Better Alive Than Dead Ch. 005

Chapter 5 -- Old Friends


The Hull was the nickname given to the colossal frame of an abandoned dreadnought class warship in Sector 12F, that had crash-landed into the station, back during Omicron's chaotic founding some odd seventy plus years ago.

The humongous derelict ship had been stripped of its values a long time ago, leaving only the decorticated frame. The great strakes, robbed of its metal plating, stood out like the decrepit ribs of a giant metal skeleton, growing evermore imposing as one closed in on the old warship.

From the bottom of each strake, and running up their length like grapevines, were thousands of makeshift buildings and ramshackle constructs covered in their respective pirate insignias, displaying affiliation and designating territories. In between the great strakes were levitating buildings kept afloat with propulsion systems and an impressive armada of pirate ships of various sizes in hovering mode, essentially creating a floating city that connected to the thousands of buildings on the strakes by a perplexing swarm of girders, gantries, and footbridges.

The Hull was basically its own society within Omicron, relying on its own rules and traditions, and united in common purpose against non-pirate gangs and syndicates trying to wrest control of their territory. Yet the Hull had no ruling body or appointed leaders, as the pirates were always competing and fighting each other outside of the station. Stability and the avoidance of war within the Hull were ensured by a common code of conduct, referred to as Decagon's Edict.

The enigmatic Decagon was widely referred to as the king of pirates, and the edict was the code of conduct enacted on his own ships, which had later been implemented in the Hull as a whole. However, no one had seen the elusive pirate king for years, who many suspected was one-third of the triumvirate who de facto ruled Omicron.

In the pirate king's absence, it was his lieutenant Cylass the Crimson who was in charge of his merry band of interstellar misfits known ostensibly as The Redeemers.

Jack felt slightly on edge as the autocab made its way through the Hull's airspace, carefully evading and bypassing the massive amount of interconnected buildings and spacecrafts.

The pirate and the hunter community, despite some overlap from time to time, were inherently at odds with one other, as the latter was often hired to hunt the former. Jack had taken on some pirate bounties in the past, and running into the wrong crew here might mean an expedited one-way ticket to the afterlife for him. However, it had been a few years ago since he had last completed a pirate bounty, as pirates were frustratingly difficult marks. Pirates were vastly different individuals of widely diverging morals and ideologies and came in all species. Some did piracy out of greed, others for justice, and some just for the sheer chaos and excitement of it all. There was no certain way or a particular approach to taking down a pirate mark. Often, they would be on their ship surrounded by a murderous crew of trigger-happy scumbags or hidden somewhere deep within the Hull which always complicated things.

It often took blood-money, skullduggery and a little pinch of betrayal to extract a pirate mark without having to kill off an entire crew. It was often more bother than it was worth, so most hunters left the pirate hunting to the Federation and other entities capable of taking on the pirates' significant numbers.

Although thousands lived within the Hull, like larvae in a decomposing body, and despite the fact that the great warship was the home to many bars, gambling dens, hideouts and brothels, it was deep within the skeleton of the ship that one could find the main attraction: The Pits.

Finally, the autocab touched down at the bottom of one of the great strakes. The warm lights from the many colorful bars and establishments was a stark contrast to the otherwise dark and cold interior predominant in the upper parts of the huge vessel. Here at the bottom of one of the strakes, mismatched buildings were precariously stacked on top of each other in a bewildering fashion.

The area was a galactic melting pot, with seemingly every species in the galaxy traversing the many footbridges and gantries. Jack hopped out of the autocab, and adroitly avoided an Akarian pimp who was eye-balling him in the hopes of securing some work for two sullen Terran whores puffing nicotiana sticks behind him. Skittering past the pimp and the girls, Jack walked just a few blocks before reaching his destination.

Wedged in between a cluster of stacked buildings covered with tattered burgundy banners emblazoned with a gold sigil, was a three-story building fashioned with a great sign that read: Madame Morghana's. The battered old casino, which also served as a sort of cabaret show, music house, comedy club, and speakeasy, had stood the test of time and was famously (or infamously) believed to be the oldest standing building in the Hull. It was technically owned by a particularly notorious pirate crew known as the Golden Fang, but the proprietor and daily manager, from whom the establishment was also named, was Madame Morghana.

