“I can’t believe he made you breakfast,” Guillaume grumbled as they walked the busy streets, his eyes peeled for a good dumpster to scrounge around in. Howard hadn’t asked him to come along so much as he’d simply just woken up and began following him.
“I was surprised too,” Howard replied. “I didn’t think he cared for me much.”
“He’s got a soft spot for people like you.”
“People like me?” Howard asked.
“Idiots,” Guillaume retorted.
“I had a good education.” Howard replied defensively.
“You don’t know anything about anything.” Guillaume snorted. “Where are you dragging me anyway?”
“Ira asked me to make a delivery, and said I’d get some points if I was fast.” Howard explained excitedly, holding up a small cardboard box. The excitement came from both the promise of compensation, and the odd feeling of having some responsibility that was entirely of his own volition. It was strangely liberating.
“I’m getting some of those points, right?” Guillaume asked skeptically.
“Of course, you’re helping after all,” Howard said earnestly. Guillaume eyed him wearily as if to say something, but stayed silent. Together they walked through the twisty turney streets of Shangri-La to make their delivery, passing by thousands of people all crammed together in the narrow passages. They wandered a bit aimlessly, as the directions Howard had received were a little vague. But the promise of pay and food kept them from wandering too far off their intended path. They did end up making decent time, arriving at their destination after about twenty minutes of brisk walking, stopping only to pilfer through a dumpster quickly to see if there was a packaged sandwich or something of similar value, to which there was, and to which was quickly eaten.
From the outside the destination looked to be a warehouse at the start of a bad neighborhood. Just a few streets down, the tell-tale signs of crime lurked out of the shadows, signs which Howard was entirely oblivious to, but luckily Guillaume already had his eyes peeled for the both of them. The warehouse was unremarkable in appearance, old, rusted, and metal. Its only distinguishing feature was a big symbol painted on its side, what appeared to be a skull, sporting a long ponytail and eyepatch.
“Huh. More skulls. Perhaps they like pirates too.” Howard mused.
Guillaume squinted at the symbol, and suddenly realized where they were, and who they were delivering too. “Merde,” he muttered under his breath. “I shouldn’t have come.”
“Something the matter?” Howard asked, finger already on the video buzzer, alerting whoever was inside to their presence. Guillaume grabbed onto his hat in an effort to sprint around the corner without losing it, but it was too late. The screen flashed on, revealing yet another rough looking face. It was a woman, with fair skin and a stern gaze, made only more effective by a black eyepatch covering one eye. She appeared to be in her late twenties, yet her hair seemed to already be whitening, tied back up in a big ponytail that fell well past her shoulders. Howard realized that the symbol painted on the warehouse was the very woman he was looking at now.
“What do you want?” The woman asked quickly, not wanting to waste time.
“Delivery from Ira!” Howard beamed, holding up the package to the camera. The woman stared blankly at him through the screen, then glanced past him to see Guillaume trying to hide his presence by turning sideways to the camera, despite his odd apparel that made him stick out like a sore thumb.
“Guillaume.” She called him out, smiling smugly. “You gonna pay me back anytime soon?” Guillaume turned and looked at the camera begrudgingly.
“You’ll get what's yours,” he replied uncomfortably. Howard raised both eyebrows, suddenly realizing the tension in the air. He tried to quickly recover.
“We’re both here to deliver the package,” he tried to reiterate, holding up the box once more to the camera, this time gently shaking it to make it appear like it was dancing. Again, the woman stared at him blankly. There was a loud buzz, and the heavy metal door to their right swung open gently, allowing them to pass. Howard stepped quickly through the threshold, with Guillaume following close behind, if not only a bit cautiously.
