Oliver

  The young rat stood stock still, keeping his head down. Eye contact always made it worse. The thought was followed by the sound of a slap to a cheek and a pained squeak.

  “You were told not to go to the civic levels of the station,” his father said, which was followed by another slap, causing another, closer, pained squeak.

  “Look at me, Oliver,” his father said apathetically. Knowing that if he disobeyed the consequences would be worse, Oliver complied. His reward was the same slap his siblings were subjected to. Unfortunately for Oliver, he was ever the target of his father’s ire, and the blow was quickly followed up by an assault on the other cheek. The dazing blow forced Oliver to brace his knee in order to keep standing.

  “Time and time again you were warned. Yet once again Security catches you gallivanting around with the masses.” The older rat’s face contorted in disgust. He redirected his focus at Oliver, who continued to look his father in the eye despite the painful swelling of his cheeks working to impede that command.

  “Do you think I worked my way to governor wasting away my childhood?”

  Oliver snorted in contempt. “I thought you spent it ruining everyone else’s,” the white rat said sarcastically, earning another slap.

  “I spent it at the top of my class, and in extracurricular activities, building a future that would put me where I deserved to be.” He kept his scowl as he told Oliver and his siblings this. “I also learned when to keep my mouth shut. You think I’m cruel, boy? There are Gerralian nobles who could make you disappear with a word. You wouldn’t be dead either, just wishing for it.”

  Oliver puffed out his cheeks to keep them from affecting his speech. “So what, because you’re afraid of the galaxy we have to just rot in here?”

  His father shook his head, as if disappointed the younger rat was missing the point of his message. “You live in luxury, you have all you could ever want, and you don’t even have to worry about your futures. I have set you on a course for living a good life, yet you defy me at every turn.”

  His father looked past him to the men who flanked him and his two siblings. “Take those two to their rooms.” His gaze flicked back to Oliver. “As for you, if you want to experience what it’s like to be among the masses, I’ll show you. In two days you are going to start basic training.”

  Oliver stood up. “What?” Though the swelling in his cheeks made it sound closer to “wuth.”

  “You’re going to start a six-month basic training course with the local Gerralian navy. When you finish that perhaps you’ll have an inkling of how valuable the life I’ve built for you is.”

