Jason Halstead - Voidhawk

Dexter set the ant down first, doing his best to be gentle with the unfamiliar design. He judged himself successful by the faint protest of groaning timbers when he settled the full weight on the rocky ground of the asteroid.

Kragor landed heavily a few moments later, cracking on of the landing struts on the Gnat and making Dexter cringe. The dwarf kicked the ladder over the edge and hurried down it, grinning like a fool.

“How many ships have you piloted?” Dexter asked him.

“Three,” Kragor said, still grinning. “Now.”

Dexter closed his eyes and sighed. Kragor spoke up again, “Of course the other two were thirty years or more back.”

Dexter felt a fresh pain creeping up his back. He turned away and headed towards the gnat. “Strip the bodies and get rid of them,” Dexter said. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“I can head back myself, does the ant have enough power?” Kragor asked.

“It’s about half full, might be enough to get you back if you’re careful. Be careful though, someone might recognize it.”

Kragor turned to look at it and stroked his beard. “Aye, good point… I’ll have to fix that.”

“Good job today, Captain!” Kragor called out as Dexter climbed up the ladder to the gnat.

At the top Dexter turned and grinned, his injuries partially forgotten at the warm glow being called a captain caused. “Thanks,” he said, feeling his cheeks warm. He grinned and said, “Now get them off my ship!”

Kragor laughed and waved at him then turned to go and tend to the bodies. Dexter watched him for a moment then turned and reclaimed his helm. A moment later he was flying again and making his way carefully out of the asteroid field to return to New Haven. Along the way he spent the majority of his time thinking up a good story to explain both his injuries and those of his ship.

Dexter’s story had sounded good to him. Good enough, he judged to insure his only problems would be in returning to pick up Kragor. His superiors proved more suspicious, experienced, and wise to the fanciful dreams of a young pilot, however.

Under threat of torture he confessed that he had been venturing out beyond the Federation space and accepting bribes from pirates. He insisted the information he shared was either false or inconsequential, though that earned him no favor with the Federation officers. The damage to his gnat and to himself had occurred when his contacts grew tired of him not giving them proper results. He’d had to fight them off and barely escaped with his life.

With Dexter’s story finally accepted, he was sentenced to two weeks in jail. He was also stripped of all Federation rank and privilege. He accepted the punishment stoically, not giving any hint to the relief and elation coursing through his veins. He had escaped death, dismemberment, torture, and even managed to get out of the Federation before his three year contract was up.

Dexter was relinquished to a community cell with several others, most of them short term. The smell was anything but pleasant, what with unwashed bodies and a poorly maintained hole in the corner of the cell for waste. The food often reminded Dexter of what lay in the shallow waste-hole, offering little in the way of nourishment, taste, or a desire to eat it. In spite of the conditions Dexter had a light heart and endured it well.

Fights broke out daily. Sometimes a result of overcrowding and tempers but more often they were centered around a blond elven woman. It was unusual to find a lone elf in Federation space, especially a woman. Dexter found it less unusual to see that her attitude was big enough to stretch all the way back to the Elven Empire. Dexter did his best to stay out of the conflicts; he avoided the elf because elves were trouble.

Why else would the elves have their own empire and be at odds more often than not with the Federation? He could only assume she was a spy, tossed in jail either to await a public hanging or simply to rot away. By the time twelve days had passed he had seen enough of the brutal beatings and her valiant attempts at fending off the beasts. Each fight ended with the attacker on the floor, beaten. The elf stood above, her knuckles cracked and bleeding but the glare in her eyes keeping those still conscious from daring to rise.

The twelfth day brought a change to the bizarre ritual. Three thugs were thrown into the cell and everyone knew enough to keep their distance. Left to their own devices, they noticed the elf and whispered among one another with malicious glances in her direction. That night they made their move, attacking her. She broke the nose of one and snapped the wrist of another before they finally succeeded where others had failed. One held her while another beat her to the point of unconscious. The third one, the one with the broken nose, ripped her shirt and displayed her for his amusement, then yanked down her pants and untied his own breeches.

Angry at the unfair treatment of the woman, Dexter intervened. His fist smashed into the back of the broken-nosed man’s neck. The ruffian dropped like a bag of wheat to the stone floor and before he could recover, Dexter drove his foot into the man’s ribs. Dexter winced at the ironic pain in his own unhealed ribs from the force of the assault.

He turned to the other two and stared at them, breathing heavily. “Lots of men tried to have their fun with her, and she’s beat every one of them down. You want her, you can have her, but you go one on one to see what she thinks of you first.”

Fresh life flared into the elf. She struggled anew and smashed her head back into the face of the man holding her, breaking his nose as well. She twisted away from him and punched the other man in the throat, nearly crushing his windpipe. He stumbled backwards against the wall grasping his throat and forcing harsh breaths through his constricted airway. She turned to the man behind her and drew back her fist. Dexter caught it before she threw the punch. “I think he’s found something better to interest him.”

The man nodded, blood gushing over his chin and shirt. He pinched his nose to stem the bleeding and stumbled away. A few of the other prisoners he tripped over cursed at him.

The elven warrior woman stared at him for a long moment and then yanked her hand free of his. She impressed him with her strength and her beauty, even if it was a bit bruised and bloodied at the moment. Dexter turned away from her respectfully when she reached to pull her pants back up and retie them.

Fingers pinched painfully into the back of his neck and he inhaled sharply. The surprise turned quickly to pain as the pressure increased and it took every bit of willpower he had to keep his knees from buckling

“Never turn your back on me,” she said, her common only slightly accented.

“Sorry,” Dexter hissed, holding up his hands.

She let go after a final squeeze and he turned to face her, rubbing the sore spots on his neck. “Just trying to be a gentleman,” he said, scanning her now covered form.

She tied the tattered ends of her shit in a knot under her breast bone, the front open to the plunge, revealing a pleasant curve of cleavage despite her slight chest. “You’re not, so don’t.”

Dexter raised an eyebrow, then chuckled. He nodded. “Fair enough. Dexter Silvercloud’s the name.”

She looked at his offered hand a long moment then at last shook it. Again Dexter was impressed with her grip. Her hands were callused too, the hands of a warrior.

“How long you here?” he asked her, moving back towards a wall. The gasping thug regained his breath enough to scamper away from them. The other thug, remained unconscious on the floor.

“I’m to be tried for espionage,” she said, as if that explained it all.

“Espionage?” Dexter asked, surprised that his fanciful imaginings might have been true.