The Adventures of Bradley Brackett

Episode 26

2011-11-15T20:21:00.000-08:00

DEAD IN SPACE
PART FOURTEEN

Brackett and Ginsberg stood in a cargo bay on the derelict ship, Fortuitous, the plundering crew of the Rigel Dawn in their custody. Tension filled the air of the cargo bay as all eyes were glued to corridor S, where misshapen shadows flittering along the wall told them all that someone or something was advancing toward them.

“Now who are these guys?” Brackett wondered aloud.

“Jada?” O’Kayne rasped in an urgent whisper.

The Thrubian female raised one hand to her temple as she reached out with mental powers unique to her species. “I’m sorry Captain; there is no consciousness there to communicate with!”

A dozen humanoid creatures shambled one-by-one through the doorway. Their flesh was a sickly green-black, and covered the bipeds from head to foot in poorly-formed mounds and lumps. They had no discernable eyes or mouths. Nor were they of uniform height or width. Some of them boasted only a single good arm, the other fused in whole or part to its torso.

The two patrolmen and the salvage crew all recoiled in disgust from the abominations.

“Krizza’s Eggs!” the Marquadian swore as he pulled Jadanixu with him behind a feeble wall of crates. “What are they?”

“Brad!” Ginsberg cried, “They look to me like the same guys who attacked us earlier!”

Brackett held up one hand, palm out in a “stop” gesture. “In the name of the Galactic Patrol, I order you to halt and identify yourselves!” Ignoring the command, the green-black hominids shambled forward in silence, reaching out with poorly-sculpted appendages.

Jadanixu groaned. “Whatever they are, they have no sentience! At least, not as we understand the concept. They have no way to comprehend what you’re saying or what you mean!”

“Then we’d better retreat,” Brackett declared, waving everyone toward a doorway opposite the advancing creatures.

“Retreat?” Par exploded. The Andromedan then shoved Brackett aside and dove for his pistol. “I’ll show ya how to handle this!” he spat as he raised his gun—a Surefire, one of the finest weapons manufactured on Vwardi Prime—towards the oncoming aliens and loosed a flurry of laser bolts. Though the shots seemed to be fired in wild desperation, each bolt burned its way into an alien invader. A brief smile of triumph appeared on his face, but vanished just as quick when the aliens continued their slow, relentless advance.

Ginsberg led the retreat into corridor U, followed by O’Kayne and Bert. Izzar steered Jadanixu after them, with Mig right behind him. “Come on,” Brackett barked at the Andromedan, “it’s time to go!”

“Not yet!” Par growled as he scooped up the Omniblast J-7, the Nerbonian’s favored weapon and a product of his homeworld. He stood and leveled the blaster at the nearest invader—now at point blank range—and fired. Undaunted, the green-black thing reached for him with stumpy digits.

“Par, lookout!” Nuurik bellowed as he shoved the stubborn Andromedan aside. He let out a blood-curdling scream as the invader’s misshapen hands seized him in Par’s stead.

“Nuurik!” Jadanixu cried. With lightning reflexes, the Nerbonian grabbed her before she could rush to his aid and pulled her, screaming in protest, from the room.

Grunting with effort, Brackett hefted a heavy crate and slammed it into the sickly green monster. Its grip on the Marquadian interrupted, it fell to the cargo bay floor as the others closed in.

“Go, now!” Brackett ordered. Without argument, both the Andromedan and the Marquadian ran into corridor U, and the patrolman followed them.

TO BE CONTINUED…

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Episode 25

2011-10-15T00:48:00.000-07:00

DEAD IN SPACE
PART THIRTEEN

Brackett and Ginsberg followed the trail of blood through the empty corridors of the Fortuitous. The red droplets led them back through the mold-encrusted lab, and back along corridor R. Before long, they found themselves back at the open door to the cargo bay where they first met the captain of the Rigel Dawn.

In the great storage chamber, Nurrik Izzar sat on an exochromotite crate with his back to the patrolmen. The Thrubian female, Jadanixu, awake once again, pawed and cooed over him like a drassis bird with its young. On either side of them stood the Andromedan, Par, and the Nerbonian, Mig, that belonged to O'Kayne's crew. Par now sported a bandage on his right arm.

Ginsberg narrowed his eyes, tightened the grip on his ZAP gun and started through the door. Brackett pulled him back, pushed him to one side of the door and ordered silence with one finger raised to his lips. The Sergeant shot him a questioning glance, and in answer, Brackett pointed at Captain Gracie O'Kayne as she entered the cargo bay from corridor S.

"Ah, good lads!" she exclaimed with a clap of her hands as she marched up to them. "You've found him! Was there trouble?"

"Par was shot," the Nerbonian drawled.

O'Kayne turned to the Andromedan with concern, but the alien waved it away. "It was a lucky shot by one of those shieldboys, only grazed me."

"So long as you're sure?" O'Kayne asked, and Par nodded. "Where are they now?"

"Blinded them," Mig replied. "They ought to be incapacitated for a while, but otherwise unharmed."

Satisfied, O'Kayne turned away and took a few leisurely paces. As she spoke, Brackett and Ginsberg slipped into the cargo bay. "Nuurik, me lad, this ship is a veritable treasure trove, chock full of equipment, supplies, and tools—all manner of gear. No one's too sure where the ruddy thing's drifted to. No one knows what's become of the crew. So no one's too likely to be scavenging here besides us..." She stopped dead in her tracks and turned on her heel. "So the last thing I'd be needin' are a pair of Galactic Patrollers pokin' around. Now then, is there somethin' you forgot to be tellin' me?"

The Marquadian fidgeted with nervousness. "I didn't want to bother you with trifles, Captain."

"Trifles?" O'Kayne exploded. "They say you killed a Patroller back in Diora! You call that a trifle?"

"He was not a Patroller, and I didn't kill him!" Izzar declared. "I don't know where he got the uniform, but he was a Threnn'ko grug, one of Lashawoldri's goons. He chased me all over the spaceport before he finally slipped and fell into one of the air cleansing machines. But I didn't do it, Captain! It was an accident, I swear!"

With pursed lips and a heavy frown, O'Kayne slowly marched back to him. She stood there a moment, digesting his story, then finally asked, "And why, exactly, would Lashawoldri be sendin' one of his men after you then?"

With guilt written on his face, Izzar's head sunk. "Well, I kind of swiped a chip with some counterfeit salvage permit codes...so we'd have them to show to customs agents when we go to unload the stuff we're getting here!"

"Well, I've heard enough!" Brackett exclaimed as he burst out from behind a stack of crates, his ZAP gun in hand. "Looks like we've got more than one arrest to make here. Drop your weapons!"

The Andromedan and the Nerbonian whirled to face him and Ginsberg emerged from another pile of crates behind them. "You heard him! Drop 'em!" Scowling at the officers, the aliens let their guns clatter to the floor. Ginsberg leaned towards the Thrubian female who glared at him from Izzar's side. "And don't you even think about it!"

Brackett nodded with satisfaction. "So let me see...there was possession of counterfeit permit codes, thievery, an illegal salvage operation, and a possible murder. Sounds like we're going to have a full bus."

O'Kayne stepped toward him until he turned his gun on her. "Captain Brackett, as Captain of the Rigel Dawn, I'm responsible for the actions of me crew. I request that you take me alone, and leave the others go free."

Brackett couldn't hide a small smile of approval. "I admire your attitude, Captain, but you know I can't do that. Now then, where's the rest of your crew?"

O'Kayne's eyes flitted over the cargo bay's occupants as the sound of advancing footsteps grew louder in the corridor behind her. "They're all here except for Bert and Fyla, and it sounds to me as though one of them is fast approaching."

A quiet, tense moment passed as they all waited. Soon, the human man in the orange spacesuit appeared in the doorway, a look of alarm on his face. "Captain! We've got trouble!"

"So have we," the Andromedan spat.

"We're not alone on this ship!" Bert continued. "Some strange aliens I've never seen or heard of before, and they're coming right for us!"

TO BE CONTINUED…

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Episode 24

2011-09-14T22:55:00.000-07:00

DEAD IN SPACE
PART TWELVE

The ball crashed to the floor and exploded, unleashing the ferocious brightness of a bursting star. Startled, Brackett, Ginsberg, and Izzar rushed to cover their eyes—too late. In vain, they tried to rub the pain away as the sound of approaching footsteps grew louder.

Brackett heard Izzar's voice beside him: "What's goin' on? Let go of me!"

"Who's got you?" Ginsberg cried as he whirled around, his eyes still clamped shut.

Still unable to see, Brackett reached out with one hand, found the back of some humanlike creature, traced the creature's spine until he found the collar of its flight suit. Suddenly, something pressed against his chest, slammed him against the closed metal door as the air was filled with scuffling sounds and grunts of exertion as the protesting Marquadian struggled against his attackers. Prying his eyelids open, the Patrolmen could only see a white afterimage of the explosion. Undaunted, he leapt forward, slammed into a body and quickly seized the miscreant in a bear hug. "I don't know who you are, but you're in big troub..." Before Brackett could finish, a rock-hard fist punched him in the face. Groggy, he loosened his hold and lost his catch. Another hit dropped him to the floor.

The sounds of the struggle began to move as something dragged Izzar down the long control room. "Who are you guys? What do you want with me?" the Marquadian whined while failing to pull himself free.

A voice barked into existence beside the Marquadian: "Shaddup, will ya? Just shaddup!"

"All right, you get one warning!" Ginsberg yelled as he raised his ZAP gun in one shaky hand. "Halt or I'll fire!" Footsteps that crunched over the debris of the fallen computer bank were all the answer he needed. The Sergeant loosed a flurry of wild shots and only ceased firing when a cry of pain told him he scored a hit. There was a muffled curse, then the screams of return fire, and small explosions as the laser bolts hit the wall.

"Matt, you dope, get down!" Brackett grumbled as he pulled the Sergeant to the floor.

The incoming fire ceased, the footsteps receding until they were no longer heard at all.

* * *

Brackett blinked as he looked around the control room. It was like looking through a tinted window, the intense brightness of the explosion was still superimposed over his normal vision, but he could see. He turned to his partner and asked, "How are your eyes?"

Ginsberg looked around the room, blinked a few times. "I can see. Not back to normal yet, but I can see."