They stepped into the warehouse, and to Howard's surprise the inside was fairly well furnished. While a good half of the interior was just empty space and shelves, the center of the building had a well equipped workshop, complete with benches and tools he himself had never used or was familiar with. Just in front of the work station appeared to be a rack of computers that stretched on for several meters all connected with a mountain of messy cable. Tying the room together was a leather sofa resting on a type of an ornate rug, one Howard recognized as being Persian, which was just another way of saying it was a fancy rug in executive speak, as no such place had existed in the mind of anyone for a long time. It was something lots of Executives seem to want to show off to one another when giving tours of their homes.
As they reached the center of the odd assortment of furniture and tools, the woman stepped out from behind the racks of computers and approached them, walking with her arms in her pockets in a sort of stooped stance, like she was carrying something on her shoulders despite nothing visibly being there. She was wearing what appeared to be a simple striped sweater and plain pants, with a large, beige overcoat draped over it all, and work boots to finish the ensemble.
“You have a lovely warehouse,” Howard said pleasantly. The woman looked at Howard, then Guillaume with confusion. Guillaume avoided her gaze and shrugged.
“Thanks,” she held out her hands for the package, which Howard handed over gently. She pulled out a knife from one of her coat pockets and quickly sliced open the tape, peering inside. Her expression soured, and she dropped the box on the floor, its contents spilling onto the concrete floor, fresh baked cookies. “Old bastard,” she grumbled. Howard's stomach grumbled, the cookies looked quite scrumptious.
“What’s your name?” she demanded.
“Howard Whitman.” He replied a little distractedly, trying to figure out how he could swipe one of the sweets from the floor without being seen. Or if he’d even be willing, the floor looked clean, but with how dirty everything else was-
“Whitman?” She asked with surprise, abandoning her anger entirely. “Like the Whitman mining company?” Howard’s eyes snapped from the cookie graveyard and back to the situation at hand. He cursed himself silently, damn him and his wandering mind.
“Er, no.” He lied poorly. “Only a coincidence! I’m Howard…Lit…man.” The woman grabbed him by the shoulders and leaned in close, looking over his features with a careful eye. She spit into her sleeve, then rubbed it over his face. Howard recoiled, twisting himself away but not before her damp sleeve wiped away the soot to reveal his fair skin and smooth features.
“Even if you’re not a Whitman, you got points,” she deduced with a devilish grin. “You got nepo written all over you.”
“Oh come on! I’m just an accountant down on my luck. Guillaume can vouch for me.” The woman’s eye darted to Guillaume who had thus far been standing more out of the way towards the back of the room.
“Well?” She asked.
“I found him in a dumpster yesterday and now he won’t leave me alone,” he replied.
“I wasn’t in the dumpster!” Howard protested pointlessly.
“Oh, this is much better than Ira’s baking.” Her smile deepened, taking on a smug appearance. “Maybe he’s finally learned how to look out for himself.”
“Pardon me?” Howard looked back at Guillaume for help, but paused when he heard the sound of a soft metal click. He’d been handcuffed. “Wait, what?!”
“I bet you’ll make for a pretty easy ransom,” she laughed.
“Hey, leave the kid alone,” Guillaume barked. “He’s just stupid.”
“Walk away and I’ll reduce your debt,” she countered. To Howard’s horror, Guillaume flinched. He was considering her offer.
“I’m not so weak willed as to-” He started.
“And free booze for a month,” she interjected. He hesitated once more.
“Really?” Howard asked in disbelief. “You’d trade a companion for booze?”
“Hey, I don’t even know you, kid!” Guillaume shouted back. “Not like I said we were friends.”
The woman chuckled through her teeth, grabbing Howard and pushing him onto the couch, looking down on his betrayal stricken face.
“Don’t feel bad Howard, he owes me pretty big.” She slapped his face lightly, then turned to Guillaume, who was still hovering. She rolled her eye and pulled out her point card, and slapped it against his coat. Howard heard a quiet “ca-ching” from Guillaume’s breast pocket, where he pulled out his points card, which was now a dull green. “Go nuts.” She waved him away. Guillaume grumbled and tucked the card back into his coat, throwing one last glance over his shoulder before leaving Howard behind, the metal clanging of the warehouse door marking his exit. Howard watched his only companion leave, and felt a sinking in his heart.