  Oliver felt a hand clamp down on his shoulder as the timber wolf security officer forcefully, but not painfully, led him down the hall. On the surface, the rat made sure to look indignant. However, as they turned away he couldn’t help but let a suppressed smile reach his eyes. For the first time in years, he would be outside of his father’s grasp.

  ~~~~~~~~

  Oliver’s ears picked up a gentle tune being hummed. Groggily, he opened his eyes and looked towards the small kitchen his officer’s quarters afforded him. In the kitchen he saw the half-dressed gator swaying side to side as she fried enough eggs to feed an extended family.

  As he stepped out of bed he saw her large head tilt back. “Oh, Ollie, you awake? Das, perfec. I jus’ bout be done fryin’ up our breakfast,” Atchafalaya said in her thick fringe accent. By this point Oliver knew it was something she drifted in and out of. Her unique upbringing taught her to speak Standard Common, while her fringe origins taught her to speak the odd dialect.

  “Guess I’ll have to talk to the Tyco about eggs again,” Oliver said half jokingly.

  The gator cackled like a gremlin at that. “Le’ that ol’ tortoise complain. Maybe when he do more than countin’ he can complain about the aces and offisahs gettin’ preferential treatment.”

  Oliver huffed out a small laugh; by this point he was well used to Atchafalaya. The gator had “claimed” him shortly after their encounter with the Gamma Hounds. According to Huey it was something of a tradition on the eastern fringe. Especially with the Scalekin, as many of the reptiles called themselves.

  The woman’s forward nature was outright terrifying to the rodent at first, but as time passed her clingy forwardness began to rub off on him. Add to that the fact that he and the siblings were practically a squad and saved each other’s lives on multiple occasions, he had come to reciprocate said feelings.

  Atchafalaya sashayed to the table, purposefully swinging her wide hips as she placed down the gargantuan plates of eggs. “Eat up, cher. Yous gun need dat proteen fo’ da gym.”

  Oliver let out a groan at that statement, eliciting more cackles from the overgrown gremlin. “We’s got tah keep in shape, swamp light,” the gator said, flexing a well-muscled arm, reminding Oliver that the woman only carried fat in the right places.

  Later that morning, after breakfast and a trip to the gym, Oliver and Atchafalaya met up with Huey near the hangar. The large gator was busy reprimanding a shifty squirrel, who from the looks of it had failed to secure his Heward to the mag lift, causing the cheap ship to slip off the floor lock onto its side.

  “…where you be from dat make’n you tink dat cha put da mag lift on like dat?” Huey yelled at the indignant squirrel.

  “That’s not on me! The mag-lock was on the top and flat against the surface. I could even see the bottom of it inside the cockpit. The problem is all of this equipment is cheap.” The squirrel kicked the badly damaged fighter as he said so to emphasize his point.

  Huey grabbed the shorter squirrel by the scruff of his neck and lifted him up. He then slammed him against the reinforced glass of the cockpit. “Whacchu feel on ya cheek, boi?” he roared.

  The squirrel struggled and tried to break Huey’s hold, but the gator pressed down.

  “Ansah da question, bushtail, afore I be makin’ muhself a new scarf.”

  “TEMPERED GLASS!” the squirrel screamed as either the glass or something in the bushtail started to creak.

  “So yas seen da magnet from inside the cockpit, which means part of it was over da cockpit.” Huey said, lightening the pressure.

  “Yes, that’s how I know for sure the magnet was on the damn ship.”

  “Good, now tell ol’ Huey da issue wit everyting cha just said.” A smile grew on his face as he waited for the squirrel to answer.

  “Nothing’s wrong with what I said, you green twit!” the squirrel spat, as he found his courage.

  Huey snarled before raising the squirrel and slamming him into the metal hull of the Heward. He then threw the hapless bushtail to the floor before planting a foot on his chest. “I’ll tell ya wuts wrong wit cha logic. YA DON HAD A MAGNET OVA GLASS.” He yelled, taking his foot off the squirrel’s chest only to deliver a savage kick to his face, knocking out his consciousness and his teeth.

  Seeing the large gator was done making his point, Oliver decided to interject. “Havin’ fun, Hughs?”

  The gator looked up from his victim and saw his sister and Oliver approaching, causing a genuine smile to bloom on his face.

  “Naw, cha kno how dese newbies be. I got dis un here who prolly neva finish da grade scoo. I culd’n name a child who dun kno wut a magnet do.” Huey shook his head in disappointment as he said that last bit.

  “At least he wasn’t transporting our Argos,” Oliver said placatingly.

  “If dat was da case I’d have ‘elped Huey skin ‘em,” Atchafalaya added.

  Huey shook his head good-naturedly at the comments from his two squad mates. “So wut be bringing ya two ova here?”

  “Well, things are quiet right now, so we were hoping to get the simulation pods running so we could practice,” Oliver explained.

  Huey nodded in understanding, but before he could answer, a voice came over the intercom.

  “All aces report to the bridge. Repeat: All aces report to the bridge.”

  As the message continued to blare, Huey softly slapped the back of Oliver’s head. “Look’it whacha dun did. You dun say da ‘q’ word. Now dis day ain neva gon end.”

  Oliver held up his hands in surrender, not trying to argue with the gator despite not buying into the superstition himself.

  The three of them then made their way across the massive carrier before arriving to find a small crowd at the entrance to the bridge. Oliver got a head count of fifteen other pilots, most of which he had come to know over his time with the Reavers. Though there were still a few who he could only recognize their faces.