Brackett clapped him on the shoulder, then started off without waiting for a reply while calling, "Good, let's go! We've got to go get our perp back, and whoever took him has a good five, maybe ten minute head start,” over his shoulder.

Ginsberg followed Brackett up through the control room with a frown. "I'm not looking forward to messing with those guys again. And they must be everywhere! I mean, we sealed up that door to get away from them, and there were more in here waiting for us! What are they, anyway?"

"Don't know." Brackett stopped beside the fallen computer bank, his steely eyes searching the floor with intent. "But those weren't the same guys."

"What do you mean?"

Brackett squatted, scraped his finger across the floor. "I got a hold of one of the guys that grabbed Izzar. He didn't have all those growths and tumors on him. Plus, when you shot him, he screamed."

"Hey, you're right!" Ginsberg said, his eyes wide with realization.

Brackett stood and held out his hand, revealing a red smudge on the index finger of his glove. "And these guys bleed. Let's get going!"

TO BE CONTINUED…

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Episode 23

2011-08-16T12:17:00.000-07:00

DEAD IN SPACE
PART ELEVEN

"They're still coming!" Izzar shrieked. "Crank up the energy bolts to do more damage!"

"We can't!" Brackett barked as he gave ground to the advancing misshapen figures. "Patrol pistols use zeta-active plasma for ammo. If we mess around with its intensity, it could cause the guns to explode!"

Three more of the shapeless creatures shambled into the dining hall while uttering a chorus of dead, hollow moans, advancing with a slow, steady pace, arms outstretched to seize their victims. The flickering lights above prevented any identification of the malevolent attackers, and the flashes of fired laser bolts provided only glimpses of weird, grotesque features. The patrol officers fired with Academy-trained precision, but the creatures continued on, unheeded.

"Fall back!" Brackett grumbled.

The Marquadian turned and fled back to the corridor as Brackett and Ginsberg backed away from the impenetrable alien line. The two officers slipped out of the room and Izzar slapped the controls, sealing the door then Brackett swiveled the barrel of his ZAP gun toward the control panel.

"No, Brad, wait!" Ginsberg cried as his partner fired a bolt of energy that caused the panel to erupt with a flurry of sparks.

Brackett shoved his gun back into its holster. "We'll find some other way back to the ships."

Ginsberg waved away the smoke and sparks with one hand. "Now we have no choice."

"I'm pretty sure we had no choice to begin with," Izzar told them. "You shieldboys have lousy equipment!"

The Sergeant grimaced. "Tell us about it."

Brackett waved for the pair to follow him down the corridor. "Come on, this way."

***

The trio followed the corridor to another T-intersection where they found an unlit hall, darker than the void outside the Fortuitous.

Brackett swore. "Ginsberg, you got a light? I lost mine back in the landing bay."

The Sergeant pulled the flashlight from his belt, thumbed the switch. "Yeah, right here." Ginsberg's light lanced down the left hall, then the right. "So which way?"

"Left."

Both officers looked up at their prisoner.

"You sure?" Brackett asked.

Izzar harrumphed indignantly. "I have an impeccable sense of direction. The left corridor leads to the aft, and that's the general direction we have to go to get back to the hangar bays."

"Yeah, right," Ginsberg chafed. "You expect us to just take your word on that? You've had some time to scout out this ship; you could be leading us into some sort of trap, or an ambush, or...cooking up some other method of escape!"

The prisoner shot him with an incredulous frown. "Look, you get me off this haunted ship and away from those laser-resistant guys, then I'll start planning my escape, okay?"

"Calm down, Matt, we can confirm it easily enough," Brackett said as he pulled a device from his belt. He powered on the device and the small screen came alive with a green glow. With a nod, he jabbed his thumb toward the left corridor. "He's right. According to the beacon, our ships are down this-a-way." He shoved the device back into a belt pouch and started down the corridor. "Okay, we'll go left."

Ginsberg aimed his light down the corridor before them. "Brad? You got any idea what those things were?"

"Not a clue. Of course, we didn't get a good look at them, but they weren't damaged by our ZAP guns, and the only creatures I know of that are immune to zeta-active plasma are polypedal. What about you, Izzar? You've been on this derelict longer than we have. Any idea what they are?"

"No," the Marquadian said as he turned to peer into the darkness behind them. "Outside of you two, they are the first sign of life I've seen on the ship that didn't come on the Rigel Dawn. Perhaps they're from some other sector." He gulped. "Perhaps they're Skro! If they are... we're all as good as dead!"

"They're not Skro," Brackett declared as he found a side-corridor where the overhead lights flickered. "They don't match the description of Skro, and Skro aren't supposed to be immune to ZAP guns."

"Huh, so you s--" The Marquadian jumped, his head snapped back toward the black hall they had traversed.

Ginsberg turned his light down the hall. "What is it?"

Izzar shrugged with small embarrassment. "Nothing, I guess. I... just thought I heard something."

Satisfied that the hall behind them was empty, Ginsberg turned his light to the hallway beyond the intersection. The light flitted across the warty, black-green features of an ugly humanoid thing for only a moment before the light was knocked out of the Sergeant's hand.

With screams of alarm, the Patrolmen blasted useless laser bolts into the horror as their prisoner charged into the failing light of the side-corridor. Eyes wide with panic, Brackett grabbed Ginsberg by the arm and pulled him after Izzar and they ran down the hall until Brackett spied an open doorway. Peering in, he saw a long control room with tall computer banks stretching from floor to ceiling, one toppled over and lying on the floor amid the debris of its own monitor screens.

The Captain whistled at the fleeing Marquadian. "Izzar! This way! It's the way back!"

Ginsberg darted through the open doorway while Brackett turned to face the slow, shambling creatures emerging from the black corridor behind them. The Marquadian skidded to a halt then charged back to the offered escape. As he lunged through the door, Brackett followed him, slapped the controls to close the door, and blasted them without hesitation but before he could draw a breath of relief, he heard Ginsberg cry: "Brad, look out!"

Both Brackett's eyes and his gun turned their attention to the long control room where he saw a silver ball, no larger than a Faraathi apple, flying through the air towards him. His sharp reflexes adjusted his hasty aim and he fired two bolts that missed their target and slammed into the far wall.

The silver sphere fell to their feet and exploded with a burst of blinding light.

TO BE CONTINUED…

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Episode 22

2011-07-14T22:22:00.000-07:00

DEAD IN SPACE
PART TEN

Brackett and Ginsberg marched through the mess hall with a slow, wary gait and their Marquadian prisoner in tow. The enigmatic absence of more than a half dozen mounds of black-green mold set off an alarm in the form of a cold shiver that ran down Brackett's spine, but the meaning behind it eluded him.

"We are in the right room, aren't we?" Ginsberg asked, an anxious, nervous strain in his voice.

With suspicion, Brackett glared at the small patches of mold that littered a nearby table. "We must be! We didn't wander far enough past this room to get lost on the way back."

"I don't like it!" snapped Izzar has he took a retreating step back. "The whole ship is like this! You pass through a room, then on your way back things have moved or disappeared! It's like the place is haunted or something."

Brackett snorted. "That's absurd!"

The Marquadian's fear was overcome by a flash of resolute ire. "I wouldn't be so sure. A haunted starship is about the only way this day could get any worse!"

"Oh!" Ginsberg exclaimed. "It's been that kind of a day!"

They continued through the room, and were only a dozen feet from the doorway when the lights dimmed and sputtered in a battle to stay alive.

"Oh great!" the Sergeant moaned, casting his eyes skyward. "Now what?"

Brackett directed his appraising gaze toward the ceiling. "Relax; a power cable must be going bad."

"Ri-i-ight," Izzar doubtfully intoned.

The lights in the corridor beyond the doorway were similarly affected. Nonetheless, Brackett guided his group onward until a strange silhouette appeared in the portal. It was a basic humanoid shape, but asymmetrical with malformations. Great tumor-like growths extended from the head, the shoulder and the arm on the left side of its body. It was almost as though some sculptor began to carve a figure from stone or clay, but had not yet finished the job.

The Marquadian shrieked at the sight of it and the patrolmen turned their ZAP guns in its direction. "Who's there?" Brackett demanded. "Identify yourself!"

The figure raised its arms and shuffled slowly forward, its only answer a low, mournful moan. As it advanced, another figure shambled into view behind it.

"Kyuranda mosh!" Izzar swore, "Space zombies! Quick, shoot it, shoot it, shoot it!"

Brackett was surprised when he realized that some basic, primal instinct inspired him to take a step back. "Halt where you are and identify yourself!" the Captain instructed, but the shambling thing limped forward in spite of his command. "I said halt, or we'll be forced to open fire!"

The flickering lights gave them an impression of dark green spongy flesh. The only noise it made was an unceasing low, lifeless moan, like a wind that blew through a hollow log. The moaning grew louder as more of the things crowded around the open doorway.

The Captain narrowed his eyes, his jaw hardened, reinforced by determination. He aimed his pistol at the creature's chest. "All right, you asked for it." Then, without taking his eyes off the advancing invader, he ordered, "Fire!"

Their pistols unleashed their fury in a barrage of zeta-active plasma bolts. The lasers screamed across the mess hall and found their target in the monster's chest.

But the creature, still moaning, continued toward them, unaffected...

TO BE CONTINUED…

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Episode 21

2011-06-15T11:20:00.001-07:00

DEAD IN SPACE
PART NINE

The Marquadian's brawny arm tightened around Brackett's neck. Brackett tried with increasing desperation to pull the fleshy garrote from his throat, but to no avail. His lungs ached for precious air as lights burst before his eyes.

Without warning, a pair of laser bolts screamed past them, and exploded against the wall in a shower of sparks. "What the..." Nuurik Izzar exclaimed, and he loosened his grip as he swung around. Ginsberg, his heavy frown pointing down at his swollen, bloody nose, leveled his ZAP gun at the criminal.

The brief distraction was all Brackett needed. He gulped a lungful of air and jabbed his elbow back into the Marquadian's ribs. Izzar's grip loosened and Brackett staggered forward. The Marquadian jumped to nab the patrolman in his iron grip. Izzar looked up and down the corridor in desperate search for an escape, then shoved Brackett through the doorway.

Brackett slammed into his partner, and they both tumbled to the galley floor, landing with a thud beside a mound of mold. Without any semblance of grace, Brackett bolted for his gun. His fingers curled around the grip and he aimed down the hall as the murderer darted around a corner.

