Protection Fare

Starshatter scenes

Flanked by his security detail, the Taz’aran captain walked down what passed for a street in this miserable excuse of a village. One rather small assortment of huddled, premanufactured domes and large containers, refurbished to house sentients or animals. With population of less than a hundred, the tiny colony could hardly call itself such, yet these Hinams survived and even thrived.

When his new flagship (a recently acquired Taz’aran corvette) passed through this star system, the captain immediately ordered this barely livable planetoid scanned. Corsairs like him were always on the look for habitable spots where they could hide their hoards or build hideouts.

However, this particular rock was occupied and he thought of simply leaving the system. Fringe space was a great expanse and little planets like this one, quite common. On a second scan, the intrepid Taz’aran discovered a number of items, which, if acquired, could rack more than a tidy profit for him and his crew.

The locals operated a few modified shuttles and an armored dropship, equipped with old particle-beam guns. Nothing which his significantly larger, better armed, and energy shielded warship could fear from. He no longer limped around with his sluggish cargo hauler, otherwise these pesky Hinams would fly circles around him.

“Empress Mantle!” – Exclaimed the captain, noting how finely calibrated were the Terran particle-beam emitters.

Though his old scrapheap of a ship was ungainly, she boasted large cargo hold and big crew complement. Since his last raid was overwhelmingly successful, he sold everything and procured one of the many second hand Taz’aran patrol corvettes available on the Fringe.

Her last owner overhauled the vessel completely and he spent nearly everything he stole so far, but the spacecraft was worth every decat. Twice the guns of his old scrapper; fast-tracking point defense turrets, a spacious hangar, not to mention the rather thick armorplating. Which meant that finally, he could pillage small colonies, and board larger starships.

For a few, insanely slow ticking star-seconds, the captain thought that the locals would actually attack.

These Hinams weren’t suicidal and, after witnessing the full power of his corvette, asked for terms. Rubbing his gloved hands with glee the captain laughed, a huge grin on his face. He would offer them peace, yet the price they’d had to pay would be steep.

Swiftly he deployed on the surface surrounded by a contingent of his best star troopers. He delivered his terms to a huddled group of old females, grandparents, and... children.

Even if they were startled by the sum he asked the Hinams kept their mouths tightly shut. Indeed, the captain thought himself safe with all his troops surrounding him, yet one better be safe than sorry. The powerful shield belt he wore protected him from small arms, and these people did not pack anti-armor weaponry. He made sure to scan for such before landing with the shore party.

After only a few star-minutes had passed, one female asked for three days so they could gather the ransom money. She called the sum protection fee instead, which induced a long bout of chuckle from his men. The magnanimous Taz’aran agreed, but not before he made sure to articulate with perfect clarity that if they are short, their children would make the difference.

Two star-days later, he and his crew in high spirits, they departed for the colony.

Right on the third day his starship emerged from hyperspace, hidden from view behind a nearby asteroid. Before his defection the captain served the Taz’aran Imperium for many years, and knew how to avoid potential traps. Following a few hours of careful scanning, his bridge officers assured him that there was no ambush and he immediately repositioned his craft.

In orbit directly above the village, if needed his corvette could lay down a barrage of beam fire. Another scan showed him that there was one more Hinam down there, but he thought nothing of it. One, two, three; however many of them sprung out of their miserable holes, the captain had hundreds of armed to the faceplates star troopers.

What could a single Hinam male do, anyways?

This time, the Captain went out of his dropship with the shield belt activated and on its maximum setting. His star troopers were instructed to open fire at will, the second any of them noticed anything suspicious on their scanners. He very much doubted that the Hinams would try anything since the thin sheet metal of these domes and containers could offer literally no cover whatsoever to any would be ambusher. Nor would the ubiquitous piles of trash he saw scattered across the village serve them in this regard.

Powerful beam rifles and Taz’aran snub guns would pierce these too, through and through.

The Captain walked down the main village road, yet this time something was different. The colonists were not gathered in a huddled mass or looked in any way intimidated by him and his troopers. Instead they walked about their business, exchanged everyday banter, as if there wasn’t any danger whatsoever. There were a number of colorful wooden street stalls all along the main street, and the numerous Hinams loudly peddled whatever puny things wretched peons like them would.

“Naive fools! They know not that their end is nigh.” – he snickered behind his faceplate, one hand on his particle-beam pistol, a crooked grin on his dishonest face.

He decided to entertain himself and check inside their biggest building. It was an assortment of different prefabricated domes and containers, a colorful holo-ad floating above the entrance which spelled “Frog ass Saloon.” The Fringe Speak letters shifted into animals from time to time, their jeering eyes ogling him and his troopers.

