Jave: A SciFi Romance

Chapter 1

Jave

 You ever get the feeling that you’ve been overlooked?

Like when you’re at a crowded restaurant, one of those trendy Alzhon places where the entrée runs you more creds than honest labor earns in a week, yet consists of a dollop of sauce and about two bites of meat. Wait, where was I? Oh yeah.

So at this crowded restaurant, which may be of the Alzhonion persuasion, your clava glass runs dry and you can’t get the shit wait to take account of your predicament. But that well heeled Vakutan in the business suit? He gets fawned over.

If you’re like me, this really rankles. As in a lot. I’m not big into being overlooked, even though that’s been my lifestyle from about the point that I started noticing tits on women—but I digress again.

And for a guy who doesn’t like being overlooked, yet has to be on a daily basis, I sure went out of my way to get a job where I’m almost predestined to be overlooked. I mean, look at that hairy brute Haru. Son of a bitch can bench press a luxury hover sled fully laden with gyrating underwear models. I know, I’ve seen it with my own eyes, I shit you not.

Even now he’s lifting two half ton speaker stands like they’re pillows. So am I the strongest member of my crew? Not a chance.

Then take into account that guy in the tacky shirt, with the semi invisible slug thing on his shoulder. Yeah, that guy, the one who’s managing to do almost no work setting up the stage while the rest of us sweat. That’s Zylan, and he’s our ace pilot with the gift of gab. So I’m not the most charming out of our crew, either.

Oh, but what about intelligence? Well, our boss is Gurtal, the Vakutan making eyes at the gorgeous human woman who’s keeping us all hydrated with and endless supply of a tasty Earth concoction called lemonade. That woman’s his wife, and you wouldn’t know it by the goofy grin on his face but Gurtal is one of the sharpest minds the Alliance has ever produced. So no, I’m not the smartest.

I won’t even get into Lautyr, my supposed best friend. Guy has photographic reflexes, which means he can watch somebody play guitar, and boom, he can play too, if only that one song. Same goes for marital arts, electronics, you name it.

Lautyr’s main squeeze is Fenix Black. Yup, THAT Fenix Black. They got together after saving Novaria from a harmonic convergence…yeah, I was in the ship for most of the job recovering. But that’s how they tell me it went down.

Since hooking up with Fenix, we’ve been under cover as her roadie crew. It gets us all over the galaxy, and under the radar of most law enforcement or military agents, including our own.

At the moment we’re setting up for a sound check which will proceed the concert later tonight. As soon as we’re done, we can get down to the real business of our visit to this sector.

“Zylan, stop flapping your lips and give me a hand with these power converters.” Gurtal sneers up at the Alzhon with contempt writ large across his ridged face.

“I’m right here for you. I was just catching a breather.”

“Yeah, you’ve been catching breathers all day.”

Haru chuckles as he sets down his burden.

“I believe friend Zylan misunderstands the meaning of a breather. One must do some work first before taking one.”

Gurtal, Lautyr, Haru and myself indulge in a hearty laugh at Zylan’s expense. I think Kleid is laughing at him, too, by the way his antennae are wriggling.

“Damn, is the Odex busting my chops now? I must have slunk all the way from epic hero to comic relief.”

“Speaking of epic heroes…” Gurtal finishes the fastenings and stands up swiftly. “We’d best be getting underway.”

The team heads to our trailer, which is really the Penetrator disguised with its holographic image inducer. Once there we gear up for the battle. Haru sticks to the Old Ways, which means he doesn’t carry a weapon, because he IS the weapon. But Gurtal has convinced him to see the value of armor.

Gurtal favors distance weapons, like the Menacer pulse rifle in his hands. But he still brings along his Khaffi stick, a versatile melee weapon and single shot rifle his folk have relied upon for centuries.

Lautyr gearing up is a sight to behold. Shorcu love their tech, and Lautyr is a paradigm of his race. Not only does he carry no less than six—count them, SIX—back up pistols, he has so many goodies secured on his person that his wife Fenix calls him the swiss army man. Whatever the hell that means. The other women on board seem to like it.