Madame Morghana had once been a high-class escort in the upper echelons of Omicron society, but had seemingly crossed the wrong client, and had ended up dumped in the Warrens with a shredded and mutilated hand, and half her face carved up like a Thanksgiving turkey. Plenty of psychopaths at the top of Omicron's hierarchy. Jack crossed the street towards the casino, with a growing sense of foreboding of entering the pirate-infested den. Somebody inside might know him. If not in person, then by reputation. Jack had made a lot more enemies than friends throughout the years, and on Omicron death was an old friend. He adjusted his clothes, feeling comfort in the hidden gun under his jacket. Then he nodded to two brutish Kinto doormen before stepping into the casino.

The jazzy house music of a Dravv scrap band was audible as soon as Jack entered the establishment. The rhythmic and improvised music mixed with the high-pitched pings and babble of the casino's many patrons blowing their credits on endless rows of tazbaar slot-machines and virtual games of chance, in a cacophony of sound. Of the many vices Jack so freely embraced, gambling had never been one of them. It didn't really hold any attraction to him. When one's entire life were stacked against you, it seemed foolish beyond measure to further stack those odds. Jack mostly played when the odds of winning was skewed in his favor. Which technically wasn't gambling.

The inside of the building was spacious, with light flooding in from several virtual two-story-tall windows, making it look like the insides of a church. A church owned by a whore he mused. The ground floor was covered with gambling tables and tazbaar slot-machines, and seemingly one representative of each known species in the galaxy. The first floor had been removed and replaced with a wide gallery overlooking the ground floor. This area was reserved for the high rollers. The VIP clientele.

From the ground floor, Jack could spot Madame Morghana in a large red velvet sofa conversing with a sharply-dressed male Nekarin. A species of bipedal humanoid felines. She was laughing at a remark made by the man, and she skillfully tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear, and tapped the man lightly on his thigh. A gentle gesture, yet thick with sexual innuendo. Although pushing fifty, Madame Morghana was still a stunning woman. Her skin was smooth and her auburn hair was long and lustrous and tied with golden thread. She wore a simple green and gold dress, exquisitely fitted to accentuate her sensual form. A simple white mask covered one half of her face to hide her disfigurement underneath, and on her right hand, she wore an elegant white glove to conceal her bionic hand replacement. Jack didn't know why she had never had her face re-created. She certainly had the money. Everyone deals with trauma in their own way.

Jack made his way across the gambling floor, and past a smaller room where a sad-looking Akarian with poorly applied face-paint was attempting a comedy routine for a gathering of mainly Terran patrons, who seemed disinterested in whether the performer was alive or not. Past this room was the back of the establishment, which was reserved for members of the Golden Fang.

There was a small bar in the corner serviced by three busty lilac-skinned Varsii, who flirted and attended to the needs of the many pirates sitting in the room. Jack didn't recognize any of the members but noticed an Avarrian wearing what looked like a golden monocle.

The Avarrian had three golden stars on his brown uniform, and by his feet lay a large red beast with dark stripes. A Mamonian hound. These beasts of prey were prized assets for their fierce loyalty and their ability to shred most organics to pieces in a matter of seconds. It indicated that the Avarrian was a high-standing and successful member of the Golden Fang. Jack walked to the back of the room, under the scrutinizing gaze of the avian pirate and his bestial guardian. In the back of the room was the elevator that led to the pits underneath the casino. Guarding the elevator stood a heavily muscled Skamiir who frisked Jack swiftly for weapon-types not allowed in the pits, such as explosives. The Skamiir nodded to the pirate leader and the Avarrian flicked dismissively with his hand, allowing Jack entrance.

The atmosphere of the pits was as always thick with the excitement of the rowdy crowd, the horde of patrons drinking and betting on the outcomes of the brutal fights. The pits themselves were made inside round metal exhaust frames, creating a circular metal ring with high walls. Around these pits were gantries and platforms that accommodated the hundreds of onlookers. Along the edges of the pits were steel frames decorated with great metal spikes, skulls from an endless horde of different species, and melee weapons that had once belonged to fighters of the pits. The place was reminiscent of a less civilized age. Some pit fighters became famous on Omicron, like gladiators of old, and lived a life in luxury and recognition. For however long they lasted.

