Caspian Xandor

The Celestial Mirage

Thalorix

Zynora System

Triangulum Galaxy

He swirled the brown liquid around in his glass for what felt like the hundredth time. He didn’t fully comprehend why he found himself there. Well, he understood his presence, but the reasoning eluded him. What was the point? It’s just another job, he kept telling himself, trying to quell the rising tide of existential doubt that gnawed at him. Sniffing the rich aroma of the dark brown liquid, he finally engulfed it, emptying the glass once more. Over the years, he had developed a near-total tolerance for alcohol, a testament to his long and tumultuous life. The bar was bustling that night, clearly a celebration of some kind—a bachelor party, perhaps, or someone’s recent triumph in landing that special job. He didn’t know, and honestly, he didn’t care. All he was certain of was that his target would be there, somewhere in that crowd, before he left. This was his life, a life he had been living longer than he could remember, longer than he had served as a Queen’s Fury. He missed the old days, the days when he fought for the Almorian Empire, for the Queen, for his love. Now, he fought merely because he could.

“Heyyy, look at you now, mister big glowing blue delight!” a hulking brute slapped him on the back with enough force to nearly knock him off his stool. The man was clearly drunk and evidently unaware of who Caspian was. Caspian didn’t know the brute either; one of the downsides of being a bounty hunter in a multi-galactic community was the constant encounter with millions of different species, making it nearly impossible to remember them all.

“You’re going to want to get your hand off my back, bub,” Caspian replied, his tone soft yet laced with a quiet intensity.

“Ohhh, now we’re bub’s, are we?” The brute waved his glass wildly, spilling its contents without a care. He leaned in, whispering conspiratorially in Caspian's ear, “Now hear this, bub. I want every damned gem, credit, and demerit you have, or the wall will be painted in that pretty iridescent blue. Bub!” The brute grinned, a menacing smile that did little to mask his drunken bravado. Caspian felt his skin begin to shift from its usual blue hue to a deep crimson, a reflection of his rising anger. He slowly glanced at the bartender, who seemed to understand the unspoken warning. With a swift and practiced motion, the bartender produced a pistol and pressed it to the brute's temple.

“Now you listen here, you little shit. I’ve had complaints about you threatening my patrons, and now I’ve heard it myself. Get the Frell out of my bar right now, and don’t ever come back!"

The brute snarled, puffing out his chest in a display of false bravado. “You really think I’m afraid of that puny dart gun? You know what? I have been threatening your customers, and I want to, and you know what? I want this bar. So you get out and hand it over to me now!”

The bartender didn’t hesitate; he pulled the trigger. A loud blast echoed through the bar as superheated plasma erupted from the barrel, striking the brute squarely in the chest. Yet, to everyone’s astonishment, it seemed to have no effect.

The brute laughed, a deep, rumbling sound. “Don’t you realize? I’m Xaxian! Plasma bolts…” He was abruptly cut off as Caspian extracted a blade from one of his tentacles and plunged it into the brute’s spinal cord. The brute's immense weight hit the floor with a resonating thud, vibrating the room as he collapsed. The patrons erupted into cheers, nearly everyone yelling, “Free beer on me!” Caspian would have felt pleased under normal circumstances, but he noticed one person not cheering. His target was slipping away into the crowd, and as the cheers erupted around him, Caspian rose to follow.

It took far too long to navigate the throng of celebrating patrons, who regarded him as a hero or some kind of god. He didn’t care about their adulation; there was only one direction his target could have gone—toward the back alley. “I’ve got him going toward the back alley; get eyes on him,” he instructed through the comm unit.

“I’m already ahead of you; he’s climbing the alley escape ladders, headed toward the roofs. Perhaps he’s trying to find a shuttle?” a robotic voice replied.

“Then get in the air and cover the area.”

“My thoughts exactly.”

Caspian threw himself against the rear door and charged into a sprint, his heart racing as he watched his target scale the last ladder onto the rooftop of a building several blocks ahead. As he ran, he scanned the sky, searching for any sign of an escape shuttle. It wasn’t long before he spotted his ship—the only Almorian Frigate in that particular galaxy, a formidable vessel that somehow seemed out of place in that region of space.

The Frigate cast its floodlights down on the escaping man, attempting to distract him by hovering ominously above, revealing no escape. “What the hell are you doing? We can’t get caught; local authorities are sure to be alerted by now!” he barked into the comm.

“Oh, don’t worry about them. Their security is quite weak. I hacked into their systems and made myself the honorary sheriff for the day!”

Caspian couldn’t help but smile; moments like this filled him with delight, knowing he had found and reprogrammed the old Legion drone. His breath became heavy as he leaped over obstacles and dodged building supports, but he still couldn’t seem to close the distance. “Try to get ahead of him, slow him down.”

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The frigate attempted to comply, but a volley of blaster fire suddenly erupted from above, striking the ancient Almorian Frigate.

“Well, there’s the thing I’ve been waiting on. Let me go take out the trash,” Caspian’s Legion companion replied over the comm as the Frigate ascended into the atmosphere, preparing to engage with whatever ship had come to aid the fleeing man.

Caspian withdrew a small rectangular object from his belt, pressed a designated area, and activated the nanotech, transforming it into a medium-range pistol. He began to fire volley after volley of plasma rounds toward the fleeing alien, intentionally missing, hoping to invoke fear and provoke a mistake. Unfortunately, his target’s resolve seemed stronger than ever. Adjusting his aim, Caspian pressed another button to change the fire mode. This time, he carefully aimed just above the target’s waist and pulled the trigger. Two sizable ball bearings shot out, attached to a sturdy cable, striking just below the man’s kneecaps and rendering him immobile.

“Damn, you’re a hard one to catch.”