“Now, Howard Litman,” His captor began, sitting across from him in the rolly chair. “I’m a pretty smart lady, so if you go ahead and just tell me whoever you are, I can do this quickly and get you back to whatever it is you came from.”
Howard didn’t reply, instead finding himself lost in his thoughts. He’d thought he was making a friend out of Guillaume, but his sudden betrayal left him distraught. Perhaps he was just being foolish, what the old man was true after all, they hardly even knew each other. Still, he’d thought there was something there. Suddenly he recalled something his father once told him, a memory he’d almost forgotten. It was when he was still sick and bound to the library. His father randomly came up to see him one winter evening, before Julia was old enough to have his full attention.
“Son,” his father had said between sips of brandy, “There’s one thing you need to understand about business.”
“What’s that Father?” Howard asked curiously, looking up from his novel.
“You can’t trust anybody. The moment a profitable opportunity comes around, your friends will leave you behind, like a dead dog on the side of the road.” His father spoke with venom, peering out the window of the library, gazing at the town below. “You will never have real friends. You’ll have to keep leverage on them, so they can’t betray you. Never give them the chance, you understand?” Howard, still young, and not really understanding, nodded at his father's guidance. He then wandered over and hugged his legs, simply happy he was spending time with him.
Howard snapped back to the present, thinking about the moment, and Guillaume.
“What does Guillaume owe you?” he asked, changing the subject entirely.
The woman raised an eyebrow in surprise. She searched his face for some sort of tell, or a play in mind, but found nothing more than curiosity, and a weird lack of panic that most rich kids in the scenario usually displayed. She shrugged, deciding to answer truthfully.
“He was on the Armada most wanted list. To be executed on his capture for treason. I got into their database and did some editing, got him off their radar.”
“Treason?” Howard asked with surprise. “What for?”
“I dunno, didn’t ask and the entry was vague. Not like he’s the first person to ever be guilty of pissing off the Confederacy.” She spoke with an air of tired annoyance, sounding like the Confederacy was perhaps her least favorite subject. “But let’s get back to you, Howard.”
Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.
“I’d be a lot more willing to speak if I knew whom I was speaking with.” Howard replied stiffly. The woman rolled her eye, but obliged.
“Lizabeth.”
“That’s a nice name.” He noted politely.
“I guess so.” She paused, giving him a questioning look. “Time to talk, what heir of fortune do you belong to?”
“I’m here on my own.” Howard replied, his nose stuck up slightly while doing so, not helping his case of not appearing very arrogant and rich.
“No idiot nepo is out here without a safety net.” She shook her head. “Most of you don’t even get this far into port unless you’re making some shady deals with people like me, so cut it out.”
“That’s the truth.” Howard replied calmly. “I left my fortune behind and came here.” Lizabeth sighed and pressed her boots against the concrete, rocketing her and her chair towards the wall of computers. She sat at a desk that looked as if it had been salvaged, then smacked a large, rectangular box. It booted up to an operating system Howard had never seen. A blank orange and black screen that Lizabeth began typing away on. The screen frequently spat out long strings of text back out from her interfacing that he couldn’t read from where he sat.
“Kirk Whitman, second generation owner of Whitman Mining, has perished in a tragic fire that claimed his family estate on their homeworld Kirk’s Colony. His son, Howard Whitman, is presumed to have perished in the fire.” She peeked around the monitor and nodded with satisfaction. “Killed your dad and ran huh? That’s badass.”
“I did no such thing!” He protested, feeling a pang of dread in his heart.
“Kirk is survived by his wife, Sherry, and his daughter Julia.” Howard looked at his shoes, only a day ago shined to perfection, now covered in grim and scuffed. He felt dirty, still having not showered from his sudden departure from his home world. All he could think about was his last moments on his homeworld, the estate burning in flames behind him. Julia trying to claw him to death, Miss Berkshire pulling her away. His mother was unable to even say a word. He sighed. His adventure hadn’t quite gotten started the way he would have hoped.