Oh yeah, before I forget; I’m the only one on the ship not getting laid. So there’s that.

Gurtal pilots our shuttle away from the settlement to a private compound on the outskirts of civilization. The sun is just sinking below the horizon when we set down in whisper silent stealth mode beyond the manor’s electrified fence.

Lautyr has the damn thing hacked and bypassed before we even finishing deploying. He’s that good. Then Haru bends the bars like they’re made of putty, and we file inside.

Guard animals aplenty, I turn my silenced pistol toward them but they already run in terror when Lautyr activates a high frequency screamer device. We can’t hear it, but the dogs can. Actually, turns our Haru can hear it too, his hands are clasped to the sides of his head as Lautyr turns off the device.

“I wish you’d warn me when you use that stupid thing.” Haru grimaces, rooting around in his ear with a pinkie.

“Haru.” Gurtal hisses through clenched teeth. “We’re supposed to be on a stealth mission. Stop yelling.”

“But I’m not yelling,” Haru yells.

Lights go on in the manor, and I sigh, running for the garden, which should open into the kitchen for ease of picking spices from the numerous pots lining the adobe half wall. The others, predictably, haul out their weapons and start trading fire with our target’s bodyguards.

As soon as my feet hit the patio flagstones, I leap into the air and tuck in my arms and legs, crashing through the glass double doors of the elegant kitchen. This is nice. When I retire, this is the kind of professional kitchen space I’d like.

Cooking is a hobby, but fighting is my job. Sure, I’m not the biggest, the strongest, or the smartest…but I might be the fastest. So when two bodyguard goons come stumbling in—Kilgari, by the looks of them—I don’t break a sweat. Snatching up a marble cutting board, I parry the first punch with its inexorably tough surface. The Kilgari winces, holding a broken hand as I send the cutting board flying across the counter to strike his fellow in the face. Unfortunately, I hit him in that bony plate where their horns attach, so I don’t do much damage, but he does stumble off balance.

That gives me just enough time to leap into the air and lift my knees into my chest, then kick outward with both feet into the Kilgari’s sternum. This causes his diaphragm to collapse and suffer spasms which are very temporary, but also very painful. I don’t like to kill unless I have to, but I’ve got no qualms about  making folks hurt.

His fellow has recovered his senses, and grabs up a rolling pin in one golden skinned mitt. He grins, knowing he’s much larger, with a longer reach. The monster swings, muscles bulging as much as his wild eyes. I step into the swing, under his arm, and drive my elbow into his armpit. The joint dislocates under the massive impact, and it’s a simple matter to side step his charge and outthrust my foot so he stumbles over it.

As the gun battle continues, holes blasting at random through the manor’s walls, I head the opposite direction up the main stair case. I find our target, a Vakutan Alliance captain, in his office attempting to load a Pi’Rellian six shot pistol with the wrong kind of ammo.

“You know, that works better if you have the right sized bullets.”

He snarls, and throws the  pistol at me. I catch it out of mid air, then send it into a flip. When I catch it again, I’ve already got a bullet primed in the chamber.

“It should work now.”

I toss it to him. He stares at the gun, then at me, then points it and pulls the trigger. Nothing happens.

“You have to take off the safety,” I say helpfully.

He does so, and then I move, dancing in close and bashing him across the nose with the back of my hand. The captain falls, and I point the gun at his head.

“Your days of passing on intel to the League are over, captain. Good people died because of you, but you’ll probably get a light prison term because they want to pump you for info. Too bad. As far as I’m concerned, you can go ahead and keep fighting and make my week. Or, you can surrender and live. I’m kind of ambivalent either way.”

He chooses to surrender.

The others have done their requisite property damage, and are congratulating each other on being such bad asses as I walk out of the front door with the target.

“You guys finished?”

Gurtal gapes, and Lautyr grins and offers a subtle nod. I guess he does still care.

There’s no time to celebrate my victory, though. As soon as we get back to the shuttle, Gurtal announces General Dowron wants us back to the Penetrator asap. 

No rest for the wicked, as the humans say. Figures my one moment in the sun would be trumped by a Gurtal’s daddy.