Jack made his way through the crowded gantry to get a better view of the active pits of the day. On an electronic screen, Jack could see that only two of the six pits were active today - and only one of them had humanoid combatants. He hurried across several gantries and pushed his way past the vast crowd, trying not to provoke anyone too grievously as he made for the front rows. Fists, claws, and blades hung loose in a place like the pits when the excitement of violence and the red mist took over.

He ducked just in the nick of time as a handful of spectator drones whooshed past him. Spectator drones were the way the elite of Omicron watched the brutal fights. Safe within their well-guarded ivory towers, the top of Omicron's hierarchy did not need to lower themselves by visiting the pits physically. Yet, they had their part in orchestrating the fights, acting through liaisons and henchmen, and a not-insignificant amount of the gambling profits was funneled to the top. Jack reached the edge of the pit, stopping next to an excited Akarian dressed in expensive clothing, and chaperoned by three scantily dressed females of different species and a Kormak bodyguard. One of the hookers, a well-proportioned Terran with a beauty-mark on her left sizeable tit, looked at Jack with a bored and docile look. She eyed him shortly in a measuring way, then apparently decided he wasn't worth an effort and turned her gaze back to the pit.

In the center of the fighting pit stood a red-skinned Tharxian, a notorious near-human species obsessed with hierarchy and bio-enhancement. The species was separated into three subspecies, and from the look of this particular specimen it was clear that this one was from the lowest subgroup. A Thurkian, sometimes derogatorily referred to as a 'crimson' or a 'Thurk'.

The male Thurkian was heavy bound with muscles and had long dreadlocks falling in bundles around his humanoid face, which was marred from a life of constant struggle. His nude upper body looked as if cut from red granite, and was covered in ritualistic scarring. Thurkians were like the Skamiir known for their physical prowess and agility. But while the Skamiir were admired for their bravery and grit, the Thurkians were feared for their perseverance and brutality. The Thurkian was breathing heavy, a small trickle of black blood running from a cut above his eyebrow. Opposing him stood a tall light-blue Skamiir, breathing equally heavy. Drex.

His old friend cut an impressive figure in the pit. He was well-muscled and shredded, with essentially every muscle fiber clearly defined. His friend looked lean and mean. Yet his eyes looked sunken, as if sleep deprived, and Jack noticed he missed a finger on one of his hands.

Good thing he has four.

The two combatants circled each other and then charged for another round of mayhem. The crowd cheered as Drex showered his opponent in punches, his four arms working in perfect tandem. The strikes landed only superficial and glancing blows, and the Thurkian replied with his own cascade of punches. His strikes fell harder but were less precise than Drex's. They traded punch after punch, ducking, and weaving. Fists connected with skulls and tightened muscles, as the two fighters sought to end one another. Drex connected with two straight punches that made the Thurkian stagger momentarily, and the crowd cheered. The Thurkian snarled in defiance and rammed his head into Drex chest sending them both tumbling to the ground, where they started wrestling.

The Akarian next to Jack wheezed with excitement and grabbed his shoulder "I have seen this crimson wrestle with Jungandian Swamp Beasts on Mulmasa, the Skamiir have already lost."

"I'll take that bet." answered Jack sternly as his eyes followed the fighters grappling in the pit. He was confident in Drex's ability to defeat any humanoid opponent in hand-to-hand combat.

The Akarian's eyes glinted greedily and he smiled broadly.

"And how much are you willing to bet on the blue-skin?" asked the Akarian, looking Jack up and down appraisingly, obviously in doubt of the credit status of his new acquaintance.

"5.000?"

"How about we make it 10.000?" Jack answered coldly, turning his gaze from the fighters to the gambler.

The Akarian smiled broadened even more, unfettered by the bounty hunter's cold eyes. The docile hooker looked up at Jack with a sudden spark of interest in her dusky gaze.

The Akarian's elongated fingers danced swiftly across the interface of his gauntlet.

"10.000?" he asked enthusiastically.

Jack put the credit chit he had retrieved from the apartment to his gauntlet, confirming his credit status and locking in the wager.