"Quick! After him!" Brackett rasped as he charged.

Advancing to the intersection, they heard the Marquadian's grumbling voice followed by a hollow boom. Brackett peered around the corner. Nuurik Izzar stood down twenty feet of corridor beating his fist against an unresponsive door. He stabbed at the control panel with a thick digit yet the door remained shut.

Brackett nodded for Ginsberg to follow, then marched towards his quarry. "Give it up, Izzar, we've got you cornered!"

Nuurik Izzar scratched at the door with faltering enthusiasm, and soon let his hands fall to his sides. He hung his head in defeat, and slowly turned to face the two patrol officers. "Yeah, I guess ya got me," he conceded in a hollow tone. "I know it won't make no difference to ya if I say I didn't do it, so...let's just get it over with." His eyes clamped tightly shut, screwing up his features.

Brackett nodded toward his partner. Ginsberg stepped towards the Marquadian as he swapped his ZAP gun for a pair of cuffs. "Nuurik Izzar, you're under arrest," the Sergeant said as he slapped the restraints on the criminal's wrists.

Izzar frowned at the cuffs in puzzlement. "What? Aren't you a pair of blast-boys sent after me by the Threnn'Ko mob?"

"No," Brackett replied as he lowered his gun, "we're Galactic Patrol, and you're charged with the murder of a Patrol officer back in the Diora Spaceport."

Izzar jumped in surprise and both officers trained their weapons on him in readiness. "That guy wasn't a shieldboy! He was a Threnn'Ko goon! He assaulted me, I..." His eyes darted back and forth as he chose his words with care. "...I don't know why, but he chased me all through the spaceport until he finally fell into an air-recycling apparatus! It was an accident, I didn't do it!"

Brackett lowered his pistol and considered the Marquadian's explanation. "If that's the way it is, then you shouldn't have anything to worry about. But our orders were to bring you in, not to decide your fate. Come along with us."

Izzar took a step back and opened his mouth to protest. Instead, he sagged in defeat and nodded. "Yeah, ok. I won't give ya no trouble."

"Great," Ginsberg said, "now we just have to find out way back to the ships."

"Shouldn't be too hard," Brackett said, and started back the way they had come.

The three of them retraced their steps through the halls of the Fortuitous and soon returned to the galley. Brackett paused and looked around.

"There's something wrong here," he said.

Ginsberg and Izzar scrutinized the room with him. The five rows of long tables still stood in precise formation, littered with small patches of the ugly mold. The food replicators that lined the walls were likewise clogged with the fleshy green growth.

"What happened to the really big piles of it?" Ginsberg asked.

"Gone!" Izzar gasped.

"Don't be ridiculous," Brackett chided him, "mold doesn't get up and walk away." He look around the mess hall, a feeling of unease growing stronger in his heart. "Does it?"

TO BE CONTINUED…

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Episode 20

2011-05-14T21:40:00.000-07:00

DEAD IN SPACE
PART EIGHT

The towering computer bank groaned in protest as mounting bolts tore from the floor. With winking lights and flickering screens, it came crashing down. Brackett threw himself aside with a desperate leap, hitting the metal floor in a graceless roll as the massive computer bank pummeled the floor with a thunderous crash that reverberated throughout the long control room.

Without pausing to breathe a sigh of relief, Brackett jumped to his feet and thrust his ZAP gun over the fallen pillar. Streams of smoke drifted from the monitors and control boards, but not thickly enough to hide the fleeing Marquadian as he sprinted for the doorway at the far end of the room.

“Hold it right there!” Brackett ordered, but the criminal ignored the command. “That never works,” he grumbled as he pulled the trigger. His laser bolts exploded against the wall as Nuurik Izzar darted from the hall. With a growl, the patrolman pursued.

***

Brackett rounded a corner, raised his pistol and fired a warning shot that screamed down the corridor past the Marquadian.

Izzar panicked and darted into the nearest doorway.

Brackett recognized the doorway as a likely spot to stage an ambush. He rushed down the hall, plastered his back to the wall and took the last few steps until he stood beside the opening. He flexed his fingers around the handle of his gun and drew a fortifying breath then leaned into the portal for a look. No movement betrayed the location of his quarry and he scrutinized the chamber with steely eyes.

Before him stretched a long, high-vaulted room with five rows of long tables placed in perfect mathematical formation. Green-black mold overflowed the dozen food replicators in the side walls and grew in scattered patches across the tables, spilling over the sides of the table to the accompanying bench and onto the floor. On the other side of the room, Brackett spotted a doorway with a sign bearing the word “Galley” in block letters above it. There was no sign of Nuurik Izzar in the mess hall.

Brackett stepped into the room. “Come on out, Izzar! You’re only making it worse for yourself!” He didn’t expect a response, and wasn’t disappointed.

Crossing the room with a wary stride, his eyes and pistol on constant lookout for the criminal Marquadian, Brackett grimaced at the massive piles of mold lying on the floor, many of which were large enough for a grown man to hide behind, but made it across the room to the galley door without spying his quarry. He stopped beside the doorway, paused to listen, then leaned through it.

A thick arm snaked around his neck as a ham-sized fist seized his wrist and slammed his gun-hand against the wall. Brackett’s shriek of pain was choked into silence as his ZAP gun clattered to the floor.

“I’m gettin’ tired of you ruukkas chasin’ me around,” growled Nuurik Izzar as his grip around the patrolman’s neck tightened. “Guess I’ll have to convince you to stop now.”

TO BE CONTINUED…

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Episode 19

2011-04-15T15:01:00.000-07:00

DEAD IN SPACE

PART SEVEN

Brackett and Ginsberg picked their way through the lab, frowning at their surroundings with both fascination and disgust.

Thick sheets of fleshy green ooze covered the countertops at each workstation and the lab equipment had been turned into strange sculptures by the mold that had grown over it. At one station, a microscope stuck out of the slime while a prismatic analyzer located stood defiantly half-exposed at another. In several places, sickly green flesh stretched down the counters and cabinets, and pooled on the floor.

Using the nozzle of his ZAP gun, Ginsberg stabbed at the black-green skin that had grown over a molecular dissector and sneered. “What is this stuff?” A sudden thought struck him. “You don’t suppose this mold has anything to do with why the Fortuitous was abandoned?”

Brackett swept his gaze across the lab as he considered it. “Not really. Sure, it’s a big a mess, but how could this cause a threat to the crew?”

Ginsberg shrugged, still sneering at the mold. “I don’t know. Seems to be growing on everything. Maybe it got into the life support systems.”

For a moment, Brackett thought of the unresponsive air pressure controls in the airlock, then shook the thought away. “Can’t be. There’s plenty of breathable air in here.”

“Well then… maybe the mold spat out a cloud of spores, and all the people choked on ‘em and died.”

Brackett stopped in his tracks and looked around. “Then where’re all the bodies? We haven’t seen one yet.”

“You know, this is gonna take a lot longer if you’re just gonna nitpick at every suggestion!” In a huff, Ginsberg turned away from Brackett and found himself beside a trio of cages. In each cage was the corpse of a lunar rat, overgrown with the ugly alien mold. “Hey Brad? I think you should see this.”

Brackett joined him and grimaced at what he saw. As though mesmerized, he reached out with one hand toward the mold-coated cages.

“I’m thinking there were spores,” Ginsberg said again, reassuring himself with a nod. “…and they made people sick. As they died, the survivors probably shot them into space with the hope of ending the contamination.”

Brackett’s hand froze above the growth-covered countertop. “That means there could be just a few bodies on board,” Brackett continued as he pulled his hand back and wiped it on his uniform without thinking, “those of the last few to get infected.”

Before they could speculate further, a crash sounded in the corridor outside the lab. Full of wariness and caution, the two patrolmen rushed to the door in silence and peered out.

A Marquadian grumbled to himself, his arms full with supply boxes, and then squatted beside another box, propped his load on his knee to free one hand, and reached for the errant cargo.

Brackett recognized him from the mission instructions and raised his pistol. “Hold it right there, Izzar! You’re under arrest!”

Nuurik Izzar looked up at the two patrol officers with wide eyes. “Karg!” he swore as he jumped to his feet and threw his remaining supplies at the lawmen, and then bolted back up the corridor.

Brackett shouted “Duck!” and dropped to a crouch. The boxes rained down around him, one flew over his head and hit Ginsberg in the face. Hands covering his nose, the Sergeant growled in pain as Brackett leapt to his feet and charged after his man.

###

Brackett turned the corner just in time to see Izzar duck into a doorway. Without hesitation, the Patrolman followed and found himself in a long control room with a line of computer banks standing like pillars in a row down the center. The Marquadian was nowhere to be seen. Brackett’s keen eyes darted around in frantic search of him. “Come on out, Izzar. Make it easy on yourself!”

Nuurik Izzar’s gravelly voice grunted with effort, then erupted in a mighty roar. Brackett whirled around as the stabilizer bolts ripped from the floor and a pillar of computer screens and blinking lights teetered towards him.

TO BE CONTINUED…

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Episode 18

2011-03-15T01:51:00.000-07:00

DEAD IN SPACE
PART SIX

“Oh yes, Captain. Nuurik Izzar is here…” Captain O’Kayne declared.

“He is!” Brackett straightened up. “What can you tell us about him?”

O’Kayne’s emerald eyes sized the patrolman up for half a moment. “None too much, I’m afraid. We first laid eyes on him when he came to us in the Diora spaceport. He asked if we needed an extra crewman, said he wanted to leave the planet to escape some unhappy memories.”

Ginsberg snorted with dark humor. “That’s one way of putting it, I suppose.”

Brackett addressed O’Kayne with a stern gaze. “Captain, I think you should know that Izzar is a very dangerous man. He is the prime suspect in the death of a Galactic Patrol officer back at the spaceport. I advise you and your people not to engage him, as the next life he takes could be one of yours.”

O’Kayne nodded, a nervous smile on her lips. “Thank you, officer. You needn’t worry, we’ll be sure to stay out o’ the way.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” Brackett replied. “Can you give me some idea of where he is now?”

“He went down corridor R,” the Captain said, pointing at an exit. “Supposed to be scroungin’ around for anythin’ salvageable, but we’ve not seen aught of him for two nor three hours now.”