“I bet I could get, what? At least a few hundred thousand points? Maybe half a mill? Could buy a couple high dollar washers with that…” Lizabeth murmured to herself as she read more of the intel.
There was a loud banging on the door. Lizabeth spun around in her chair, sliding over to another screen at her desk, the one that had a view of the front door camera.
“Hey, hey! Knock it off!” She shouted into the camera. There was an even louder banging, something heavy was striking the door. She turned back and scanned the warehouse, her eye falling on Howard.
“What's happening?” He asked with concern. Lizabeth rolled back to him quickly and hauled him to his feet, and to Howard’s surprise unlocked his cuffs.
“Change of plans,” she said quickly, then moved back to her desk, clearing some disk drives with a big sweep of her hand to reveal what looked like some sort of firearm. She grabbed it and ran back to Howard, sticking it down the back of his pants.
“Hey, woah!” Howard protested. “This is absurd!” The door was struck once more, the hinges visibly bending and about to explode off the frame.
“If they start shooting, shoot back,” She replied unhelpfully.
“Why should I do anything you say?”
“You’ll at least get home alive instead of in a box.”
Howard gulped, and turned his attention to the door. With another mighty metallic bang, the door was smashed open by a battering ram, and a small crew of armed Armada sailors poured in, hollering for them to stick their hands up. Howard sighed with relief. It seemed his luck had finally changed, the authorities would surely get him out of this bind.
“Are you guys new?” Lizabeth growled. “I pay to keep you bootlickers off my back.” Howard pursed his lips, that didn’t sound too assuring. The sailors didn’t reply, instead they went about checking the room for signs of danger, two of them keeping their blasters trained squarely on Lizabeth and Howard. Once the room seemed secure, one of them gave the all clear signal, a stiff wave of their hand, and another figure stepped through the threshold. A small figure dressed in Armada captain’s attire, a large navy blue coat with golden buttons, and a distinguished hat. Underneath it all, a furry otter-man, who strolled into the room with his beady nose turned up at the very ground he walked upon. The Portmaster of Shangri-La himself, Captain Kress.
“Sorry for the sudden drop-in, Lizabeth,” Captain Kress greeted her with a greatly feigned apology. He was all but reveling in this display of power
“I already paid your fee,” Lizabeth returned with her own dissatisfaction. The Captain clicked his tongue, wagging his furry finger in front of his face.
“Your fee doesn't cover meddling with my corporate sponsors.”
“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.” Lizabeth crossed her arms.
“Is that so?” Kress grinned, revealing a pair of sharp incisors. “Well I have a warrant here that cites a key eyewitness placing you at the scene of a recent cargo raid of a Mom n Pop ship.”
“A warrant you wrote and signed off on, right?” She asked angrily.
“Well, I do have the authority as your Portmaster now don’t I?” One of the sailors poked their head from behind a metal shelf and spoke up.
“Sir! We’ve found the shipment! Matches the manifest and everything.”
“Excellent work men! Haul it out to the truck.” Kress chuckled smugly.
“The hell you are!” She snarled, taking a step forward to strike him, but the sound of the sailor’s blasters buzzing like a hive of angry bees made her stop midstep, then back off begrudgingly.
“I’m being fairly light handed, all things considered.” Captain Kress nodded to his sailors, who began moving the cargo. “There’s a lot of other contraband I could take here,” he said with a nod of his little nose towards the wall of computers that were running loudly at the far end of the warehouse.
Howard glanced between Lizabeth and the Kress, a confused look on his face. His initial joy at seeing the authorities was replaced with suspicion. “Pardon me,” he raised a polite hand in address to Captain Kress. The officer seemed to finally take notice of him, even though he was only meters from Lizabeth in the first place.