  Huey let out a huff at the sight. “Lookit all dese pilots.” The large gator acted like he was going to spit in disgust but then remembered where he was. Oliver remained silent; Huey was rather open with his thoughts on the current state of aces in the Reavers. While Oliver was not as pessimistic, he could definitely see where the gator was coming from. Most of these pilots were “aces” only when compared to the typical pirate. When their flight records were matched to hunters, most of them would be in the upper middle bracket.

  “Com now, Huey, we jus’ go in an’ out. Prolly be we don’ ‘ave tah say anything,” Atchafalaya said, giving her brother a sympathetic pat on the shoulder.

  Their squad ended up filing in last and took a spot by the door. “’Least this way we gets outta chere fast,” Huey said, garnering nods of agreement from his two squad mates.

  The bridge was nearly filled to the brim, though a wide berth was given to the front of the command room. There stood Rusty, his presence commanding the attention of all in attendance. “Welcome, aces. Those of you who have been here a while know that meetings like this aren’t typical.”

  Oliver had figured that much, especially considering this was the first one of its nature called in the half year he had been with the Reavers.

  “So obviously you’re thinking ‘what’s all this about?’ You see, we’ve recently been reached out to by another… organization.” Rusty put an emphasis on the word organization, as if giving it legitimacy. “How many of you are familiar with Outcast?”

  Everyone present gave some sort of affirmative to the question, causing Rusty to grin. “Good, a big part of business is knowing your competition, and despite our altruistic goals…” That part got more than a few eyebrow raises. From Oliver as well, especially considering that there wasn’t a hint of sarcasm in the infamous pirate’s voice. “…we sometimes have to engage in mutual collaboration. On that note, the Outcast have reached out to us for a joint operation. It seems our ‘friends’ in the Federation have a research facility hidden near an outer asteroid field in the Gerralian home system.”

  This got a mixed reaction from all the aces, though it was mostly negative. One ace, a hare named Torgan, spoke up. “Not to contradict you, Boss, but an operation that close to Gerral is bound to get a military reaction.”

  Rusty nodded, then smiled savagely. “That’s just it. My sources, independent of the Outcast, tell me that the Gerralian Crown Senate wants this station under wraps and away from the prying eyes of the Federation at large. Meaning military intervention by the Federation is the last thing they want.”

  A number of eyes lit up with greed at this statement, while others lit up with opportunity. Oliver was ambivalent; his long-term goal was getting out from under his father’s thumb. Something he had achieved after finishing his short training stint with the military.

  “As it stands they are willing to contribute over a hundred heads to this little operation. As far as they know, we’ll be matching their contribution.”

  A Scalekin bearded dragon did a quick headcount, before furrowing her brow in confusion. “Boss, we only got a little over a dozen aces.”

  Rusty turned to the bearded dragon. “Cassie, the fact you even bothered to count the number of people in this room worries me.” Shaking his head, Rusty turned back to the rest of the aces. “But that’s just in terms of fodder. As you all may have noticed, we’ve kicked recruitment into overdrive.” The statement from Rusty got more than a few awkward nods of agreement.

  “You see, rather than military, the Crown decided it was going to hire out all of its nobles who happened to be bounty hunters.”

  This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  Oliver frowned at this information. Had this been a few months ago he would have held his tongue in fear. But ironically enough the notorious and bloodthirsty pirate wasn’t one to hit his subordinates, and actually valued input from his subordinates. The irony that he was more likely to be beaten by his father than one of the most wanted men in the galaxy was sobering. “That doesn’t exactly bode well, Rusty. They may not all be aces, but while most of their nobles can’t fly for shit, the people they hire sure can.”

  “That’s right, so it’s a good thing you won’t be in whatever cluster fuck comes from those two forces meeting,” Rusty said with a savage grin.

  “Where are we going to be then?”

  “You aces are going to be acting as a strike team to infiltrate the facility. But before that you’re going to take out the team sent by the Outcast. Can’t have our competition on the ground with us.”

  “An’ what be stoppin’ dem from sendin’ out fo’ help?” Huey asked.

  “Ahh, well you see, I spent a lot of money buying a very special ship.” Rusty turned to the circular table-like console behind him that dominated the front of the bridge. After hitting a few buttons a large hologram of a sleek fighter came into view. The fighter, if it could be called that, was closer in shape to a boomerang than the recognizable silhouette many associated with their ships. The long single-passenger craft was covered in black reflective panels.

  “This is a Signal Slicer. It’s also something the Federation considers top secret. It’s virtually undetectable past 100 yards; not only that, but it can completely disrupt and destroy signals within a 5-kilometer radius.”

  Oliver suddenly realized that Rusty’s informant was much higher up the food chain than he had originally thought. Classified information aside, that fighter functionally isolates everything in its radius. In multi-fighter dogfights, communication was key; this ship effectively deleted that.