Brackett nodded. “I would suggest that you and your people hole up somewhere safe until we apprehend him.”

“And if he somehow manages to get around us and come back here, you can radio us on the standard Emergency Frequency,” Ginsberg added as he followed his partner down corridor R.

###

Corridor R ran straight and true for several yards before turning to the right at a forty-five degree angle. Windows that looked out into the emptiness of space lined the left-hand wall, while doorways leading to small utility rooms filled the right-hand wall. The patrol officers glanced into each room, noting machinery that seemed to be in pristine condition, but finding no sign of the murderous Marquadian that they sought. However, when they came to the last door before the turn in the hall, they both frowned at what they saw inside. A conduit line running along the wall to a pump was a sickly black-green and a bulbous green mound nearly covered the control panel of the pumping unit.

“Urgh!” Ginsberg winced, “What is that?”

Brackett shrugged while prodding the fleshy green mound with the nozzle of his ZAP gun. “I don’t know. Some sort of mold, I guess.”

“Must have been a malfunction in some purification system somewhere,” Ginsberg guessed, still frowning at the green mound in disgust.

“It’s got nothing to do with us. Come on,” Brackett said, as he left the room and turned the corner.

###

After another twenty yards, the corridor turned to the right And Brackett’s eyes were instantly drawn to a food replicator recessed into the right-hand wall. Behind the thin plastiglass door, the entire interior of the replicator was covered with a thick layer of unsightly green flesh.

“Ginsberg! Check this out! It’s more of that mold.”

“Never mind that, Brad. Look at this!” Ginsberg exclaimed, pointing at the doorway behind them. Brackett turned and spotted a sizable room filled with various consoles and tables of research equipment — all of it covered with the same green growth.

TO BE CONTINUED…

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Episode 17

2011-02-15T23:00:00.000-08:00

DEAD IN SPACE
PART FIVE

Brackett screamed and clutched at his head as though he could pluck the source of the pain from his very skull.

Ginsberg wheeled around in alarm, snatched his ZAP gun from the Andromedan’s belt and turned the nozzle on a shapely alien female that appeared in a doorway to his right, one hand on the brow of her lumpy, elongated head. With her other hand outstretched, she sneered in a predatory manner and advanced slowly into the chamber.

“You hold it right there or I’ll…” Ginsberg was cut short as the Nerbonian pushed his gun aside.

The lady freighter captain spun to face the newcomer with an expression of thinly-veiled annoyance. “Jadanixu!” she cried, “Ashallya vanta cor’talya!”

“It…is…bad! It…brings…death!” the alien woman rasped as she took another small step, still reaching toward Brackett.

O’Kayne swore and turned a frown to her human companion. “Bert, shut her down!”

“Aye, Captain.” The man with the graying hair pulled a slender tube from his belt, stepped up beside the alien woman, pressed the tube against her neck and activated the plunger with his thumb.

As the drug entered her body, the alien cooed one soft cry of “no-o-o” and slumped into Bert’s ready arms.

Brackett stopped screaming.

Ginsberg pushed the Nerbonian away, pointed his pistol back at the alien woman, glanced down at his partner. “Brad? You all right?”

Brackett moaned but managed to force out “I think so.”

Ginsberg held out his free hand and helped Brackett back to his feet. “What was that?” he asked of the captain while gesturing with his pistol towards the incapacitated alien female.

“I’m afraid you just got the wrong-end of a Thrubian mind-blast.” Bert said in a neutral, matter-of-fact way. He set the telepath on a crate and propped her against the wall in a sitting position.

Captain O’Kayne gave out a sigh of resignation. “Her name is Jadanixu. She’d be a telepathic Thrubian from the ninth moon of Malidron.”

“Looks to me like she just assaulted an officer!” Ginsberg snarled. “Is she wanted somewhere, or just have a grudge with the Patrol?”

O’Kayne shook her head. “No sir, nothin’ like that. She’s a member of my crew, but she suffered a bad experience as a prisoner of the Nilboggi Empire some months back, and hasn’t been quite right since. I’m none too sure of what they did to her, but nowadays she’s easily confused, slightly unstable, and highly defensive. We do what we can to look after her.”

“Is that a fact?” Ginsberg barked as Brackett swayed on his feet. “It would appear that she’s a danger to others. Would probably be best all the way around to have her put into some sort of caring institution.”

Brackett placed one hand on Ginsberg’s shoulder. “Matt, lighten up. You know its no picnic to be imprisoned by Nilbogs. It must have been worse for her. I hear they conduct all manner of experiments on telepaths. There’s no telling what tortures she’s been subjected to.”

Ginsberg considered it for a moment, then holstered his gun. “All right,” he said, though disapproval was unhidden on his face.

Brackett turned back to O’Kayne and her assistant, and gestured toward the telepath. “Will she be okay?”

The older man nodded. “It’s just a sedative.”

Brackett nodded. “Good. Now, as I was saying, we’re looking for a Marquadian named Nuurik Izzar. We believe he left the Diora spaceport on board your ship. Is he here?”

O’Kayne cocked her head to one side. “Oh yes, Captain. He’s here…”

TO BE CONTINUED…

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Episode 16

2011-01-15T10:41:00.000-08:00

DEAD IN SPACE
PART FOUR

Brackett and Ginsberg marched through the hallways of the Fortuitous with their hands on their heads and guns at their backs. Their weapons had been confiscated by their close-mouthed captors: the lanky Nerbonian, and his ally, a human-like Andromedan with pale green skin.

“You guys are making a big mistake!” Brackett said as they herded him around a corner.

“Shaddup, you!” the Andromedan growled as he nudged the patrolman with the nozzle of his gun.

“Where are you taking…?” Brackett began.

“I said shaddup!” said the alien with a shove.

They were driven through the corridors until they came to a portside loading dock where two humans, a man and a woman, examined a collection of info-pads and data-tablets strewn over an exochromotite crate.

The Nerbonian announced their arrival with, “Get a load of what we found.” He pushed Ginsberg, knocking him to the floor as the two humans turned to face them. Brackett whirled on the gray-skinned alien, drawing back his fist. The Andromedan stepped up, waved the barrel of his pistol in Brackett’s face.

Instead, Brackett spun around and frowned at the two humans. He took stock of the man’s graying hair, his cold steely eyes. “Captain, you’d better have a good reason for this, or you and your people are going to find yourselves in big, big trouble!”

The woman leaned against the crate and crossed her arms with nonchalant defiance. “Would that be a fact, now?” she asked in a brogue.

Ginsberg picked himself up from the floor as Brackett regarded the lady with small surprise. First he noticed her pink hair, then the pistol in the shoulder holster over her spacesuit, and finally the strong-willed gleam in her green eyes. “You’re the Captain?”

“Sure, that I am,” she replied. “Gracie O’Kayne by name, freighter captain by trade. But the real question here is which of the Chiefs sent you boys after us?”

“Chiefs?” Ginsberg asked, “What Chiefs?”

O’Kayne rolled her eyes. “I’ll be askin’ ya not to waste my time by playin’ fools. You’re not the first Threnn’Ko thugs we’ve come across impersonatin’ Galactic Patrol officers. You get low marks on originality, but you’re surely worth your salt in persistence to have tracked us down out here.”

Brackett snickered. “You’re in for an unpleasant surprise, lady, we are Galactic Patrol officers! Here, you can check my Identicard.” Slowly, and under careful scrutiny, he pulled a small card from his belt and held it out to the freighter captain.

Amusement gleamed in her eyes as O’Kayne took the card. She glanced down at it, then passed it to her human companion. “Scan this.”

As ordered, the man with the graying hair took the Identicard and scooped up one of the data-tablets from the crate. He inserted the card, tapped a few buttons, then whistled in amazement. “Captain, either this guy is a Patroller, or this is the best counterfeit encryption code I’ve ever seen!”

“I’m Captain Bradley Brackett. He’s Sergeant Matthew Ginsberg.”

All sense of amusement vanished from O’Kayne’s face. “Well that’s a different sort of a thing, now isn’t it?” She glanced at the Nerbonian, then the Andromedan in turn. “Mig! Par! Put down your guns, boys, you know that we always cooperate with the law! I trust you’ve done nothing regrettable to these officers?”

“Nothing that can’t be forgotten,” Brackett assured her. “You say you’ve had troubles with the Threnn’Ko?”

“I have,” O’Kayne confirmed. “We were approached by those mobsters for some sort of transport job a few months ago. It sounded downright risky the way they put it and we refused. They’ve been harassin’ myself and my crew ever since. Is that what you’re here about, officer? Lookin’ for gangsters?”

“No ma’am,” Brackett said as he took back his Identicard and returned it to his belt. “Actually, we’re looking for a Marquadian that we believe was on your ship when you left the Diora spacepo—aaaahhh!” Brackett’s words trailed off into a scream as an immense pain erupted in his head, as though red-hot needles had been thrust through his skull.

TO BE CONTINUED…

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Episode 15

2010-12-15T18:35:00.000-08:00

DEAD IN SPACE
PART THREE

Ginsberg sighed, then reached up and removed his helmet. He took a deep, experimental breath, suffered no ill affects, and gave his partner the thumbs-up.

Brackett yanked the helmet from his own head. “Boy will I be glad when supply finally gets the upgraded helmets shipped out here!”

“Upgraded helmets?”

“Yeah, they’re supposed to be equipped with radios so we can actually talk to one another during situations like that!” Brackett grumbled as he gestured beyond the airlock door.

“What was that back there in the hangar, anyway?” Ginsberg asked as they stepped into the hallway.

Brackett shook his head. “I’m not sure. Somebody jumped me, so I shot him. His suit depressurized and all that was left wasn’t pretty.”

Ginsberg grimaced, but nodded with understanding. Then, his expression brightened. “Still, at least the life support systems are working in here. Must be our lucky day!” Brackett responded by affixing him with a dubious glare.

The two officers stowed their helmets in the lockers that lined the corridor outside the airlock, then proceeded deeper into the Fortuitous with wary trepidation.

They found the ship in eerily immaculate condition. The onboard sterilization systems had filtered out any dust motes when the frigate was first put into use, and since then it merely recycled the same air. For all casual appearances, the vessel could still have been in use even though it had drifted through space, untouched for so many months.