“Yes?” The Captain asked in surprise, realizing there was someone else there.
“You’re a representative of the Armada, correct?” Howard asked uncertainty.
“Yes.” The Captain replied, proudly tapping his several medals adorned to his coat.
“You represent the Confederacy’s peacekeeping forces across space?”
“Yes!” The Captain replied stoically, his back straightening
“And you’re making this woman pay you money so that she can perform criminal activities?”
This time the Captain blinked, caught flat footed at how plainly he’d stated the obvious. Even Lizabeth’s anger seemed diffused momentarily, now fixated on Howard as well.
“I’m sorry, but who are you?” The Captain asked pointedly.
“Oh yes, sorry. I’m Howard.” He made sure to omit his last name.
“You ask a lot of questions, Howard.” The Captain said a forced smile.
“Indeed. What is your badge number? I’ll be filing a complaint.” The question stunned the room. Even the sailors raiding the warehouse paused, and glanced back to see what was unfolding.
“You must be new here.” The Captain stated astutely. Howard merely nodded.
“I landed yesterday,” he replied honestly.
The Captain gave Howard another look, trying to discern if he was being messed with or not. Howard’s plain, almost simple expression told him the boy was serious. The Captain put on a warm smile, and held out both his arms in a welcoming way.
“Well, Howard. As your official representative of the Confederacy’s mightiest fighting force. Allow me to formally welcome you to Shangri-La, the backbone of the Frontier trading network.”
“Oh, thank you-” Howard began to say, but was struck in the back of the head by the butt end of a blaster. His eyes rolled into the back of his head, and he crumbled to the floor. The corrupt sailors cackled in unison, while the Captain looked on smugly. Lizabeth flinched at the sound of Howard’s head thumping against the concrete, but kept her eyes on the Captain.
“Oh, I needed that!” The Captain laughed in a high squeaky tone. “What a funny fellow. Is he a friend of yours?”
“No,” Lizabeth replied through her teeth, voice full of contempt. “Just some kid.”
“Shame, I’d like to have seen more of him the next time we stop by.” The Captain shrugged, turning his back on the scene to make his way out. “Alright men, let’s haul everything out to the truck-”
A horrified, blood chilling scream broke the Captain’s relaxed attitude, making the hairs on his body stuck up every which way. He turned around just in time for one of his eight men to crash into him, knocking them both to the ground. The Captain struggled under the weight of his own sailor, who seemed to be unconscious. He wiggled and squirmed his way out from under him, and once free realized with his own horror what was unfolding before him.
From Howard’s unconscious body, two large red tentacles were protruding out the back of his shirt, at least two meters long each. One tentacle had wrapped around a sailor and was squeezing him tightly, their eyes bulging out of their head. Another sailor tried to rush in to pry the tentacles off, but the other tentacle slapped them aside like they were a sports ball, sending them flying into the warehouse wall. The Armada was in disarray dealing with this surprise monster.
“Open fire!” The Captain shouted, knocking his men out of their surprised state. They collectively aimed, and went to pull their triggers, but as they did so more cries of confusion sounded off, their guns ceased functioning entirely. Lizbeth poked out from behind her desk, one hand to the side of her head while her visible eye spun around strangely in her socket.
“Shouldn’t have bought aim assist!” She taunted them from her place of safety.
Captain Kress cursed, brain scrambling, trying to formulate a plan as he watched one of his men choke to death. Three down already, he was in a tight spot.
“Switch to your batons!” He ordered. His men rallied, and tossed their blasters to the side. They rushed Howard together, and Kress watched with dread as each one was either knocked away, or crushed into the concrete with overwhelming force. Several of his men now lay dead, broken in unnatural ways that sickened his stomach. He was now defenseless, and alone. He began backing away slowly, trying to not make a sound.
The tentacles from Howard’s body circled him, wrapping him in a defensive curl. Captain Kress took note of the fact that he wasn’t being chased, and immediately fled out the busted down metal door, and scurried off toward the truck they’d arrived in. He punched in the coordinates back to the Armada post, and the truck took off down the street, leaving his men behind, and escaping with the cargo.