  “And who’s going to pilot that? No offence to the others, but our definition of ace is much different to the HA’s, Federation’s, or even the Empire’s.”

  Oliver scrunched his eyebrows as he stared holes into the back of the hare’s head. Of course that blowhard was recommending himself. The rat had a distinct dislike of the hare for a number of reasons; most obvious would be his infatuation with Atchafalaya. And while Torgan may have been better than many of those present, he was no ace.

  “That’s right, you’re not,” Rusty said, emphasizing the “you’re,” as he had immediately caught onto what the hare was trying to do. “That’s why Oli is going to be piloting it.”

  Oliver startled in surprise, giving Rusty a confused look.

  “Boss?”

  “Out of everyone here you have the best kill-to-flight-time ratio. You also bring in some of the highest dividends. I want you keeping that asset safe, and you want to keep your people safe.” Rusty nodded toward the gators.

  Torgan sputtered indignantly. “He has the shortest flight time and tenure of anyone here! I’ve been with the Reavers for six years, Rusty!”

  Rusty chuckled, a harsh sound which was similar to a wheeled vehicle on gravel. “That’s right, Torgan. You’ve been with us for six years. Yet, you only got sixty take downs, Oli’s got twenty-five in six months. You have nearly forty successful missions, Oli has fifteen. You lose three to four recruits per mission, whereas Oli only lost some on his first outing.”

  Again, the hare looked indignant. “Oliver doesn’t run missions with recruits!” he yelled, only for Rusty to grab him by the cheeks.

  “You’re right, Oli doesn’t run with recruits, though that’s no fault of his own. His issue is he has two trigger-happy gators, who like to use Hewards as target practice. So in an effort to conserve resources I send those three out on their own.”

  Rusty increased the pressure on Torgan’s cheeks, causing his claws to start to dig in. “Torgan, I value the input of all my Reavers, even the expendable ones. What I don’t value or tolerate is disrespect. Especially on my bridge.” Torgan winced as the wolverine’s claws started to draw blood. Rusty then leaned down to the rabbit’s large ear before whispering in a low voice, “Rein it in.”

  Rusty then dropped the rabbit before turning back to the crowd. “We still got a few weeks before the operation begins, but until then I want you all running drills together. So until you hear back from me, dismissed.”

  No one was eager to disobey the behemothian wolverine after that display, so the aces quickly filed out. Not before the wolverine could give one more order though. “Oliver, you and your squad stay.”

  Huey looked put off. “’Is squad?”

  “He’s been doing the paperwork and reports,” Rusty said with a raised eyebrow.

  Huey stomped his foot half-heartedly. “Pirates don’ do papah work.”

  A snort escaped Rusty’s muzzle. “They do if they want to get paid. I take it you want to start filing reports and requisitions?”

  At that statement Huey’s attitude flipped on a dime. “You right, dis Oli’s squad.”

  By the time this back and forth had ended only five “people” were left in the room. Rusty turned to the last person, m8y, a white android that was off-putting to most. While androids weren’t exactly a rarity, many people were put off by the semi-sentient machines. Especially ones like m8y, who lacked any of the typical features of the galaxy’s denizens. No ears, tail, or snout, as if it was an unfinished blueprint or forerunner to a later model that never materialized.

  M8y was heavily armored and always had a shoulder-mounted blaster scanning the room. Rusty was sparing in letting the bot loose, but the few times he did sent a message to would-be mutineers.

  With a nod from Rusty, the android left the room and stood directly outside the door, the frame millimeters from scraping its back as it slid back down.

  With the room clear and the door secured, Rusty turned to Oliver in earnest. “You’ve been with us for a bit, Oli. You’ve earned your marks and drawn the attention and affection of my two most trusted aces.” He nodded to Atchafalaya and Huey in acknowledgement.

  “There are aspects of our ‘merry band’ that only myself and my confidants are privy to. Before I pull you into that circle, I need to know what motivates you.” The wolverine spoke earnestly and had taken a seat in the large cushiony command chair as he had spoken.

  “How do you mean?” Oliver asked.

  “Why join us, why leave your life of comfort in the lap of luxury? You were the son of one of the wealthiest governors in the galaxy on quite possibly the largest space station in the outer rim of the Federation. So I’m fairly sure you’re not driven or motivated by the zorks.”

  The personal nature of the question took Oliver for a loop. He took a moment to gather his thoughts before answering.

  “Freedom,” he finally answered after prolonged introspection.

  Rusty tilted his head while both gators wore looks of confusion. “Perhaps it’s perspective but I find it difficult to see how being a rich governor’s son would close doors.”

  Rather than answer, Oliver stood up and took off his shirt. “My father is a cruel, controlling bastard. From the moment I could speak I learned quickly to hold my tongue unless I wanted a busted lip or swollen cheek.” Oliver poked at his inner cheek with his tongue, still feeling his old calloused patches. “Every decision I made from my friends to my future was curated or outright decided by Dad. These…” Oliver gestured over his shoulder to the scars on his back. “…are what happened when I disregarded his… advice.”

  Rusty and Huey shared a frown, while Atchafalaya clamped her maw shut as her claws dug into the thick fabric of her leather jacket.

  “He did the same to my brother and sister. But unlike me they eventually learned to stay in line.”