They passed several rooms, each one empty of personnel, many of them as dark as the void outside. Regular intervals were marked with control panels or data screens, but like the air lock doors, they had no power.

When they happened upon an intersection, all they could do was guess at the ship’s layout, pick a hallway to follow, and hope for the best. But their intuition had served them well, and they finally found some sign of life when they heard the untidy shuffling of supply crates emanating from a storeroom.

Brackett peered through the open doorway and spotted a lanky, gray-skinned Nerbonian inside. His heavy lids barely opened as he frowned at labels, and muttered to himself as he searched through the supply room with purpose.

Brackett cleared his throat tersely. “Er, excuse me sir!”

The Nerbonian dropped the boxes in his hands and turned to face the patrolmen with a start. “Haka byianji!” the alien cried and pulled a pistol from his belt. “Doka freenj zsajott, grug!”

“Lookout!” Ginsberg yelled as he pushed Brackett aside. The laser bolt flew through the door and crashed into the wall.

The two officers plastered themselves to the wall on either side of the doorway as they drew their ZAP guns. Brackett held out three fingers, and counted down. When he reached zero, he and Ginsberg turned and aimed their pistols into the storeroom, but their assailant was gone.

Another door was directly across from them and they charged for it. Brackett burst through the doorway only to come to a screeching halt when pistols appeared on either side of his head and a voice commanded: “Hold it right there, creep!”

TO BE CONTINUED…

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Episode 14

2010-11-14T22:20:00.000-08:00

DEAD IN SPACE
PART TWO

The twin fighters eased into the hangar of the Fortuitous, an area nearly as black as the empty space outside the vast ship, the lights from the patrol ships cast long, eerie shadows across the landing bay.

Brackett regarded the situation with a heavy frown then pulled on his helmet. With the flip of a switch, the cockpit depressurized and he opened the steelglass canopy. Taking the Sonic Sword from its recharger, he hung it from his belt opposite his ZAP gun and climbed out of his ship. His magnetized boots affixed themselves to the metal floor, anchoring him against the artificial currents of space.

He took a flashlight from his belt and soon a beam pierced through the darkness. He stomped clumsily forward, his steely gaze frowning into the gloom of the hangar, seeking some way into the interior of the Fortuitous. Without warning, something brushed against his arm.

Brackett whirled as an ominous figure lurched out of the darkness. He only got a glimpse of the orange spacesuit before his assailant was upon him, sending the flashlight spinning from his hand. The light sailed over abandoned scout ships toward a far corner of the hangar’s ceiling, the spinning beam of light creating an eerie strobe effect. Brackett ignored it, concentrating on the hands grasping at him instead.

The attacker clawed with primal ferocity and Brackett flailed both fists in wild retaliation. He managed to push his assailant away, but the villain lunged at him again without hesitation. Brackett whipped out his pistol, firing a trio of laser bolts into the other’s chest.

Air exploded out of the rents in the suit and the figure crashed into him, but Brackett’s magnetic boots held him in place as he caught the body. He frowned at his enemy’s visor, covered with a thick layer of cosmic dust almost as though he’d been trapped in the open hangar bay since the Fortuitous vanished so long before. Grimly, he wiped the dust away with one arm and sneered in disgust at the slimy green ooze that coated the visor’s interior.

“Ugh!” he thought, “Poor goon must’ve exploded when the spacesuit depressurized.” The suit itself bore only the SolarCo insignia. Brackett grimaced. “No way to tell who or what he was now.”

A sudden movement off to the right as something emerged from the shadows caught his attention and he whipped the ZAP gun around to the ready. The sight of Ginsberg’s suited form swept a feeling of relief through his tense muscles and he gestured an embarrassed apology as he re-holstered his pistol.

Ginsberg frowned at the lifeless spacesuit and gestured to his partner, who responded with an “I’m okay” signal. Ginsberg nodded as he swept his own light around. Then he stopped and pointed to something behind Brackett, who turned to look. Across the bay was a door.

The two patrol officers made their way across the hangar with slow, deliberate caution, but on arriving at the door they discovered it had no power. Brackett drew his Sonic Sword and plugged a pair of wires into the auxiliary power jack on the door’s control panel, providing barely enough power to cycle the airlock.

They stepped inside and Brackett attached the Sonic Sword to the interior control panel. The door closed but a quick attempt to pressurize the airlock proved fruitless, and breathable air refused to exit the overhead vents. With a shrug, Brackett hit the button to open the door leading deeper into the ship.

As the door started to slide open, an invisible force flattened both men, throwing them against the rear wall of the airlock, ripping the Sword from the console. The door slid shut once more.

Brackett shook his head and climbed to his feet then reattached the sword’s power cables to the control panel. The controls came to life and the display insisted the airlock was now forty-eight percent pressurized.

Brackett waved Ginsberg back against the rear wall, and activated the controls again. The door slid open and more air rushed in from the corridor, pressurizing the airlock with what the console readout claimed was breathable air.

The two officers shared a dubious frown. Ginsberg tapped his partner and held up one finger. Brackett accepted the suggestion with a curt nod. One quick round of even-and-odd later, Ginsberg sighed at losing the game once again, then reached up and removed his helmet.

TO BE CONTINUED…

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Episode 13

2010-10-14T22:15:00.000-07:00

DEAD IN SPACE
PART ONE

The two silver ships shot through the void, following the trail of ion particles left in the wake of an Arcturan B-27 small cargo freighter, the same make and model as their target: the Rigel Dawn.

Three days before, the ship had been spotted passing Hollux. It was there that the two Galactic Patrol fighters had found traces of the exhaust signature, unique to ships of Arcturan design, themselves uncommon in the frontier space of the Triddian Sector. For a full day they had followed the trail at full throttle, headed deep for the center of the sector. Now, as they skirted the gravitational pull of Garigol, a large blip blinked into existence on the radar.

“Brad, do you see what I see? Over.” Ginsberg’s voice emitted from the comm.

“Sure do,” Brackett replied. “But it’s too big to be a B-27. Over.”

“Whatever it is, it doesn’t seem to be moving under its own power. Think it could be a space station? Over.”

With a frown, Brackett consulted his onboard computers. He shook his head, flipped a switch and spoke into the comm. “There’s no station out here, at least not on my starcharts. Over.”

“Well, let’s do a fly-by and see what we can see. Over.”

Brackett shrugged. “All right, copy that. Over.”

The two ships altered their course by a few degrees only to discover that a free-floating hulk drifting through space was the cause of the blinking dot on their radar screens. As they approached, they both slowed down for a good look, quickly activating their scanners.

“It’s…a ship!” Ginsberg exclaimed. “Oh! Over.”

“I think I saw the SolarCo insignia on it,” Brackett replied “I’m gonna make another pass and double-check that. Over.” He pulled on the control stick, and his ship turned about, skimming back over the long-lost frigate.

The ship’s massive hull was covered in a thick layer of cosmic dust. The wings were pocked by collisions with asteroids, comets, and other debris. Despite all of this, there was no mistaking the symbol of the sun in the palm of a hand.

Brackett’s console blinked, signifying that it had completed its scan. He activated the read-out and scanned rapidly through the data. Only a handful of the ship’s systems were turned on. Heat signatures indicated life, but less than a dozen beings, a mere one-twentieth of what the ship could comfortably hold. The ID numbers on the ship’s hull matched up with a registered name, and it emerged on the screen as a sharp whistle sounded over the comm.

“That is a SolarCo ship!” Ginsberg exclaimed. “It’s the Fortuitous! It went missing out here before the Allied Worlds took the sector away from the Nilbogs! It’s been out here for years! Over.”

More information burst onto Brackett’s screen. There was a second ship, considerably smaller, latched onto the SolarCo ship like a parasite. He sneered. “Take a look at what’s attached to the dorsal hull, portside. Over.”

There was a pause as Ginsberg consulted his own scanners. “Well, what do you know?” The smugness in his voice was unmistakable, despite the tinny corruption of the communicator. “I do believe that is an Arcturan B-27! So, what now? Over.”

Brackett harrumphed as information appeared on his data screen. “It’s the Rigel Dawn, all right. Registered to a G. E. O’Kayne. No mention of this guy, Nuurik Izzar. I wonder how he fits in to this. Over.”

“Maybe he’s part of the crew?” Ginsberg suggested. “Or maybe he hired these people to bring him out here. Over.”

A sudden thought occurred to Brackett. “Or maybe he forced them. Over.”

“You think he hijacked ‘em? Over.”

“Could be,” Brackett replied. “I mean, he killed a Patrol Officer and had to get out of the spaceport fast… It is possible. Over.”

“I wish we knew for sure. Over.”

“Me too.” Brackett drummed his fingers on the control stick as he considered it. “I think we’d better find a way into the Fortuitous and investigate. Over.”

“You’re the captain, over!”

The two silver patrol ships banked around the nose of the frigate, in search of a hanger bay.

TO BE CONTINUED…

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Episode 12

2010-09-14T21:35:00.000-07:00

ARENA OF THE BLOOD MOON
PART TWELVE

The Wor’osh’s face was thin, hollow. His wrinkled, leathery skin, a sickly pale pallor, hung loosely from his muscles like an over-sized suit. Blemishes and spots were scattered across his hairless cranium. But his eyes were lit with the fire of hate, and he glared up at Brackett even as he gulped for breath.

“Kill me then,” Gom’jol rasped, “But know that you will never escape this moon alive!”

Brackett frowned down at the aged Nilbog with macabre fascination.

“What are you waiting for?” Jol’bur yelled down from his private box. “He is your enemy who has taken away your freedom and forced you to duel to the death! He is a great threat to you all!”

“No he isn’t!” Brackett spat back. “Look at him! He’s nothing more than a poor old man! I’ll bet he can’t even move without this mechanical suit.”

A murmur rippled through the Nilbog audience above, and Jol’bur acknowledged it with a worried glance before shaking a fist at Brackett. “The Wor’osh is strong and cunning! He is the veteran of many battles! If you do not kill him now, you will suffer his retribution!”

Brackett allowed himself a moment to wonder whom Jol’bur was trying to convince, then waved his partner over. “Ginsberg, help me stand him up.”

Together, the two patrol officers pulled the Wor’osh to his feet.