Lizabeth meanwhile, hadn’t moved from her spot. She sat and observed Howard with extreme patience and silence, not wanting to suffer the same fate as the sailors who now laid dead or broken in her warehouse. The tentacles continued to protect Howard for several minutes, snaking around him, making occasional popping noises as the suction cups on the underside of the appendages would stick to something. But it seemed that once the danger had been over for a few minutes, they began to shrink and retreat back.
She watched with a timid fascination as the tentacles seemed to entirely disappear into Howard’s back, from a tear in the back of his shirt she hadn’t noticed before. Once they had seemingly vanished into his body, she sat still for another few minutes. Then, making sure it was safe, she tossed a busted computer drive near him to see if anything would happen. When he didn’t stir, she darted over to him and plucked the gun she’d shoved down his pants and retreated, picking up one of the soldier's more intimidating blasters as she did so. Then she found an extra long metal pipe, and poked him from a safe distance in the shoulder.
Howard stirred, and slowly blinked awake. The back of his head was throbbing angrily. He looked around, and saw all the bodies of the sailors strewn about the room. The sight sent a jolt of adrenaline through him, and he scrambled to his feet.
“Don’t move,” Lizabeth commanded, pointing the soldier’s rifle at him though he wasn’t privy to the fact they were currently disabled.
Howard exclaimed with confusion. “What happened?”
“You happened.” Lizabeth nodded to the bodies. “Took everyone out.”
“Excuse me?” Howard looked around in disbelief, “There’s no way I did this!”
Lizabeth squinted at him with her good eye, not lowering her blaster. “Well, you did. Grew some freaky tentacles and beat everyone to death, or near it.”
“What? Have you lost your mind?!” Howard shouted, but lowered his voice as it made his throbbing head hurt worse. Lizabeth moved slowly to her still online computer, and keyed in some commands. One of the screens on the wall clicked on, and began displaying internal security footage of inside the warehouse. Howard watched with confusion as the recording played back, and he saw the tentacles slither out his back and attack the sailors.
He frantically ripped off his shirt and waistcoat, revealing his wire thin frame, then twisted as hard as he could to see if there were any markings, some sign of something happening. He noticed a slight discoloration to his flesh, a blue bruising that wasn’t normally there, but it was already fading quickly. His back did feel strange as well, like it was slightly sore. He looked at Lizabeth in a panic, his mind racing. What even could he say to explain what had just happened? He could hardly even believe it himself, was it even real? Perhaps this was just an elaborate trick, video footage was altered so easily these days anyhow, surely that was it! But that didn’t make sense either, why would Lizabeth do that?
The memory of him hiking up the mountain came to the forefront of his mind. The star that fell from the heavens themselves, the same star that crawled its way down his throat. How could he even forget it's a strange, rubbery texture, clawing its way down his throat, giving him new life, healing his sickness. Was this what he’d given up in return for having new life breathed into him? Becoming a monster?
He tried to recall more but something tugged at the back of his mind, another memory that’d been trying to bury itself deep within. He closed one eye, quietly groaning as the odd sensation.
“We need to get out of here,” Lizabeth’s stern voice pulled him from his racing thoughts. “Kress’s a sore loser, he’ll be back with more guys and tear my place apart. I’m going to call some muscle to hide my stuff, but we need to scram.”
Howard nodded, not wanting to waste time either. “Where will we go?” he asked.
Lizabeth let out a frustrated sigh, lowering her gun, the box of sweets in the corner of her vision. She was displeased with the answer she’d come up with.
“We’ll go to my dad’s, his place is safe.”
“Oh.” Howard’s brow furrowed in surprise, “Who's your father?” Howard immediately pictured a version of Lizabeth that was older and meaner looking, were such a thing even possible.
“You’ve met him already.”