The alien plasma immediately sizzled and a round blotch, like something of a dark eye, widened and glared at the two curious gunmen. Mong nodded. “We will take Mr. Blest back with us to Othwan. He’ll keep Mr. Rusco company.” He sighed. “An interesting creature,” he mused, “but of little utility at this moment.”
He sucked in an expansive breath through his nostrils and studied the charred remains of his colleague now slumped in ignominious death with some charred cricket creature half burrowed in his nostrils. “Take its comrade, Balt—the one intact in the form of a bulb beside that other corpse.” He gazed at Follee and the now lifeless Skug we’d dragged in sprawled at his side. “Be vigilant in its handling. It may decide to eat you for breakfast.”
Balt recoiled. “Sir?”
“The thing exhibits a rare, predatory trait. A hunter that is well worth studying. The thing demonstrates remarkable propensity to protect its habitat, like a she-wolf defending her pups.”
“Are you sure?” Balt lifted his weapon.
“I’m a man of research, Balt, you know that. I study the wilderness and all its mysterious creatures, priding myself on my knowledge of predators. Only on the most evolved of creatures do I model myself.”
Balt nodded, wincing. With a nervous motion, he signaled another minion who had arrived at the scene. The man fetched a glass case and scooped up the intact bulb.
Mong turned blazing eyes back to me. “A waste, Mr. Rusco.” He kicked at the lifeless body of Follee. “I hear you recently disposed of my phaso in most careless a fashion. Alas, a costly error.”
I struggled to bring my hoarse voice to life. “Maybe your Skug friends shouldn’t have blasted my ship and brought the ceiling raining down on our heads.”
“The Skugs, a foolhardy people, will be punished. But there is still the matter of my amalgo—which Captain Baer, sadly, failed to deliver. I fear he is a ‘hole in the ground’, to use your expression.”
“Maybe, how would I know? Should I care? What are these alien gizmos to you, Mong? You’re obsessed with the mere sight of them.”
The Star Lord’s expression grew grave. “To live and breathe air—life is an obsession, Mr. Rusco. Tell me where my amalgo is.”
“It’s not here,” I growled at him. I needed to think, stall for time.
“That is likely true. But it does not answer my question.”
I firmed my lip.
Mong gave a weary sigh. “As you wish, Mr. Rusco, we will settle this the long, hard way.”
Chapter 14
After a time, Mong turned to Balt. “Give the Skugs back their ship. They can clean up this horrid mess.” He gave a negligent flourish. “Tell Lord Raspin of Zuut he will get his 50k yols, minus a 30k damage fee, of course, for his stupid pyrotechnics that destroyed my phaso.”
Balt stirred. “Raspin will be pissed. He delivered up Rusco. How many mutants did he lose down there? A hundred? Two?”
Mong shrugged. “Means nothing to me, Balt. Mutant flesh, what’s it worth?”
“Unwise, lord—to anger such a primitive warlord—we could face a full blown rebellion against us.”
“And what do I care of rebellions? I’ll raise a thousand more recruits this year. These fools destroyed my phaso!” The whites of his eyes flashed red. “If Raspin decides to raise his hand against me, I’ll bomb the shit out of his little hideaways like I do all dissenters. Every Skug rathole will feed the fires of my wrath. He’ll learn to fear the name of Mong to his grave.”
Balt gave a brief nod. “Very well, sir.”
Mong beckoned Balt with a curled finger and strode off the bridge, his furs flapping behind him. He ducked his head under the smoking lintel. Balt grunted and motioned for the other gunmen to haul Blest and me up.
In Mong’s wake, the gunmen dragged us down the hall through the melted hatch whose metal hung in shreds. We marched through the impossibly massive cargo bay then past other men garbed in armor and leather, R6 blasters strapped snug at their side. Steel chains hung from the ceiling from which I saw other ships suspended: captured vessels with similar holes in their sides. Mong stared and strode on; the man seemed to make a habit of trapping ships like flies.
We weaved our way around the impossible maze of ships, out of the cargo bay and down some more halls, with barbaric symbols and panoramas carved on the walls—3D murals of famous ship wars, epic battles, faces of Mong and his lieutenants, warriors of feral disposition in poses of combat. These were a crew of badasses, proud of their achievements. I looked over at Blest. The poor bastard wasn’t responding. His head hung slack in the guard’s arms. Occasionally he’d mumble an incoherent phrase, probably suffering from a concussion.
We passed a glass viewport and I caught glimpses of faraway stars, and the doomed station, a far point dwindling to nothing. My mind whirled in panic, searching for a way out of this mess. There appeared none. We were weaponless, powerless in a warlord’s invincible flagship. I recalled the fareon cannon on its side that could blow holes in planets. The fiercest warlord in the galaxy strode a few feet away in front of us. Impossibly strong. Armed with weird powers. Leader of an invincible fleet of warships hell bent on dominion of all human worlds.
We passed more guards, two now on either side of a U-shaped door. Mong ordered us thrust into an interrogation room, one that looked disturbingly similar to that of stark, grimy quality back on