Above them, the Nilbogs began to disperse. “Where are you going?” Jol’bur cried as he leapt out of his seat. “Remain in your seats! The duel is not yet finished! My P’Trohg is a great threat! His daring plan will make us all heroes when the Empire has regained the sector!” He was ignored and before long, only Jol’bur remained in the audience, abandoned by his people, his guards, his advisors, and even the Sen’oggi. Alone, he fell into his seat and despaired.

The old Wor’osh frowned at Brackett. “You are a cruel one, you-man. It would have been kinder to kill me.”

“I’ve already told you,” Brackett replied, “that’s not our way.”

Ginsberg shook his head. “I don’t get it, where’d they go?”

Professor Tholgrum approached, a smile on his face, with Sorenson at his side. She tossed a quizzical frown up toward the empty audience seats. The Professor clapped Brackett on the back. “Nicely done, my boy!” he cried, amid some good-natured laughs. “You have caused them to lose faith in their leader! When the Nilboggi believe in their leaders, they can do great and terrible things. But shatter that fragile faith, and they flee like the cowards they truly are!”

“Flee?” Brackett exclaimed, “What do you mean ‘flee’?”

“He is right,” Gom’jol rasped, “My refugees will anticipate that your first move will be to transmit your location and send for support. I daresay that even now, my people rush to evacuate the base and commandeer whatever ships are convenient in the hopes of returning to Nilbog space.” He gasped for air then glumly added, “It is our way.”

****

Four days later, a cruiser arrived from DSO-29 and members of the occupation force rolled into the dome. As the doors slid open, Brackett snapped to attention, as did Ginsberg and Sorenson. The occupation team advanced, led by a man who seemed nearly regal in his flowing robes. The leader regarded them coolly and asked, “Who is in charge here?”

“I am sir, Captain Bradley Brackett.”

“I’m Lorne Dennison, Steward First Class. I’m here to accept command of this place and see what sort of use it might be put to.”

“You’re welcome to it!” Brackett exclaimed. “I’ve got about fifty kidnapped people here, all anxious to get back to their lives, and twenty-six Nilbogs waiting to be processed and transported to an approved prison facility.”

Dennison nodded. “We’ll see to all that. I trust you’ve filled out your reports on what’s happened here?”

“Yes sir, right here,” Brackett said as he passed a datapad to the Steward. “I’m sure you’ll find everything in order. With your permission, I’d like to prepare the Lancelot for departure. We’ve got orders to take Professor Tholgrum to Deep Space Outpost Twenty-Nine.”

The Steward looked up sharply. “That request is approved as far as the Sergeant is concerned. Sergeant Sorenson? Collect the Professor and deliver him as per your original orders.”

With a curt nod, Sorenson said, “Yes sir,” and proceeded down the corridor.

“Take this,” the Steward said as he pulled a second datapad from his belt and handed it to Brackett.

Brackett switched it on and stared at a picture of a Marquadian.

“That is Nuurik Izzar,” Dennison announced, “He’s wanted for the murder of a Galactic Patrol officer at the Diora spaceport. He managed to escape in a ship called the Rigel Dawn. Your orders are to apprehend him, before he kills again.”

TO BE CONTINUED…

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Episode 11

2010-08-14T20:44:00.000-07:00

ARENA OF THE BLOOD MOON
PART ELEVEN

A murmur of anticipation rolled through the Nilbog audience above the arena.

Brackett stood motionless, backed against one of the partitions and trapped by three Sen’oggi whose laser axes pointed at him and crackled threateningly. As he waited for the Wor’osh to arrive, his eyes swept over the other prisoners, the Nilboggi gladiators, and the seemingly inescapable arena, wondering how he was going to get out of this one. His eyes flashed toward Ginsberg and he guessed that his partner was wondering the same thing.

He didn’t have long to ponder before the doors beneath the platform slid open again and Brackett heard the faint hums and whirring sounds of the robotic armor. The noises grew louder, and then Gom’jol, Wor’osh of the Nilboggi, stepped into the light.

His robotic armor; a complicated skin of servos, winking lights and glowing sigils; made him look strong and menacing. The helmet hid his features, and its lifeless lenses glowed red, as though with a madness for battle and bloodshed. The Wor’osh strode into the battleground with confidence. He held the staff of a laser axe in the firm grasp of one metal hand, with the other he motioned to his Sen’oggi. “Let no one interfere,” his synthesized voice commanded, “This contest is for me and you-man alone.”

As one, the three Sen’oggi warriors saluted and slowly backed away from Brackett, their weapons still trained on him. Then they turned to police the crowd of prisoners gaping from the relative safety of the arena’s perimeter wall.

Gom’jol waved an invitation to the patrolman. “Whenever you are ready to die, you-man, let us begin!”

Brackett frowned then, grunting through gritted teeth, he brought his laser axe around in a wide arc.

But the Nilbog leader was too quick, and with impressive speed he brought up his own staff to block the attack. He pushed Brackett’s weapon away, then his own staff belched forth a blade of pure energy which he thrust forward.

Eyes wide with panic, Brackett managed to push the invading weapon aside then swung for the Wor’osh again. The armored warlord jumped back, brought his axe up, knocking Brackett’s weapon into the free-standing partition, where it stuck in place.

Brackett tugged at the staff with all his strength, but could not pull it free. As Gom’jol’s axe came crashing down upon him, he jumped back with a cry of alarm. The Wor’osh stabbed again but Brackett deftly dodged and rushed in to slam his enemy against the partition wall, ripping the laser axe from his armored hands.

With lightning-quick reflexes, the Nilbog warlord reached up and seized Brackett’s weapon, still stuck in the partition wall, and pulled it free. He slammed the staff against Brackett’s with such force that it sent the patrolman into a spin.

Brackett swung around, slammed Gom’jol’s staff aside, and thrust his laser axe into the chest of the robotic armor. The Wor’osh’s chest exploded with sparks, electricity crackling over the metal skin of his suit. As the lightning-dance subsided, Brackett pulled his blade from the warlord’s chest plate. The Wor’osh fell to the floor with a crash that reverberated through the vast audience chamber above.

The patrolman coughed and waved the smoke away, helping it dissipate. “Now then,” he said, “we’re going to discuss the release of all these prisoners, and we’re going to do it face-to-face!” He rolled Gom’jol over onto his back then brought the laser axe down to the Wor’osh’s throat and destroyed the clamps that held the helmet in place. Thrusting the butt-end of the handle beneath the helmet, Brackett forced it off the Nilbog’s head.

Then he looked down at the Wor’osh’s face and gasped at what he saw…

TO BE CONTINUED…

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Episode 10

2010-07-16T00:30:00.000-07:00

ARENA OF THE BLOOD MOON
PART TEN

At Jol’bur’s command, a pair of doors beneath the platform creaked ominously open. Brackett and the rest of the prisoners waited with baited breath as the sound of footsteps grew louder from the yawning portal.

As six Nilbogs, each one carrying a metal staff and naked from the waist up except for a heavy pair of gauntlets and a metal collar around their necks, marched into the arena with military precision, the prisoners backed away from them. The Sen’oggi stopped as one, and turned on their heels. They looked up to the Nilboggi officials, and raised their hands in salute. Gom’jol, the Wor-osh, raised one armored hand in acknowledgement.

Jol’bur sneered down into the arena. “Now you will fight for us, or you will die! Sen’oggi! Slay!”

The six Sen’oggi tapped their rods against the floor. Each staff belched forth energy in the shape of an axe-blade. The warriors each turned in a different direction, and began their ominous advance on the prisoners.

“Brad, it was a beautiful speech,” Ginsberg muttered under his breath, “but suddenly, I think it was a bad idea to give it!”

Brackett clapped his partner on the shoulder. “Come on, Ginsberg! You, me, and Sorenson are the only Patrol officers here! It’s up to us to protect these citizens! They’re unarmed!”

Ginsberg frowned back at him. “So are we!”

Ignoring Ginsberg, Brackett charged.

The Nilbog gladiator paused then swung his laser axe, and Brackett ducked beneath it. He tackled the Sen’oggi warrior, and they both rolled across the floor. When they came to a stop, Brackett found himself lying atop the Sen’oggi. He swung his fist, slamming the alien’s head against the rough metal of the floor and knocked the gladiator unconscious.

“Brad, look out!” Ginsberg called.

Brackett jumped to his feet with the laser axe in his ready hands and faced a pair of charging gladiators.

The Nilboggi advanced with their weapons trained on the patrolman as he backed up a few cautious steps.

“Aw come on, guys,” Brackett said, “I don’t want to die here today, and you don’t either, do ya?”

“It is an honor and a privilege to die for the Wor-osh,” one Sen’ogg snapped as he thrust his axe towards Brackett’s chest.

Brackett jumped back and swung his own axe wildly. As he knocked the invading weapon aside, he spied a third Nilbog gladiator coming towards him and backed further away, deftly dodging the laser axes. He stopped moving when he backed against one of the wall partitions that littered the arena.

Three Nilboggi laser axes pointed at him.

The patrolman gulped. “So that’s the Nilbog way, huh? I guess none of you could handle a fair fight. Not you, or you, or you,” he said as he gestured to each one in turn. “Not even your precious Wor-osh. After all, you guys are only down here risking your lives because he’s too cowardly to do his own dirty work, right?”

The three Sen’oggi gasped. One rasped, “What was that?”

“I said if your Wor-osh wasn’t such a coward, he’d come down here and fight himself!” Brackett shouted. A murmur rippled through the audience of Nilbogs above.

Jol’bur glared down at the cornered patrolman. “You filthy you-man!” he cried. “You dare to speak so about…” He was silenced when the Wor-osh beside him grabbed him by the shoulder.

Gom’jol stood, his synthesized voice booming throughout the vast chamber. “That sounded like a challenge to me. And I accept!”

To Be Continued…

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2010-06-14T23:54:00.000-07:00

ARENA OF THE BLOOD MOON
PART NINE

The alien brute towered over Brackett, his length of pipe pulled back. A blue-and-white blur came out of nowhere and latched on to the arm with the weapon.

For a fraction of a moment, Brackett gaped, then, as the event registered in his mind, he sprang into action. He launched himself at the alien, tackling its legs, and dumping all three of them to the floor. They writhed and wrestled until Brackett managed to seize the length of pipe, wrenching it away, but he had no time to celebrate the achievement before a meaty fist struck him with enough force to send him sliding across the floor.