The Akarian licked his teeth, and looked back at the fighters with excitement.

The two combatants were still grappling, both trying to gain the upper-hand with a series of reversals, strangulations and the occasional elbow to the face, that brought cheers from the onlookers.

"Enough of this!" Sounded a screeching voice over the speakers. Jack looked to a raised platform on which sat a small malformed creature on a dais protected by a Kinto and Kormak bodyguard wielding large axe-like polearms. This abominable creature was known as Kretch, and he was the master of the games.

"Time to break these boys up!" yelled Kretch, spittle cascading from his tiny razor-teethed mouth.

Then Jack saw them. Standing close to the bodyguards of Kretch, were a small handful of Terrans dressed in black. Yunakobē. He cursed under his breath.

A loud sound blared, and both fighters went to opposing side of the pit. Drex stretched his muscular arms and rolled his neck. Jack saw many new scars on his friend. A testament to his time in the pits. Both combatants breathed hard, sweat glistening on their exposed bodies.

"Seems our fighters has gotten a little fatigued. Let us give them some energy, shall we?" sputtered Kretch from his elevated seat. The repulsive little creature snickered and waved with his deformed hand, and in response a crane lowered two individuals into the pit, a Terran and a Kinto,

The Terran, a heavily tattooed man with an unkempt beard, went over to Drex, and after a short exchange, punched a syringe ungently into Drex's sizeable neck muscles. Drex's dark pupils widened, and his muscles flexed, and the veins in his body became clearly visibly for a few seconds as if fluorescent light went through them. A reaction one only saw from a large injection of Neuroamph. The strong stimulant washed away fatigue and pain, like dew under a burning sun.

When the two was done injecting Neuroamph they were hoisted from the pit. As soon as they set foot off the crane, the sound blared again and the two fighters crashed into each other once again, spurred on to bloodshed by their drug-induced strength. This time they fought more carelessly and with a brutality that tossed caution to the wind.

The small repulsive creature howled with glee, rotating in his seat as he grandiosely declared "Today we have a little pit surprise for our dedicated fans!"

A loud metallic banging noise was heard within the pit, and Kretch paused for dramatic effect. The two fighters stopped as well, their pupils wide and their breathing elevated from the drugs in their systems.

"I introduce to you,". Another pause. "The Shreeeeeedder!" Kretch declared excited, as a metal hatch was raised.

From the darkness within, a grotesque creature many times the size of Drex and the Thurkian, emerged. The sounds of the creature's ragged steps and rustling chains, seemed enhanced as the crowds had grown eerily silent.

The chained monstrosity roared; its wide maw filled with syringe like fangs. Its arms were long and bound in sinewy muscle. One hand was an elongated claw-like hand, while the other arm ended in a grotesque slicing blade made of sharpened bone. Jack found it unlikely that nature itself had created this terrifying creature. It was more likely some failed bio-engineered experiment. Or successful, depending on your outlook.

The silence was broken as people started cheering again, invigorated by the sudden change of events. As if on cue, the creature darted forward towards the fighting pair. Rather than moving in unison the Thurkian rammed his elbow into Drex's unexpected chin making him stagger. The creature responded immediately, lunging forward and shredding the stale air with its mismatched arms, while releasing an unnatural guttural screech, that sent cold shivers down Jack's spine.

Fool. They should work together...

Drex, caught off-guard from the sucker punch, displayed unnatural agility as he twisted and sprang, almost completely evading the creature's ferocious assault. Only the tips of its sharp claws found it's mark, cutting his chest superficially, resulting in just small trickles of blood.

As the creature turned for another assault, Drex grabbed one of the broken chains on the beast and jerked it free. In that, instant the Thurkian darted forward, trying to get an advantage on the monstrosity, but he lacked the speed of Drex, and the creature caught him with the clawed hand.

Closing its powerful elongated claws around his throat, the beast lifted him off the ground.

The Thurkian tried to pry open the grip of the beast, but to no avail. Then the beast screeched and pushed its sharp bone blade through the abdomen of its prey. The Thurkian roared in defiance and pain, as his stomach was sliced open and his entrails spilled on the floor. As his disemboweled carcass was dropped to the ground, the crowd cheered ferociously.