Blackjack Wayward

Part One

“In Xanadu did Kubla Khan a stately pleasure-dome decree.”





Chapter One

I was reminded of Cool Hand Luke’s first words from the first time we’d ended up in Shard World: “Why does it always have to be an alien world?”

This floating island was new to me, and guiding by where the Lightbringers citadel lay, I was far from the small alien village we’d encountered, where we had defeated the Mist Army. My new home was a barren patch of rock, devoid of plant or animal life, but more importantly, lacking water. Instead of killing me outright, they had banished me to a slow and painful death by dehydration.

I wasn’t going to let them win. I wasn’t going to die on a small sliver of rock in the middle of nowhere. That wasn’t going to be my end. I had to find a way back, find a way to stop Dr. Zundergrub and keep Apogee safe. Being marooned on a Bok globule lightyears from Earth wasn’t as big a deal as one might think. Mr. Haha and I had built a machine to return us to Earth, and while I lacked his near-limitless abilities now, I still had everything I needed to build another. Maybe the first one I had built was still there, waiting for me to find it floating on some distant shard. Either way, I was getting out of this shithole. I was getting it out and making it back.

The first thing I had to do, though, was find my way off this rock.

I had little in the way of materials, just what I wore: an orange prison jumpsuit, white cotton shirt and briefs, and the metal manacles and chains that bound me. Freed from the power dampening-field generators, I could at last exert my full strength and remove the handcuffs. I tore the top of my jumpsuit, crumpled it into a ball, and used the twisted metal braces as flint and steel, lighting a small fire. I searched the rocky ground for minerals and found enough carbonized ores to make a respectable bonfire.

I had the crazy idea of trying to attract one of those whale-manta ray things that had almost eaten me whole on my first trip here, to somehow subdue it. It wasn’t much of a plan, but I was desperate, and nothing was going to deter me. One of the bigger whale beasties flew near but rolled off, uninterested. I made a huge ruckus, hooting and hollering, hoping to lure the creature, but it turned fast away, scared by something that approached behind me.

I turned to see what it could be, and my gut clenched. It was an open-decked ship, teeming with armed warriors, soaring with the winds that billowed into its many sails.

The Mist Army had found me.

The sleek ship circled twice before coming to a stop alongside the rocky island. Lined along the gunwales were dozens of warriors, bristling with weapons and eyeing me like hungry pirates staring down a fat merchantman in the Age of Sail. The ship was actually similar to a sailing vessel from Earth, with a wooden hull some one hundred feet in length, painted jet-black and adorned from bow to stern with brass and copper. She was rigged like a brig with two masts and a spanker trailing from the main. What was odd were outrigger masts jutting from the hull to each side. She had another full set of masts, extruding at low angles beneath what would have been the waterline to port and starboard, raked back to give the ship even greater speed. She was a fine lady, elegant and fast, and from her open deck, she boasted half a dozen cannon on each side, and a pair of long guns protruded from the top of the foredeck.

As the ship came to a stop a few hundred yards from the floating shard, the crew began a terrible chant, accompanied with the banging of their weapons on the bulwark. It was a terrible sound, which I knew translated to “death” in the alien’s gruff languages. Like the Mist Army I had encountered almost a year ago, the crew of the ship was a motley gathering of many species, from reptilian to mammalian, from bipedal creatures to slithering worm-like creatures. They slammed on the sides of the ship rhythmically, roaring in their different languages in a symphony of death. A few of the crew busied themselves unloosing a longboat from the main deck, bringing it alongside where a dozen warriors boarded led by the ship captain. I could tell little of the man, save he was bipedal, tall, and wearing a traditional embroidered long blue coat with white facings and scarlet epaulets, blue breeches, and long white socks. Atop his head he wore a tricorn hat of similar blue material, all in all giving him a very traditional Royal Navy look.

I took to the highest point on the shard, a small rocky outcropping that would serve as my last stand. Then again, if they had ranged weapons I was done for. But hopefully this would appeal to their warrior instincts, to their desire to defeat the legendary “Brackshock” as they had butchered my name. I watched them “beach” their longboat on my little island and disembark. As they came closer, I noticed the soldiers’ garb was uneven, with no two men wearing the same clothing, nor wielding similar weapons. In fact, they appeared more like slovenly pirates than a crew of Mist Army warriors. Only their captain wore anything resembling formal military clothing and, as the group came closer, I realized that he was actually a she. Humanoid in most respects, save for her lilac skin and reversed lower legs, more like those of a satyr. She had a pair of horns that twisted from the sides of her head and her facial features oblong and spread, with large reptilian eyes.

The captain stood at the base of my rock and shouted up at me in commanding fashion. The others continued their rumbling death chant, though low enough to not disrupt her.