To be perfectly sure that this was not some elaborate sensor ghost, he ordered his starship to scan it. Positive that everything was as seen, and informed the “bonus” Hinam male was here, he entered. Shielded, he needn’t worry from one old woman and a single man, so the Captain left his personal guards outside. Of course, they could rush in quickly or cover him by shooting through the thin walls with ease.

The big hovel was just as miserable on the inside, as the Captain assumed. Gloomy holo-lights floated above each table and six of them illuminated the bar. Behind it, he saw that female who accepted his terms; not a care in the world, she casually wiped the bar with a vacfoam rag.

“I am afraid that your time is up, Hinams.” – The Captain stated with glee, and gestured with his gloved hand encompassing the entirety of her village.

“Pay up and my valiant star troopers will ensure that none of your children go... missing” – added he, hand now comfortably resting on his belt.

“We thought it over and decided that your terms are not acceptable.” – instead of quivering in fear, she answered with a calm face.

“If that was a joke, your attempt at being snarky will cost you, Hinam. Quite a lot more than we previously agreed.” – He was confident this was her last ditch attempt to negotiate either a smaller sum, or plead for more days to collect the money.

“Did I stutter?! Take your stumblers and GIT!” – She said this with ill-conceived despite, her hand holding the dirty rag pointed at the entrance.

“Woman, have you gone mad?! I have hundreds of heavily-armed star troopers and the particle-beam cannons of my starship are aimed at your pitiful village.” – The captain grumbled, eyes squinted behind his transparent faceplate.

If he expected the woman to concede her rather snarky attempt at bluff and negotiation, fall on her knees and beg him for mercy, what happened next surprised him. The man his scanners detected earlier, he acted completely oblivious of both the Captain and his troopers’ well-armed presence.

Comfortably seated at the largest table, he was otherwise happily devouring a big plate of assorted meats and veggies, a pitcher of something foamy and alcoholic at arm’s reach. No weapons on his person, only the cutlery he’d been so far using to cut chunks of cooked meat and stuff them in his mouth.

Following the Captain’s intimidating declaration, this burly man calmly chewed his bite and took another big sip from the flagon. Beefy hands no longer holding cutlery he pointed outside and head half-turned to look at him, asked:

“‘Ere are dei?”

The Captain blinked, confused not by this Hinam’s poor speech, but the sheer audacity of his question. The man nonchalantly scratched his bushy red beard; one meaty finger pushed his mundane-looking glasses up.

“Muh’ shades, evan dey can’t elp.” – The Hinam canted his head, sighed and watered his mouth, chugging up what little was left in his flagon in one go.

“With but one snap of my fingers I can summon one platoon of heavily-armed troopers. They are here, beside the entrance of this shithole of a bar!” – Loudly proclaimed the captain, annoyed by the man’s bullheaded attitude.

The bulky Hinam stood up but slowly. He put on his strange-looking black jacket, rolled up his sleeves and then snapped with his fingers. He did that not once, but thrice and turned on the spot, an obnoxiously snide grin on his face. That gave the Captain more than one chance to study the emblem stamped on the jacket’s back.

Strange as the weirdest of Hinam creations he’d ever heard about, the jacket sported a stylized dark-feathered bird with long beak in the center, wings spread and blood dripping claws.

“Henlooo, spechal spacey troopars, ‘ere are ye?!”

“I order you to seize the cargo, immediately!” – The Captain ordered in his comms.

However, instead of the usual and loud “Yes m’lord!” paired with the clangor of armored feet, he received one rather unexpected answer.

For a couple of star-seconds he could hear static and then came... gargling. The Captain fought in real battles, and someone like him could never mistake the sound of men dying. He rapidly drew his sidearm and dashed on the dusty street, frantically searching for his troopers.

It didn’t take long to see the piled up broken bodies of his star troopers and many new Hinams who wore the same style of clothes as the one who mocked him. As swiftly as he could, the captain turned around pistol ready to shoot, yet somehow the burly man stood beside him!

With one, powerful slap the Hinam disarmed him and then... then the Captain was given free flight lessons. All he could do was screech for help and pull his vibroblade. His shield belt had saved him from the fall, but a mere second after landing in the dust like a discarded piece of scrap, the Taz’aran was punched.

The Captain’s reinforced shield emitter could not withstand this attack and he wailed. His torso hurt like nothing he’d ever felt, though that was nothing compared to the pain which followed when he attempted to breathe. He nearly choked from all the blood which was swiftly filling his lungs. Even more screaming white pain followed his futile attempt to draw his sword.

