Missing Stars

Chapter 12 | Before

Chapter 12 | Before

There is a reason why Rishad never flies the Mad Hatter on an ordinary day.

He flies the ship like a deranged kid driving a bumper car, a manic grin on his face. Occasionally, I hear deranged laughter. It's a good thing the Tricksters have a good stomach.

As the shipwright, I want to complain on behalf of the ship—it creaks and squeaks like the rotting floorboards of a dilapidated mansion—but I can't ignore the holo-counter floating on the bottom right of my view. We're ranking at number six and steadily catching up to the ship ahead of us.

As we get closer to the obelisks, I notice they are larger than I thought. Made of black steel and engraved with zigzagging lines of crimson light, they look like ominous beacons taunting the unwary. Come closer, they seem to say.

For some inexplicable reason, I am reminded of the day I had an eating competition with Rishad and Eva. It was only a week after my initiation test and Rishad thought it would be a great idea to gauge one's fortitude through a pasta eating competition. Mwangi refused to participate, mumbling something along the lines of teenagers being idiots and Alex was out in the real world to pick up his older brother from a space station. So we sat in a circle, counted to three and began chomping on our pasta like it was the last meal of our lives. Eva looked like a half-crazed vampire with her cheeks and mouth stained with tomato sauce and Rishad kept making these weird slurping sounds that rivaled those of the serpentine aliens in Jupiter's moon, Enceladus.

I was halfway through my second plate when what do you get, my airway got clogged. I dropped my plate, my fingers closing on my throat and my lungs burning from the lack of oxygen. My health bar diminished to a quarter. Between the tears and the coughing, Mwangi wrapped his hands around my abdomen and with a sharp upward thrust, I felt air being pushed out of my lungs. I spat out the offensive pasta and gulped for air. 

Lesson of the day: you can actually die of choking in an MMORPG.

"Haraka haraka haina baraka," Mwangi later told us after we'd lived through the terror and laughed at my comical misfortune. Haste yields no blessings.

A great keening rends the air and a moment later, scraps of a broken wing float by my viewport. The AI announces a five percent damage to the north west wing. Mwangi lets out a grunt. Our defense system is down to seventy percent. I wish Eva could heal the Mad Hatter.

"Damn it, Rishad. You're polluting the universe," Alex says. A cluster of debris slips past his radar, blocking his view as he tries to shoot at an enemy ship.

Rishad lets out a whoop. "Ha, we got those flying cockroaches! They're sinking!"

I watch as the injured ship tumbles into the oily blackness of space, the glass dome of the command center cracking. We move to rank number five. The ship ahead belongs to the Storm Riders, one of the top ten Renegade teams in the first tier. Rishad presses a series of buttons and the glow of the navigation console shifts to an acid green color. The Mad Hatter belches out a sonorous hum, picking up speed until we're moving side by side with the Storm Riders.

"Don't get too close to them," Mwangi says, wiping sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. "Their leader has a personal grudge against me."

Eva heaves a dramatic sigh. "Girl trouble?"

"No, before I formed the Tricksters, we were hunting partners. He got greedy and tried to trick me but I was light-years ahead of him."

"What did you do?"

"I stole some...things. Many things."

"I'm beginning to understand why they call you "The Graceless"," I interrupt, wondering what the stolen things could be. Geld? Weapons? A spaceship? Did he leave him with nothing?

Mwangi breaks into a lopsided smile, his brown eyes calculating and sly. "Ah, the name. That's a story for another time."

It doesn't take long to find out the warning was unnecessary. Slowly, minute by minute, the Storm Riders close in on our ship, their plasma canons lighting up with charged energy. They're going to attack us and seeing as I'm facing them, I'm going to be the first one to get hit.

"Buckle up, Tricksters. It's hit or be hit," Rishad announces, rolling his shoulders and flexing his fingers as though he's preparing for a hand-to-hand combat.

Then suddenly, he swerves to the left and the Mad Hatter bumps into the Storm Riders' ship with a powerful force, throwing it off course. It careens like a helpless fly caught by the forces of a spinning fan blade. I know what needs to be done now. My breaths slow to a steady pace. My fingers cease their trembling. I pull the yoke, take aim and fire.

Giant columns of golden plasma bolts shoot from the main canons, hitting the Storm Riders' ship in the core. It blows up in a shower of burning metal and hissing flames. I throw a fist in the air, reveling in victory and ignoring the AI's warnings as our defense system drops by ten percent.

"Don't celebrate yet, Cassiopeia, " Alex says to me, a frown forming between his eyebrows. "Look, the first team is crossing the ring."

We watch as a ship slips between two obelisks. A translucent barrier materializes along the ring, thin like the wings of a moth and razed with sparks of red light that branch out across its surface. Then the barrier vanishes and so does the ship. The view becomes the same as before: Old Earth nestled in its corner.

"Did you see that barrier?" Rishad asks. He had the best view out of everyone.

"It's a trap!" Alex bangs his fists on the panel.

"I think the ship was teleported elsewhere," Eva says. "A new venue."

"That must be the end of the first objective," Rishad says.

I bite my lip. "But the map isn't showing any new updates."

"I'm telling you this must be a trap." Alex shakes his head. "Remember that mission with the Torz, Mwangi?" The Torz are a rare species of aliens who inhabit one of Europa's oceans. "It was after the heist in The Elysium. One moment we were standing on the aqueduct and the next, we show up in the middle of a warzone between the Torz and the Paragons."

"Nasty buggers those aliens," Mwangi says, his voice sounding faraway, probably reminiscing the unpleasant memory.

Regardless of our argument, there is one thing we all can't deny. The objective has not changed. The final destination is still Earth.

And so, after a moment of silent contemplation, Rishad cups his hands, mumbles a prayer in his native tongue and flies us through the obelisks. 

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Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed this latest update of Missing Stars. Fingers crossed I'll stick to a weekly writing schedule to get you more updates >.<