Brackett scrambled to his feet and charged.

With a savage thrust of the brute’s boot, the other Patrol officer was knocked away and without missing a beat, the alien swung a fist, knocking the pipe from Brackett’s hand. His antagonist grabbed him and threw him aside like a rag doll.

Brackett flew through the air to collide with his fellow officer, sprawling them both across the floor.

“Nice shot, Brad!” Ginsberg huffed.

“Sorry,” Brackett returned as he climbed back to his feet. “This guy’s tough!”

“Yeah,” Ginsberg agreed. “He’s a Marquadian. They’re all tough! But he’ll be easy enough to take down if we can get him in a choke-hold.”

Brackett looked across the arena at the alien through narrowed eyes. “All right, divide and conquer.”

They turned back to the brutish alien and separated, walking around him in a wide circle until the Marquadian stood between them. Without warning, Brackett started forward. The alien swung a thick fist, and he ducked beneath it.

Ginsberg charged in as soon as the thug’s back was turned, but the Marquadian was too quick. He spun around and lashed out, knocking the patrolman sprawling once again.

It was all the time Brackett needed. Even as Ginsberg took the hit, Brackett jumped onto the alien’s back and wrapped one arm around its neck. The Marquadian flailed about in a panic, gasping desperately for air. Brackett held on tightly as it began to turn blue and fell to its knees.

As the Marquadian fell to all fours, Brackett released it and landed on his feet. The brute frowned up at the patrolman with a furious gaze, sputtering and choking as the color returned to his features. “You nearly killed me!” He croaked, then gasped a few more times before asking, “Why didn’t you?”

Brackett frowned back incredulously. “I don’t want to kill you!” He turned to the group of other prisoners that had gathered around to watch them fight. “We are citizens of the Allied Worlds. We don’t play by Nilboggi rules!” He looked over the throng of prisoners, almost daring them to disagree.

A murmur of consent swept through the prisoners. One insectoid alien looked down at the length of pipe which he had picked up. Slowly, he dropped it onto the floor and backed away.

Brackett nodded with satisfaction, then turned towards balcony of the Nilbog chief. In a loud, clear voice he called up to them: “We will not fight one another for your entertainment, do you hear? We will not fight!”

Jol’bur trembled with rage as he jumped to his feet. “If you will not fight against one another,” he shouted, “then you will fight against my gladiators!” He turned to a nearby underling and bellowed, “Send in the Sen’oggi!”

To Be Continued…

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Episode Eight

2010-05-14T23:46:00.000-07:00

ARENA OF THE BLOOD MOON
PART EIGHT

The doors slid open to reveal a great, round, chamber cluttered with free-standing wall partitions of metal plates or steelglass. The perimeter wall featured several pairs of doors, doubtlessly leading to other holding cells and high above it all were tiers of stadium seating, filled nearly to capacity with jeering Nilbog spectators, interrupted at one point by a separated platform for those of high rank. On this platform, Brackett quickly spied Jol’bur seated to the right of a Nilbog clad from head to toe in an armored suit. They were surrounded by guards and other Nilboggi.

The other prisoners in the cell reluctantly found their way towards the arena. Professor Tholgrum sighed. “Time again.”

“Why don’t we just stay in here? If we refuse to fight…” Brackett started. As if in answer to his question, a steady hissing sound began above him. He looked up and saw several nozzles sticking out of the walls near the ceiling, each one spitting out thick green gas. With an incredulous frown, he followed the other prisoners into the arena and the doors closed behind them.

***

Brackett glanced around at the arena. “We’ve got to protect the Professor, and find a way out of here!” He scanned the arena and swore when he realized that the air vents were twenty feet high on the steep perimeter wall, an impossible climb for any mere human. “Well that won’t work!”

Jol’bur stood and addressed the prisoners, his voice booming from speakers scattered throughout the arena. “Those of you who survive this challenge will be one step closer to your freedom!” He made a grandiose gesture towards the seated figure in the armor. “You have the word of my P’Trohg, the Wor-osh of Oublaat, that those who conquer their rivals will be rewarded! But only the strong shall survive, and you must first prove your strength! This battle shall continue until six of you have fallen. Commence!”

A throaty roar erupted on the far side of the arena from somewhere behind the free-standing barriers. It was immediately followed with a scream of pain, and a chorus of other screams ranging from battle-cry to fear.

Brackett took off towards the sounds of the fight. He rounded the partitions and found a group of insectoids being attacked by a humanoid creature that stood seven feet tall with elongated facial features, thick fangs that protruded from his lower jaw, and a single squat horn that sprouted from the top of his head. In its hand, it grasped a length of pipe, an insectoid cowering on the floor below it, one leg sporting an extra, unnatural joint where the exoskeleton had shattered.

“Galactic Patrol!” Brackett barked out of habit, “Stop this, now!”

The brawny humanoid growled at Brackett as he raised his bludgeon high. “Quiet down, runt! I’m gettin’ off this moon alive!”

TO BE CONTINUED...

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Bradley Brackett Merchandise!

2010-05-14T13:45:00.000-07:00

Greetings Cadets!

This important message has just come in from Galactic Patrol Headquarters:

Now available at the Abandoned Towers Zazzle store are shirts, hats, mugs and other fine merchandise featuring Captain Bradley Brackett, hero of the monthly serial "The Adventures of Bradley Brackett of the Galactic Patrol"!

To check out what's available and order your peice of interplanetary adventure, just copy this link and paste into your browser bar: http://bit.ly/dfFnad

And always remember: "The Adventures of Bradley Brackett of the Galactic Patrol" is a monthly feature at Abandoned Towers Magazine and the Beam Me Up! podcast!

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Episode Seven

2010-04-15T13:04:00.000-07:00

ARENA OF THE BLOOD MOON
PART SEVEN

The numbness slowly waned from Brackett’s body. He stretched his muscles experimentally, driving away the affects of the stun ray as the Sergeant answered his question.

“Yes, Captain Beex had a plan, but it will be of little use to us,” Sorenson told him. “You see, Beex was an amphibious Salentian, a race that evolved from some froglike creature. He had the natural ability to climb up sheer surfaces, and his plan involved scaling the walls of the arena and forcing his way into the air ducts, then finding his way to a control room to release all of the prisoners so as to revolt against the Nilbogs.” She slumped against the wall beside him. “It wasn’t much of a plan, and inspired only a small hope. But it is entirely useless to us, now that he’s dead.”

Brackett looked over at the opening in the ceiling. “What about the pit that the Nilbogs threw us down?”

Sorenson glanced up. “He tried that first,” she admitted, “but couldn’t get the doors to open.”

Brackett nodded with understanding and looked around the cell once more. He spied a pair of thick metal doors at the far end. “Where do those doors go?”

“Out to the arena,” Sorenson answered glumly.

Brackett pondered for a fast moment. “How about when they feed us, maybe we can break out then?”

The Sergeant shook her head. “They lower trays of food down the pit on a platform. Any extra weight causes it to fold, dropping everything back down here.”

With a grunt, Brackett forced himself to his feet. He stood there a moment, clutching a nearby bunk for support, until the numbness completely abandoned him. With the convenient excuse of stretching his legs, Brackett circled the cell. His sharp eyes scrutinized the thick walls that closed him in. More than once, he tested the strength of a metal panel, pushing and pulling with all the might he muster, but to no avail.

“It’s really no use, you know, my boy,” the shrill voice said to him. Brackett looked up at the defeated expression on Professor Tholgrum’s long face. “There is only one way out of this terrible place.”

Slowly, Brackett took his hands off of the wall. “Yes,” he said slowly,” It does appear that way. But if that’s the only way, then it’s the one we’ll have to use to make our escape.”

The Professor chuckled, letting loose a sound not unlike the sparkling Drassis birds on Glowasoo. “Ah, to be young and have hope!” he marveled. Then, he sighed heavily. “You are a new one, not one of the officers meant to deliver me.”

“No sir, I’m Captain Brackett. My partner and I were sent to find you and your escort, and deliver you to the space station.” Brackett declared with determination. “And that’s just what I mean to do.”

“Impossible!” the Professor declared. “The only way out of this cell is into that arena. If you can get past whatever opponents or animals they throw at you, you would still have to get past a small army of well-armed Nilboggi!”

Brackett fixed the Professor with a steady gaze. “Yes sir, and I will fight each and every one of them if I have to, in the course of my duty. Even their leader…” With a pause, he frowned down at the floor. “…whatever his name was.”

“You mean Gom’jol?” the Professor asked. “He must be a great warrior. Nilbogs will only follow warriors who pose a formidable threat to their enemies.”

Brackett considered this with no small concern. “Well…” he said at last, “The ideal thing would be to find a way out through the arena, preferably with minimal combat involved. But I’ll have to have a look over the place before I can plan anything.”

It was a long wait, and the mounting suspense made him anxious. Twelve hours later, the doors finally opened to reveal the arena and Brackett did not like what he saw…

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Episode Six

2010-03-14T23:06:00.001-07:00

ARENA OF THE BLOOD MOON
PART SIX

Brackett, still suffering from the affects of the stun-ray, could not look up to see the woman who had addressed him. He did feel her hand, though, as she grabbed him by the arm and rolled him over.

She was human, with short dark hair in a regulation cut and a stern expression on her thin face. He’d never seen her before, but easily recognized her Galactic Patrol uniform and sergeant’s insignia. She was also wearing a translation collar.

She pulled him to a sitting position by the wall. “Please forgive my not saluting right away,” she said as she curtly raised her hand to her temple. “I’m Sergeant Velma Sorenson, assigned to the Lancelot under Captain Beex.”

Brackett’s eyes flashed and he tried to ask a thousand questions. Only a dull moan escaped his lips.

“Don’t try to talk,” Sorenson told him as she hastily examined him for injuries. “They must have got you with a stun ray. You could be paralyzed for up to an hour, depending on how high they had it set.”

Brackett let loose a groan of exasperation.

Sorenson chuckled without humor. “Don’t worry. Aside from that, you seem to be all right.” She sat beside him and looked him over. “Actually, I’m rather pleased to see you. Captain Beex and I had been sent to Daruuk to taxi Professor Tholgrum back to DSO-25. On our return, we picked up a broken distress signal. Turned out to be a Nilbog trap.” Sorenson glanced up at Brackett, then quickly looked away as though embarrassed. “I suppose you know what I’m talking about; the other prisoners I’ve spoken with have similar stories.”

