Page 97 of Stars on Fire

13

Day And Night

Massimo

The rotund man felt every shudder and jitter deep in his fat cushioned bones as the rattler he was in hurled itself through space at 1g.

It felt like he was perched on the edge of a hot gas giant, and he felt the scald of the engine below burn through his skin.

He groaned and squirmed in his seat, where he sat, half-naked in his socks and slippers. The rattler, on autopilot, shuddered once more, almost as if it were snickering at him.

The craft had a tiny holo screen, but when Massimo peered out, all he was met with was darkness and occasional streaks of light.

He sighed. What he’d give to be on his spanking new pleasure yacht moored at Dunia’s spaceport. He’d had it delivered just three months ago, ironically from the best space yacht builders in the System—The Sable Group.

His Sable Sloop TX was a state-of-the-art craft with soft carpeting, raised waterbeds, wrap-around sofas, a luxurious onboard gym, and even a grand spiral staircase that drew each level together. Capped off with a bar overlooking an expansive space viewing lounge, providing views of the passing stars and nebulae.

In contrast, the Rattler was made for a single crat pilot with no need whatsoever to stretch its cybernetic legs. There was also a tiny pillion for a second individual behind the main seat. The cockpit was tiny, the walls covered in Technocracy labelled hieroglyphic controls which he couldn’t fathom. There was no mess, no san and no luxuries whatsoever.

All Massimo had a small survival pack with him that Marko had stored in the rattler over 28 months ago. Which was when the craft had been sneaked into Dunia - at the height of Massimo’s planning and strategising. It was evident Marko had never had to prep for a long-haul flight on a bare-bones craft. He’d packed a survival knife, a tube of antiseptic, gauze and cotton balls, a few bulbs of water and four packs of self-heating army ration noodles. He’d included a change of clothes sealed in a large ziplock bag, but it seemed the dolt had only packed his size, certainly not made for Massimo’s larger bulkier form.

The pack also revealed a flashlight, a compass and a wrist comm that had promptly stopped working when it was out of range from Dunia.

Massimo had gulped down the noodles, then realised he had nowhere for his waste to go.

The inevitable had happened, and the resulting stench in the small rattler had relieved him of any further appetite.

Along with the hunger pangs, was the painful throb of the injury on his side. One of the Edenite warrior’s bullets had nicked his fleshy side handle. While the round had gone straight through, it had left a small mess in its wake. Massimo had used the little medical knowledge he’d retained from his days in the army to wash out the wound using up one of the precious bulbs of water. He then slathered on antiseptic cream and ripped his voluminous robe into strips, which he wrapped around his generous middle.

His escape via rattler had not been the plan at all. It had been suggested as a worst-case scenario by his lover, the ridiculous Marko. Massimo had never considered he’d need a plan B, let alone this option, plan F.

Flush with cash a few years ago, he’d handed over to The Technocracy a few thousand xentium gems pilfered from the mines in Rambasa for the craft. They’d used some of the gems to fashion a fast engine for him, experimenting with a new xentium and nuclear fission design.

He’d then bought his neighbour’s property - for well under market value, naturally, after bullying the family into conceding to his demands. He’d built the hangar the workers had only had access to at night to avoid curious eyes and stored the rattler inside once complete.

Despite the inadvertent bullet to his side, the strategy had mostly gone to plan. He’d run hell for leather along the expensive plasma-shielded tunnel to the waiting crat ship.

He’d hit the large red button on the console, just like he’d been instructed. The engine had turned on, a small missile had blown apart the house above him, the autopilot controls had kicked in, and the rattler had blasted through the underground shuttle bay into space, quickly flitting into FTL before anyone down on Dunia had a clue what had happened.

His deal with The Technocracy had also included an extraction. And so he’d waited for a few hours - again as instructed - until the radio on the ship crackled to life. Signalling that he was in the range of one of The Technocracy’s dreadnoughts.

A tinny voice had confirmed his identity, then informed him that he had a few standard days of travel left before they could intercept him.

This left copious amounts of time on Massimo’s hands.

Time which he now put into planning his next step.

He’d recently learned some interesting news via a drone in One Dunia’s control. It had been flying covertly over Enclave Zulu One. It captured footage of Her Excellency Selene Munene entering a hidden grotto within the Enclave. Presumably, to speak with whatever power controlled the planet because Dunia had ceased its attacks on the Alliance ships soon after.

This was intel he could use. As a bargaining chip for his life and a way to finagle his way back to Dunia. Now the next problem to solve was how to get to Selene Munene.

He needed to exploit all her weak points.

He thought for a few long minutes until he caught onto the tendril of an idea.

Despite the heat burning his nether regions, the hunger twisting his insides, and the pain slashing his sides, Massimo smirked.

Somewhere on Rhesia

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