  Rusty leaned forward, raising an eyebrow. “What’s stopping him from coming down on you? Granted I doubt he’d be able to do anything, but as far as I know there hasn’t been an attempt, and I know a lot.”

  “A little blackmail goes a long way, and I’ve got more than a little,” Oliver said as he slid his shirt back on. “That being said, is all of that good enough motivation for you? Hope you weren’t expecting altruism.”

  “HA!” Rusty barked, slapping a knee. “We’re pirates, freedom has always been a motivation for people like us. But so has self-preservation, and spite. Now me, I’ve got plenty of the latter. Sounds like you do too.”

  Oliver nodded, earning another savage grin from Rusty. “Good, then it sounds like you’re part of the inner workings of this organization. So…” Rusty started to say.

  “Where’s your spite come from?” Oliver said, cutting off the much larger wolverine.

  “Right here,” Rusty said, tapping over his heart. “It’s right here, where my world used to be.”

  Oliver felt silence was the only appropriate response to that statement.

  ~Present Day ~Gerral system

  On the edge of the Gerral system, three large carriers floated passively, each carrying the emblem and logo of the Rusted Reavers. The largest of the three, lovingly called Tetanus, was considered by many to be the flagship of the Reavers. The hangar of that particular ship could only be described as Bedlam, as pilots scrambled to ready their fighters. Things had been going like this for more than a few hours, and by some miracle no accidents or mishaps had occurred, though a very stern-looking Huey brandishing a large beam rifle also contributed to that statistic.

  In a cordoned-off area of that same hangar, Oliver watched as their engineers did the final series of checks on the Signal Slicer. Atchafalaya was watching the process alongside him. “Feel like you’ve gotten enough time flying that thing?”

  Oliver shrugged. “Well, I can fly her steady, and have a pretty good feel for the range of its software.” The conversation almost seemed to die with that answer, as silence had begun to descend back on the two of them. But it didn’t settle; the constant tapping and fidgeting of Oliver’s foot and leg made just enough noise to prevent the silence from being comfortable.

  Atchafalaya looked at him from the corner of her eye. The nervousness emitting from the rat was palpable. She fought against the urge to pull him into a hug, knowing it would just put him more on edge.

  Over the past few days he had confided in her his reservations. Namely the Signal Slicer’s lack of guns.

  “Oli, ya can’t keep fretting over this stuff. We’ll keep you safe,” Atchafalaya said, her accent slipping away to reveal her concern.

  It was something Oliver picked up on right away. “Yeah, you’ve got my back. But who’s got yours? Huey? He’ll be too busy taking care of the other aces. How many times have we saved each other in a bind now?”

  Atchafalaya’s heart skipped a beat as she realized his trepidation was out of concern for her. She had assumed he was fretting over the loss of the ability to fend for himself. But apparently his concern for her outstripped his mental dependence on independence. Her tail thumped loudly against the floor as a B-flat bellow escaped her throat. In an instant her arms were around her romantic rodent.

  Oliver had no idea how to react to the suddenly affectionate gator. While she wasn’t exactly shy about showing her affection for him in public, it was typically with teasing words. “Atchafalaya?!” he yelped.

  “Yous dulla’ than a blunt spoon. ‘Cha think I be needin’ protectin’?” she said, accent back on full display.

  Oliver shook his head and wrapped his arms around the gator. “We both know you can hold your own. You’re a mean bitch in green foil,” he crudely complimented, eliciting another bellow from the lovestruck gator. “But…”

  “You’d be feelin’ bettah with som’un tah watch muh tail,” she finished for him, which earned another nod.

  Atchafalaya nuzzled her great maw into Oliver’s neck. Knowing she was the source of his stress, she decided to help ease it. “I’ll be careful, Oli,” she said clearly, the conviction in her voice undeniable, and as the words left her maw she felt Oliver ease up as a chunk of the tension left him.

  They spent the rest of the prep phase together in a personal silence that was finally allowed to be set.

  ~~~~~

  Hours later, Oliver hovered silently in his temporary ship. The state-of-the-art fighter provided a field that completely negated scans, providing cover to all of the Reavers’ aces that currently sat hidden on the edge of the asteroid field. While the field provided many benefits, it also had one glaring weakness. It did the same thing to their own ships. In an effort to combat this, Tyco and Lenny, the two quartermasters of the Reavers, had scrounged up some old high-power devices that used radio waves rather than targeted gamma catchers.

  The antiquated radio device that Oliver had picked up for the mission buzzed static before it gave way to a familiar voice. “Oli, da station be comin’ up on ya right. Dem monkehs gon be flyin’ by real soon,” Huey said over the primitive communication system.

  On cue, a group of fifteen Outcast Talons zipped past them, towards the station. And, just as planned, that put them right under the Signal Slicer, which on demand sent out a pulse. In moments the organized formation began to scatter, their stealthy approach now exposed.

  The research station responded immediately as a dozen fighters sporting the dark blue of the Gerralian Crown soon launched.

  Without waiting to be caught in the firefight, Oliver stealthily left the vicinity of the soon-to-be-harried Talons and returned to the hidden Reavers. For now the group simply watched the engagement, while they prepared to swoop in and take care of the scraps.