of the plateau overlooking entrance three have been found,” Sergeant Graale grumbled. “They’re all dead, sir. Two were discovered on the north ridge, one on the south and…one was found not far from this room .” Abalias cocked his head in contemplation. “He must have escaped from the ridge and headed for the infirmary to get help. As far as we can tell, it looks like they’ve all been injected with something.”
“DAMMIT!” the colonel roared. “That Mewlatai dog poisoned them too!” Abalias stood shaking in fury, then he fixed his glare on Otto.
“Major, you know more than you’re letting on! When Malo mentioned that the Mewlatai scum showed up in a black Zebulon star freighter, you realized something—WHAT IS IT?!” His formidable upper body was heaving up and down as ragged breaths billowed steam in front of his nose and mouth.
“There is a runner, sir…and he is the very best. Over two hundred runs and he always wins.”
“I’m not following, Major,” the colonel said with angry skepticism.
“This runner, sir, it’s said he pilots a Zebulon star freighter—as dark as a Berudu night.”
Otto had the colonel’s attention now.
“You know ringers, Colonel. They’ll do anything to increase their chances of getting cargo to its destination as quickly as possible—it means a bigger payday for them. So a runner that keeps winning is in high demand and likely to be hired back until he loses or gets captured or…gets…”
“Killed!” the colonel finished Otto’s sentence fervently and punctuated his anger by slamming his fist down on the empty desk he was once again standing behind.
“So you see, Colonel, chances are if this runner has won over two hundred runs, then there’s no doubt that he has some pretty amazing abilities.” Otto paused and looked over at Malo, arching the thin lines of dark fur above his eyes. “And we all know about the physical capabilities of the Mewlatai, don’t we? And, because of his popularity with the ringers, he’s also likely to have
Boom! Boom! BOOM!
“Come in,” the colonel said firmly.
The door opened and something that looked like it had fallen from the rocky disks around the seventh moon of Aldeen trundled through the door. For all the weight of his footsteps, the figure was average in size and just short of Abalias’ full height. Now that he was in the room, the pounding of his walk was accompanied by the dull, dry sound of stone grinding against stone. Jagged spikes jutted from his brow and encircled his entire head, leaving a shallow crater in the center. He had sharp cheeks and dark eyes that were too small for his long features. If he had a nose, it was not visible in the countless cracks and indentations that adorned him, and a large portion of his face, just below his left cheek, looked like it had been broken off. A strap ran the expanse of his barreled chest and held an enormous gun in place across his back. He was carrying a large battle hammer in his big, rough hand and he used the other to raise a grinding salute to the colonel.
“At ease, Sergeant Graale.”
“Yes, sir.” The sergeant’s voice cracked with the same grinding noise he made when he moved, making everyone in the room wonder if his insides were as hard and as desolate as his gritty exterior.
Sergeant Graale gave a slight grin as he leaned over and handed Malo his battle hammer before turning once again to face the colonel.
“What’ve you got?”
“Sir, our lookouts posted on the north and south ridges of the plateau overlooking entrance three have been found,” Sergeant Graale grumbled. “They’re all dead, sir. Two were discovered on the north ridge, one on the south and…one was found not far from this room .” Abalias cocked his head in contemplation. “He must have escaped from the ridge and headed for the infirmary to get help. As far as we can tell, it looks like they’ve all been injected with something.”
“DAMMIT!” the colonel roared. “That Mewlatai dog poisoned them too!” Abalias stood shaking in fury, then he fixed his glare on Otto.
“Major, you know more than you’re letting on! When Malo mentioned that the Mewlatai scum showed up in a black Zebulon star freighter, you realized something—WHAT IS IT?!” His formidable upper body was heaving up and down as ragged breaths billowed steam in front of his nose and mouth.
“There is a runner, sir…and he is the very best. Over two hundred runs and he always wins.”
“I’m not following, Major,” the colonel said with angry skepticism.
“This runner, sir, it’s said he pilots a Zebulon star freighter—as dark as a Berudu night.”
Otto had the colonel’s attention now.
“You know ringers, Colonel. They’ll do anything to increase their chances of getting cargo to its destination as quickly as possible—it means a bigger payday for them. So a runner that keeps winning is in high demand and likely to be hired back until he loses or gets captured or…gets…”
“Killed!” the colonel finished Otto’s sentence fervently and punctuated his anger by slamming his fist down on the empty desk he was once again standing behind.
“So you see, Colonel, chances are if this runner has won over two hundred runs, then there’s no doubt that he has some pretty amazing abilities.” Otto paused and looked over at Malo, arching the thin lines of dark fur above his eyes. “And we all know about the physical capabilities of the Mewlatai, don’t we? And, because of his popularity with the ringers, he’s also likely to have
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