Both of his armored hands were broken, bent in an angle most unnatural!

From this position, the Captain could easily see that everyone he came down on the planetoid with was dead. Bulky Hinam men and their athletic women carried looted gear and weapons. Some of his otherwise heavily-armed star troopers lay naked, their armored spacesuits diligently being stashed in big containers.

A Taz’aran would say anything in order to save his or her skin.

“I... cough... I have many thousands of decats! I will... cough... pay you as much as you want!”

There was no immediate answer, only the clink of equipment being carried around, the stomping of boots, and the fleshy thud of limp, Taz’aran corpses.

Only now he noticed that the colorful market stalls he mocked in his mind not so many minutes ago were nowhere to be seen. Even with all precautions taken, he’d walked into a trap! One of such skilled construction that multiple scans could not pierce through holographic decoys and sensor ghosts.

These deadly, armed to the teeth Hinams made themselves look like unsightly piles of trash and plain wooden boxes...

The atmo was thin, his warship’s orbit quite low, and with waning breath the Captain attempted to order reinforcements, perhaps even a particle-beam barrage. Not only he didn’t get an answer, but he observed a swarm of tiny dots which surrounded his corvette. Those looked suspiciously like dropships, accompanied by many hundreds of strike craft, perhaps even exosuit-wearing star marines.

It was beyond clear that these brutes had an ambushing force is space too!

“Ooooh, I see nahw... Dat fartfaced fuck offars muh mone, an as much as I wants, evan! Tanks ya, but naaah.” – snickered the bulky man .

“I have... literally tens of tho... cough... NO, I can... wheeze... give you one million platinum decats!” – The Captain pleaded, desperation spilling from his every word since he lay in a big puddle of his own blood.

“Don’ nee-em.” – His murderer stated with glee.

The Hinam proceeded to pilfer his priceless shield belt, bucked it on his waist, and fiddled with its controls. He picked up the profusely bleeding corsair with no visible effort, holding him by the neck. Only now, after the Captain saw his bloodied face reflected off the Hinam’s goggles, did he realize that the end was nigh.

“You... ugrhhhh... they are paying... cough... you for protection. We are... cough... the same, Hina...”

“Neva in a billion years will muh, or ane of the Crows take mone from ‘ard werken people!” – The Hinam shook him like a bag of dirty laundry, one hand pointing at nearby colonists.

“Honist mone, a propa’ protection fare is onle due when dei are up on deir feet, not bifor.” – With righteous indignation blurted out the man, his grinning, bearded mug mere inches away.

“Nahw, I am told ye ogled these kiddies ‘ere.” – The shipless Captain heard another snap, and a painful scream left his mouth.

“Bikars don like slavin’ fucks or ane degenerate who dares harm kiddies by dat mattar.” – Informed him the Hinam and snapped another of the Captain’s ribs.

“We have... glrhhhh... allies! When they find you... killed me... they will... cough... come for you! The Taz’aran Imperium... ugh... they are mighty beyond anything you... gnaarlh... imagine. They always strike back... in force... aaaarrrghh... with ships and troopers... cough... and they number in the billions!”

“Mighte ya say? Shipies an troopars dei have an in deir billions, ya say?!”

The bearded man crushed a few more ribs and then discarded the choking on his blood corsair like a dirty sock.

The Hinam reached for his comms and asked:

“Did ya hear what he said? Tell muh we gots dat sweet nav-data of deirs!”

“Yep, we have evrithin’ Boss.” – Immediately replied a soft, female voice.

“Goodun job, all of ye! Nahw, git redi boyos and girlies, cos we’re goin on a raid. Them Tazzies betta hav big shippies, mechies, tankses, an armorid troopars all shine like.” – He boisterously stated, inducing a choir of similar cheers from his bikars.

Instead of leaving on one of his recently landed dropships the man ogled a nearby pile of corpses. He found a comfortable spot, sat, and watched the Taz’aran agonize for a good five star-minutes. When the Captain was no more the bikar stood up, gave the colonists a friendly wave and calmly walked away.

Her cart stacked full of bodies destined for the colony’s fertilizer machine, one of the locals heard the biker mumble:

“First of all, it is not Hinam, but Human, you wozzie-shit-gobbling slaving scum. Second... If them oh-so-mighty Taz’aran invasion enthusiasts are your allies, then they deserve everything that’s coming their way. To the last railgun round, laser beam, megasteel-clad fist, and nuke!”

***

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