I took a quick headcount and noted fifteen warriors, four of which looked like more than a match for me single-handed. One was a ridiculously massive, green reptilian biped, with malformed tiny lower limbs, so he basically walked with his hands. Atop his brawny shoulders was a formation of eyestalks that gazed in every direction at once. For weapons he had the equivalent of a brass knuckle in each hand, which also doubled as his shoes. His arms were trunks, though, as wide as I was in my shoulders, and each fist was the size of a ripe pumpkin. Taking a punch from that guy was a bad idea, but I strolled down the hill and pointed at him then at myself.

“Him and me,” I told the captain, hoping she would understand and welcome the fight. The secret I didn’t want to clue them into was that once their champion was down, once I got the blood rushing through my heart, I was going to take them all out, commandeer that skiff, and take the wheel of their pirate ship all for myself.

Laughter broke through the contingent, a strange combination of wheezes, whistles, and guffaws.

“You’re afraid I’m going to hurt your boy?” I taunted, hoping someone would understand my language. No one did, and the merriment continued at my expense. Stepping closer, I came right up to the captain and pointed at the big fellow again, then at myself. Then I smashed two fists together.

“I fight him,” I said. “I win, you let me go.”

There was no emotion from the green thing. It was more concerned with a small bit of moss at his feet.

The captain smiled and cocked one eyebrow, revealing a playful streak. She spoke in a strange and melodic tongue, reminiscent of the French language in its fluid elegance. But I couldn’t understand anything she said. The crew laughed as she finished, then, explaining to me with physical gestures as one would a small child, she agreed, but she pointed at the big green bastard and shook her head, instead stepping aside to reveal the meanest sonofabitch I have ever seen in my life.

The captain’s champion was a creature of death, its face stricken in a rictus grimace of partially denuded bone, lacking lips to cover his toothy maw, too little flesh spread over a massive skull, staring at me with a trio of emerald eyes that were like chiseled stone alit in flame. While not as imposing as the warrior I had chosen, this fellow was almost as tall as I was, with a long, stringy mane of oily hair spilling down his back like a cloak. His armor was more medieval than futuristic, unpolished and damaged, with shoulder spikes that jutted forth, rotting skulls impaled on them, trophies that boasted his prowess. His right arm was a vascular river delta wrapped around raw muscle with which he wielded a two-handed mace carved from heavy bone and adorned with bits of dried blood and flesh. The handle was wrapped with rotted skin, and a ten-inch spike projected from the working end. His other arm was vestigial, half the size of his muscled right, but with it my opponent wielded an armored claw that was almost camouflaged by his chest armor. He held back deceptively, as if inviting me to attack from that direction. But it was his lipless mouth that was most disturbing; a permanent drool of brownish pasty mass, like a mixture of peanut butter and crackers, spattered all over his beard, chin and chest. The congealed goo swayed in thick ropes as the creature attempted to talk with a hissing gruel, more like two rocks crushed against each other than a form of conversation. He had a stop-and-go gait, with an odd neck bob; his upper body was still every half-step, while his feet rushed to steady him.

“This the guy I have to beat?” I asked the Captain, and she smiled, replying in her language with what I figured was an affirmative.

They were an odd couple, the tall, elegant alien that led them standing beside the armored warrior, savage and feral. She was confident, and why shouldn’t she be? Her champion was a juggernaut, built low and strong, a veteran of countless battles, and undoubtedly undefeated in single-man combat.

The Captain said something the others found hilarious, and it goaded them to start their terrible death chant again, inciting their warrior and trying to intimidate me. But my attention was steeled on the three-hundred-pound monster that ambled closer to me. I wasn’t fooled by his old-man shuffle walk for one damned second. It was a lie, more trickery from a foe I wasn’t about to underestimate. I stepped forward and the crew circled around, forming an arena for our impending combat.

I had not used my strength in over a year, kept mostly in shackles under power dampeners, and now I had to fight for my life, weaponless, against a foe as imposing as any I had encountered. He scampered closer, working the crowd and reveling in their adulation. To his companions, this fight was a foregone conclusion. A smallish imp-like female wormed through the throng carrying an open wooden case into which the crew would throw stone coins and receive a wooden chit to quantify their bet. I doubt many put money on me. The imp came into the impromptu arena, moving with a graceful gait that accentuated her shapely figure, to the cheers and roars of all those gathered. Their warrior and I were of no concern to the crowd amid the beauty’s enrapturing moves.

She strolled into the no man’s land between her crewmate and me and spoke in a language as strange as any I had ever heard. Her voice was as seductive as her pose and demeanor, and she worked the crowd up to a roar as she walked up to my opponent and raised his good arm in victory. They began the death chant once more, the rhythmic staccato of weapons banging on armor and clashing on shields thrumming all around me.