Brackett managed to wobble his head a little, and forced out a meager, “Uh-huh.”

With a deep breath, she collected herself and turned her attention back to him. “The Nilbog leader is supposed to be an accomplished veteran named Gom-jol. I’ve never heard of him before, but his subjects and underlings all kowtow to him as though he were something great. At his order, the Nilboggi kidnap passersby and dump us here, where they make us fight in an arena for their own perverse amusement. They claim that any prisoner who survives enough ‘challenges’ will be set free, but I haven’t seen anyone get out without being carried out.” A bitter sneer, which she directed at the floor, marred her features.

Though he couldn’t turn his head yet, Brackett’s eyes swiveled in their sockets as he took stock of the poorly-lit cell. It was set up dormitory style with twenty-six berths set in the walls, each large enough to accommodate someone of human-size. Scattered throughout the cell were a dozen other ragged, grungy prisoners of various foreign races, most of whom were unfamiliar to Brackett. He spotted Professor Tholgrum sitting in one corner, his long pod-like head hanging low, but there were no other humans, and worse still, no other Galactic Patrol uniforms.

With a herculean effort, Brackett turned to face Sergeant Sorenson. With titanic stubbornness and determination, he forced out the words, “Wuh…wuh… where…Buh…Beex?”

Sorenson cast her eyes downward and gave a heavy sigh before responding. “Sir, I’m sorry to report that Captain Beex fell in the arena two days ago while protecting the Professor. He never even had a chance to try his plan.”

Brackett raised one eyebrow. “Wuh…what…p-plan?”

To Be Continued...

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Episode Five

2010-02-15T10:02:00.000-08:00

ARENA OF THE BLOOD MOON
PART FIVE

The Nilbog sub-chief clenched his fists and stared at the prisoners. “I am Jol’bur, sired by Gom’jol. His bravery and cunning has made him the Wor-osh of this moon, and he continues to rule here despite the insurrection of the Allied Worlds!” he declared with a contemptuous sneer. “When your feeble forces are eventually driven away by Nilboggi fighters, it is my sire who shall rule this sector, for he bravely remained when others did flee! Then all will know his greatness!”

As one, the five Nilbog guards and the driver of the small cargo transport each pounded one fist to their chests and bowed their head in solemn salute.

Brackett frowned at the surrounding aliens with uncertainty. “So what are you going to do with us?” he asked, as he nodded down at Ginsberg, who still clutched at his wounded shoulder.

Jol’bur’s sneer transformed into a predatory grin. “You will amuse the Wor-osh while he awaits his greatness.” Then he turned to the guards and barked, “Take them to whichever pit has room for them. There they may wait to face the challenges.”

“My Lord,” one guard replied as he gestured toward Ginsberg with his rifle, “what of this one? He took a Nilbog life in battle and was shot during the capture.”

Jol’bur stepped toward the vehicle and looked down on the man with a critical eye. “Take him to dome three.” The guard, tight-lipped, stared coldly in response until Jol’bur exclaimed, “You have your orders! Be off!”

With a reluctant acknowledgement, the guard climbed aboard the cargo transport and it continued down the corridor. Brackett guessed they were sticking to the service corridors since what few people they passed appeared to be technicians of some sort. Brackett noticed that he and Ginsberg were only a minor interest to the Nilboggi they passed, which gave him an uneasy feeling.

Before long, the transport came to another stop by a wide door. Three of the guards climbed down and pulled Brackett from the vehicle. One Nilbog pressed a button and the door slid open to reveal an empty shaft. Brackett jumped away from the pit, but was quickly seized by a pair of guards. He stomped on one guard’s foot, then slammed his elbow into the other’s stomach. They both released him, and he turned and sprinted down the corridor.

Ginsberg shouted, “Brad, watch out!”

But it was too late. The stun beam hit him square in the back. His entire body went numb and he crumpled to the floor in a heap. The guards seized him once again, dragged him back to the opening.

With his rifle, one guard picked up Brackett’s chin so he could look into the human’s face. “I think you will make for good amusement,” he chuckled without humor. The two guards dragged Brackett to the lip of the empty shaft and unceremoniously dropped him in.

Brackett fell, slammed against one wall, then another before landing on something surprisingly soft. Desperately, he tried to move enough to look at his new surroundings from the place where he’d landed.

Above him, a female voice said, “Greetings, Captain. Welcome to the pits.”

To Be Continued...

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Episode Four

2010-01-14T20:49:00.000-08:00

ARENA OF THE BLOOD MOON
PART FOUR

Once safely inside the airlocks, the guards removed Brackett's and Ginsberg's helmets and their own breathing masks. Brackett set his jaw and glared with unbridled hatred at the broad, warty green faces.

"Nilboggi!" he rasped.

Beside him, Ginsberg grunted with dark humor as he clutched his wounded shoulder. "It looks like the marines missed a spot when they were driving them out."

"We'll have to figure out what this place is and report back to the Commander," Brackett said as he sat up and looked around with a critical eye. A nearby guard babbled Nilboggi gibberish in a commanding tone and nudged him with the rifle.

###

The cargo transport rolled through the wide service corridors without hesitation, although to Brackett they all looked the same. After a time, the vehicle slowed to a stop by a wide, opaque window. One of the guards hopped off the car and rapped on the glass. It slid open almost immediately. The guard exchanged incomprehensible words with another Nilbog inside the window, who quickly handed over a pair of collars.

The guard handed them up to his cronies, who snapped them around the necks of their prisoners, then slid a compartment on each collar open to reveal a semi-sphere attached by a thin cable. The guard placed the semi-sphere onto the prisoner's ear.

The Nilbog guard looked them over appraisingly. "You understand my words now?"

Brackett shared a look of surprise with Ginsberg. "Yes!"

"Many tongues get spoken here," the guard told them, "makes the translation devices necessary."

Brackett narrowed his eyes and nodded slowly. "Yeah, now I can tell you that I'm Captain Bradley Brackett of the Galactic Patrol Force. As a peace officer of the Allied Worlds, I demand to know what's going on here!"

The Nilbog guards chuckled with cruelty. "We take you to the Wor-osh," the guard replied. "He will give you what answers he thinks you need. He has no fear of you, or you’re Allied Worlds, nor even the Skro! He rules this moon still, despite the cowardice of others who abandoned this sector to you and your Allied Worlds!" He struck Brackett with his rifle, turned to the driver and barked, "Drive on!"

###

The cargo transport rolled along seemingly endless, disorientingly similar, corridors. At long last, it slowed to a stop at a doorway. One guard jumped down from the vehicle and pressed a button on a small keypad in the wall beside the door. Before long, the door opened to reveal a husky young Nilbog with sharp features. "What is it?" he demanded.

"We have come to see the Wor-osh," the guardsman declared. "We have two more warriors for his games, but they managed to kill one of my men, and one of them was wounded."

The Nilbog in the doorway narrowed his eyes and stepped out, closing the door behind him with a touch of the keypad. "My P'Trohg is not to be disturbed at present," he said in a gravelly voice, "I will deal with this in his stead. Show me." The guard waved towards the cargo transport and the official sneered. "Oh. You-mans!"

"Not just humans," Brackett spat back, "Galactic Patrol officers! I don't know who you are, but you're in it deep, mister!"

The official grinned a predatory grin. "I will tell you who I am, you-man," he gloated, "and what our plans are for you both…"

TO BE CONTINUED...

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Episode Three

2009-12-14T20:19:00.000-08:00

ARENA OF THE BLOOD MOON
PART THREE

Laser bolts crisscrossed above the landing pad with lethal speed and fearsome—but unheard—shrieks. Brackett dove for his ZAP gun and rolled for the dubious cover offered by the nearest landing strut.

He raised the pistol, pointing it at his attackers. It spat energy bolts that streaked through the emptiness and bounced harmlessly off of the guardsman's armor. He didn't have time to swear before he had to duck their return fire.

His eyes darted around the landing area, searching desperately for inspiration. A squat control tower stood beside the landing pad, pipes and cables running up its side. Brackett couldn't read the identifying alien symbols on them, but he blasted at them anyway.

A restraining strap blew free, dropping the pipelines and cables onto the landing pad between Brackett and the alien guards. A pipe belched out breathable air which kicked up clouds of dust as cables spat electrical sparks.

Members of the ground crew rushed for the tower and began fiddling with control valves and access panels. Surprised but undaunted, the guards fired their weapons wildly through the thickening clouds of air and dust. Brackett returned fire, just as wildly, aiming for the center of the cloud.

While the moon bore no atmosphere, the space surrounding it was alive with laser bolts that rocketed soundlessly through the battle. Stray shots erupted from the clouds, ramming the silver rocketships or missing altogether, but one lucky stray shot burned into Ginsberg's shoulder. He dropped his ZAP gun to clutch the wound, and fell from the cockpit of his ship.

Brackett called out to him out of habit, forgetting that he could not be heard. He fired twice more at the concealing cloud before kneeling beside his fallen comrade. Ginsberg waved his free hand in a calming gesture and nodded. More laser bolts raced by and Brackett turned back to his meager hiding place.

There he found a member of the ground crew. The creature swung a heavy wrench at him and sent the ZAP gun flying from his hand, then reached up to Brackett's own ship and pulled a lever. The access door fell open and slammed into Brackett, knocking him to the ground.

The guards advanced through the dying cloud with their rifles trained on the two felled pilots. Behind them, the ground crew technicians managed to switch off all the severed cables.

One guard looked over the prisoners, then looked up at the ground crew tech. In response, the tech just shrugged, then turned and went back to his business. The guard shook his head in what seemed to be exasperation, then turned towards the domed outpost and signaled a small cargo transport with a wave of his arm. One of the guards checked on their felled comrade, looked up at the others and shook his head solemnly. One guard motioned toward the ground crew and gestured at their fallen man.

The small vehicle rolled over on oversized tires and waited as the guards put restraining cuffs on the prisoners and loaded them onto the cargo platform. The guards climbed aboard also. One guard tapped the driver and pointed towards the domes. With a nod of his helmet, the driver seized the controls, and the small conveyance rolled steadily and ominously forward until it was swallowed up by an airlock that led into the domed outpost.

TO BE CONTINUED...

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