“No, please! Whatever they’re paying you, I’ll double it!” the man pleaded, desperation flooding his voice.

“I’m not interested in petty talk. Time to go night-night.” With that, Caspian rendered the man unconscious with a swift kick from his boot. He looked up into the night sky, noting a fireball descending—his frigate heading straight toward him. What a beautiful sight, he thought, a grim satisfaction settling in as he prepared for the next phase of his hunt.

The view outside the frigate's viewport shifted dramatically from a hazy blue to a foreboding black as they broke free from the atmosphere of the planet below. Caspian exhaled a sigh of relief, glad to be rid of that dirt-infested shithole. Three long months had been spent in this slime-ridden cesspool, evading him at every turn. The payout better be worth all the hassle. “Alright, Terry,” he said, glancing at his companion with a hint of irony in the name, as this Legion Drone was a creation of the Terrans. “Get us to that gate. I’m going to contact our contact.”

“You do that, chip-a-roo,” Terry replied cheerfully, eliciting a smile from Caspian. The drone's personality was a curious blend of charm and menace, a perfect companion for a murderous killing machine.

As Terry piloted the frigate toward the nearest Stargate—an essential method of interstellar travel in the Triangulum Galaxy—Caspian reflected on the unique travel techniques of various galaxies. Each galaxy had its own systems; in the Milky Way, hyperdrives dominated, while no galaxy had developed a faster-than-light drive quite like the Federation's. The prospect of traveling between galaxies was a time-consuming endeavor, attracting only a select few: intergalactic freight haulers, bounty hunters, and explorers. Most people preferred to remain within their own sectors of space, avoiding the unknowns of other galaxies.

The origin of the gates that connected these galaxies remained a mystery, but a coalition of neutral forces known as the Gatekeepers safeguarded them, ensuring that no hostile entities could exploit them for war.

Settling down at the dinette, Caspian glanced across the table at the bound target, who was chained and awaiting his fate. He retrieved a plate of regenerated meat from the synthesizer and began to eat, his mind partially focused on the task ahead. “You’re Almorian, aren’t you?” he asked, breaking the silence.

The man caught Caspian’s gaze, his eyes wide with a mix of fear and curiosity. “Your skin—it changed colors. I’ve never known a male to do that, except one: the King.” That revelation piqued Caspian's interest.

“The King? Who the hell are you talking about?”

“You haven’t been back home, have you? How long has it been—months? Years? Millennia?”

Caspian’s patience thinned; he stood and rushed to the prisoner, gripping his neck tightly. “What the hell are you talking about?”

The prisoner chuckled, a dark glint in his eyes. “You don’t know! The Almorian Alliance is in pieces. Civil war!”

Caspian’s lip curled in disdain. He had little care for the politics of his people, but a chirp from the comm unit distracted him. Releasing his grip, he returned to his desk, ready to finish his meal and read the incoming message. He took a forkful, chewed once, and froze, staring in disbelief at the screen. No, he wouldn't accept it. The next message revealed his next bounty—a child. Oddly enough, the child had pale, tan skin yet bore Almorian features. His heart raced as he switched to the accompanying picture, dropping his fork in shock. Impossible! Swallowing hard, Caspian turned to the man. “Terry, get in here.”

The eight-foot giant of a robot ducked through the hatchway, entering the common room. “Is our friend being a little shit?” he quipped, his mechanical voice laced with amusement.

“Worse. Take a look at this.” Caspian handed the comm unit to Terry, who scanned the information in less than a microsecond.

“This… This can’t be possible.”

“Have you heard any news about home?”

“I haven’t been scanning the nets. I thought you didn’t want to know anything.”

Caspian raised an eyebrow. “I assume you don’t want to go home, do you? Spending months out here, hiding? What species are you, anyway? I don’t remember your kind.”

The captive laughed heartily. “He’s a Qhed, quite rare, honestly. Only a few survived the purge.”

“Ahh, so that’s why the hatred toward me. You hate me because we Almorians hunted you, and you’re afraid to go back home for what? For the Alliance to finish the job?”

The Qhed captive chuckled again, a sound filled with dark amusement. “No, no, they have much bigger issues to worry about than one lowly escaped traitor. I’m not worried about the Alliance. There’s another force lurking about, about to make their grand appearance once again, coming for revenge.”

“And who would that be?” Caspian pressed, but it was too late. Unknown to them, the Qhed had injected a neurotoxin into his system, a move that would prove fatal.

“Well, looking like we won’t be getting paid for that one,” Terry commented dryly.

“The contract did say dead or alive, but alive was damn significantly more. Still, the drop-off has changed. We have to go home. I don’t like it.”

“It certainly is an odd change for the contract.”

“How would it affect you? Would the Hive Mind take back control?”

“I don’t believe so. I’ve disabled the com link to the Legion network, but since I haven’t been near them in so long, I don’t have a way to verify its status. Cass, I recommend you disable me when we cross the border.” Caspian looked at his old friend, remembering their tumultuous past. Once enemies, the murderous robot had saved his life more times than he could count. They were bound by a loyalty forged in fire.

“No. If something were to happen, my old friend, we will face it together. First, however, we must visit an old friend. We must get to Canus.”

“Now that’s a place I haven’t seen in a long time. I think I would rather enjoy this visit! Ahh, the trees of Buuka! Never seen such a beautiful sight!”

“How does a murderous killer robot take beauty in trees?” Caspian teased.

Terry glanced over at him, a hint of mischief in his glowing eyes. “You’re still alive, aren’t you?”

Caspian looked over his body, inspecting every inch as if to convince himself. “I… I am?”

“That is why!” Terry replied, returning to his controls, the moment lightening the mood. Caspian chuckled, finding humor in the thought of an artificial intelligence needing stress relief.

“Alright, buddy, set course for Canus!”