The imp crossed the distance between us and paused just a few feet away, letting me catch a good look for the first time. She was a biblical succubus, a mixture of demon and woman, dressed in low-cut leather trousers and high boots that belied a flawless figure, with a flowing white blouse tied across her chest, revealing her slim midriff and doing little to conceal her small, firm breasts. She had a golden sash around her waist from which a long curved scimitar hung in an embroidered leather scabbard adorned with silver etchings. Silver was her bling of choice, with several rings and earrings, bracers, and an impressive torque that hung from her neck. Despite her allure, she was a petite thing, with short black hair slicked back away from her lovely face. Her facial features themselves were sharp and elf-like; even the upper lobes of her ears were elongated toward a pointed tip. She was a thing of beauty, as lovely as any woman I had ever laid eyes on, though she had reddish black skin, devious red-glowing eyes that were devoid of an iris, and sharp, pointed teeth, more like fangs than anything else, layered behind her full, luscious lips.

She sauntered toward me, like a model strutting the catwalk, but something about my demeanor and posture checked her, making her come to an abrupt stop. The imp did well to conceal her last minute nerves, cocking her hips to one side and crossing her arms across her chest, maximizing her cleavage.

She said something that made the host break into laughter. I softened my stance with my fists at my hips. That made her smile and come closer, placing her clawed hand on my chest and circling around me, a long nail trailing across my upper body. She paused behind me, pressing herself against my body and sniffing the back of my neck. I have to admit it felt wonderful with her upper body squeezed tight against the small of my back. She staggered away, pretending to be overcome with her desire for me. The crew ate it up, engulfing us with laughter, and she turned to the captain clutching her breasts and groin as if unable to contain herself.

Whatever she told the captain sent the crowd into stitches, and even my opponent was barely able to stand, doubled over in laughter. The captain’s reply, hardly audible over the ruckus, kept them going, and the imp just shrugged, doing a bad job of concealing her smile, and patted my face. She strolled back to her companions, drawing hoots and whistles from them all. She took her wooden box back and drew a stone coin from the folds of her blouse, pointing at me before tossing it in with the other bets. The crew was suddenly silent, that she would bet against one of their members, and my opponent spat on the floor at her feet.

The captain took control of her crew with a wave of her hand. She pointed at Ugly, and he nodded, then pointed at me and got the same response. Then she slammed her hands together, saying what I could only guess meant “Fight!” and the warrior rushed forward.

I charged to meet him, proud and angry, eager to tear into something after months of inactivity, after being on the shelf while the world spun past me. I roared like a maddened lion, my hands reaching for him to show him who was boss, but he was faster than he looked, swinging that bone hammer before I could cross the distance. I flinched, raising my left shoulder, and caught the mace head square in the deltoid. The brutal impact hit me with a thunking thwap that sent a jolt of pain through my upper body. Checking my forward momentum and sending me feeling laterally into the dirt, the warrior didn’t relent. He jumped into the air for a finishing move that would crush my skull. Old reflexes woke up and I managed to avoid getting pulped, rolling to my feet, my equilibrium struggling to compensate. The blow struck with such force it cratered the ground, showering me with rock shards and dust. The mace head was firmly wedged into the ground, and I didn’t hesitate, charging from his left side and readying a haymaker that would stop the fight in one blow.

He was ready for it, and his vestigial left hand fired out, smacking me in the face despite a flinching move to protect myself. The arm was thin and tentacular, coiled and hidden, but powerful just the same. The weapon was a sharp-looking bladed glove-scythe, and it left a bleeding gash across my chin. The long tentacle circled around me, moving behind before slashing again and stitching me across the chest and drawing blood. The two cuts were slight, as my skin is tougher than most, but he had drawn first blood. He strained and finally ripped the mace from the ground, pointing it at me with what must have passed for a menacing grin. The stone mace head was cracked and crumbling, but he seemed not to notice, rushing in with a wild swing. I ducked, but he spun and swung again, driving me back. The tentacle arm extended, keeping his bladed glove behind me and the mace in front, taunting me with both as he goaded the crowd. They sensed the kill coming, and I knew he would have a special maneuver ready to give them their money’s worth. I looked over at the Captain, but she conversed casually with a fellow that looked rather human. The sexy imp was refusing any more bets, as if there was no money to be had on me and no money to be won on the obvious winner.

My opponent gave me a second respite while the rabble’s mayhem egged him on, but after that brief moment, he crouched again and prepared for the inevitable. His tentacle was held high behind me, more a lure for my attention than anything. The blades could slice my skin open, and if they could do that, they could kill me. He also had the hammer, and I expected a double attack at any moment. The only way for me to survive was to outsmart him, use his own efforts against him.

Then he struck.

