Day 241 – Dark Stars: Runaway, Part One – Short Story

The Players so far..

Zander Kane, once a trusted and highly decorated general for the United Federation, Kane betrayed not only his own race, but his own flesh and blood to join the Dark Collective, so he could be with the woman he loved. Now, he rides stardust and slipstreams, captaining the Betha, fighting for the collective, in hope of one day freeing the worlds from the federations ruling grasp.

Syin-To-Twenty-Seven (Sin), Betha’s sentient companion, through the link they share Sin can control and communicate between Betha and Zander, as well as accessing and sometimes controlling other forms of technology.

Gadamrie, a Golden Priestess in the Dark Collective and Zander’s lover, before the federation came to power Gadamrie boasted over one million hosts as part of her mind hive, she sacrificed her final host so Zander and her unborn seed, he carries, would survive.

Last time on Dark Stars…

After attempting to destroy a vital defense weapon for the United Federation, Zander and his crew found themselves prisoners of High Lord Quinn, somehow, Zander, with the aid of Sin, managed to escape Quinn clutches, but he was badly injured in the process, and, his crew save from Sin, perished.

And so we continue…

Zander slowly opens his eyes and is greeted by darkness, the hum of machines vibrate throughout the room, as well as the slowly steady breathing, of someone else within the room.

“You’re finally awake, we didn’t think you were going to make it back there,” a woman’s voice says from somewhere in the darkness, the voice sounds different, somehow, but he recognises it as Gadamrie’s non the less.

He tries in vain to lift his head, but lets it fall back into the pillow, as he tries to wet his dry lips with his tongue, “H-H-H…” His throat feels like it’s on fire, he quickly swallows to quell the pain, but instead feels like he’s swallowed a mouthful of razors, and let’s out a grimace of pain. “H-H-How long?” He manages to finally say.

“Four days,” she replies.

“Four days,” he repeats as he tries to sit up, the pain shoots through his body, and he collapses back onto the bed, stiffening with agony.

“Try to relax, you’ve been through a lot,” she says.

“H-How did, how did you make it out? I-I-I, I saw you light yourself up.”

“That doesn’t matter right now,” she says as her voice slowly comes closer, he sees her silhouette standing a few feet from his bed.

“But I saw you die,” he says, straining his head up from the pillow once again, fighting back the pain.

“Shhh my love,” she says, as she steps out of the darkness, he freezes in place, as he looks upon her, her face, her skin, are not that of the woman he remembers, but more, more like his, more human. “What’s wrong, Daddy?” She says.

He leaps up, sweat pouring from his body, his eyes search his quarters in a panic, he feels his heart racing a million miles an hour, and quickly places a hand on his stomach, feeling her movements below his skin.

“You’ve got to stop doing that.” He says softly, as he feels it move underneath his hand, like a fish trying to frantically flip itself back into water, suddenly the lights flick on and alarm bells sound out.

“Captain Kane, we have intruders aboard Betha,” Sin voice declares through his interlink, a device burrowed in behind his left ear. Zander leaps from his bed, grabbing his blaster as he does.

“Where are they?”

“Right outside your quarters,” Sin replies just as Zander slams his hand against the doors palm reader, he freezes in place, as the door springs open, and a dozen or more Federation soldiers spill in, knocking him to the ground, his blaster tumbles from his grasp and he finds himself pinned, with blasters pointed towards him.

“High Lord Quinn sends his regards,” one of them says.

To Be Continued Next Sunday…

Published by

Matthew Tonks

People are surprised when reading Matthew’s stories that he’s a sane forty something year old, happily married, father of one, employed full time and dream of dark disturbing things that any sane person would never even contemplate thinking of. But it's true, he’s toyed with writing for most of his adult life, but has always found the peg a writer must fit into is not the shape he wished to be. His writing can be described as lamenting, long, concussive (yes it smashes you in the head), compulsive, and stuffed with rhythmic communication and violence, let’s not forget the violence. His own opinion on his writing is this, “You see, I don't just want the words to seep into your mind, but into your soul, showing you images of blood and beauty through, volatile language, violence, sex, love and sin. My muse takes different shapes, and every now and then you can see her shining her wicked smile in some of my stories, tempting you with her promises, but ripping your heart out instead.” So have a look, and take a seat in my wayward ride, as you join me while I purge through, this twisted road of madness.

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