First with the tentacle, as I had expected, a downward stab at my midsection, intending to herd me to his right, toward a mighty cross with his mace that was sure to kill me. Instead of avoiding the tentacle’s slash, though, I stepped into it, catching the heavy gloved arm and getting a nice cut on my left upper thigh as a reward. I had little time to register the pain, exerting all my strength on his weaker arm and using it to block the attack.

The blow was devastating, and it felt like holding a punching bag for Bruce Lee on a full flying kick, but in this case, his own arm was the punching bag. I stumbled back, almost losing my footing, and fell to one knee, ready to strike. The warrior howled in pain, retracting the smashed tentacle, still holding the crumpled remains of the bladed fist. His limb was a rended pulp of flesh and black, gooey blood. He stepped back defensively, cradling his injured limb.

The fight’s momentum had swung my way and I charged him, eager to inflict some pain. To his credit, he swung the mace, but it was a haphazard, desperate maneuver and I batted it aside without breaking stride. The warrior’s eyes widened as I grabbed the shoulder straps of his armor and slammed my skull into his hideous face. The explosion of blood almost blinded me, black liquid spraying onto my face and chest, but I wasn’t done. I picked up his dazed form with my fingers clenched around his neck, hefting his entire frame with just my left hand, and I reared back, imagining a point past his skull and aiming for it.

“Et’rethagg!” the captain shouted, stepping forward and drawing her blade. I almost hit the guy anyway, Despite being semi-conscious, the beaten monster clawed at my wrist with his undamaged hand. I eased my grip on his neck and let him collapse to his knees, still holding his damaged tentacle arm.

The crowd was silent for the first time, though a few of the tougher fellows drew their swords or pistols, unsure what the captain had in mind for me. My defeated foe gawked at me in awe. I guess the idea of an unarmed convict smacking him down with such authority was alien to him. Tough shit.

“You’re all right,” I said, braving a smile. “So who’s next?” I taunted. I was tired and a bit bloody, but starting to get my second wind. If I had to take the whole host, if I had to fight all fifteen or so that had come on the longboat, I’d most likely die, but they’d regret ever tangling with me.

“No reason to be scared,” I continued, taking a few steps toward them. “I’m Blackjack, and I got all the time in the world.”

I expected that to incite them into fury, goad some of the dumber ones into charging. I was hoping to hurl a couple off the narrow shard before the cannier fighters closed on me, but what I wasn’t ready for was the confusion and stupefied dread that was clear despite their fundamentally alien features.

The captain lowered her sword, “Brackshock?” she asked, and I saw terror in the back of her throat, noticed her take a half step back.

“That’s right, angel,” I told her. “I’m Blackjack. Brackshock,” I added, pounding a fist on my chest.

I was expecting them to run off and board the long boat, to rush their ship and bombard me at range with the heavy guns she sported on either side. Conversely, they could charge me, try to overwhelm me and hope for a lucky shot. Instead, they did the last thing I expected. They roared in adulation, sheathing their weapons and surrounding me as if I had hit a walk-off homerun. I expected it to be an attack; a strategy to lower my defenses, but the conglomerate of disparate species mobbed me, saluting me and clambering over each other just to get to touch me. Even the warrior I had defeated came up to me and placed his massive, clawed hand on my shoulder in salute, though I could barely hear what he said over the clamor of his companions. The imp girl wound through the crowd and jumped into my arms, kissing me deeply and drawing the laughter of everyone with whatever she said.

The crew parted for the captain to approach. She ambled up to me, motioning for the imp to leave my side, and then waved another of the crew closer. This was the fellow she had spoken to earlier, who from a distance looked mostly human, but up close, it was clear he was nothing of the sort. His head was much taller, oblong with an oversized forehead. His eyes were white, lacking an iris, and he had no ears beneath his long white hair. I saw what looked like chin whiskers jutting from his jaw line, but as he came closer, I noticed his mouth wasn’t where it should be, in front of his face and beneath his nose. Instead, this creature’s mouth was under its jaw, just beside where the Adam’s apple would go on a man; dripping beside it were some sort of feelers or whiskers that that looked like they were used to help him eat. His hands were also strange, ending in rows of barbells that made it almost impossible for him to grasp anything. Instead, he carried a clear, rounded crystal that he held out to me.

He mumbled a meeping noise that came from under his chin, and the only word I could recognize was ‘Brackshock,’ the same old Shard World bastardization of my super name. I expected the crystal to light up or something, but it did nothing, and after a few seconds, the newcomer just pocketed it and motioned to me saying my name again, as if verifying it once and for all. The captain smiled, rushing the space between us and grasping my shoulders with deceptive strength.

“Brackshock!” she shouted, joined by the others in applause and blandishment. The captain took one of my arms and raised it high in victory, yelling my name again.

And that’s how I joined a space pirate crew.