Vega Rillius 144,80
Loman’s Moon Base

The mellowing effects of his beer notwithstanding, Biggs O’Rourke Hilsfar nearly had a heart attack when he heard the part about Boz Grabow’s plans for a contraption he had dreamed up at Ez Fortuit.

Thrynn Confederacy
Gazurtoid Frontier
SS Yardbird

The small vessel made its way past dozens of slave moons toward the heaving gas world as it orbited the dark star at the heart of the system. “Focus and enlarge along the equator,” said Boz, squinting at the view screen. After a moment’s pause, a closer image blinked onto the view screen.

“There,” said Nexbo. The insectoid eyes looked for an instant longer. “Three clusters of running lights…gaps of thirteen point nine four kilometers. It’s not naturally occuring—that’s what we’re looking for.”

“Just where the marigolds said they’d be,” said Boz. Yardbird eased into orbit of the monster world, tracing twenty kilometers behind the haze-shrouded lights. There was just one other piece of business to take care of before they could get to work.

“Brace yoursselvesss for a jolt,” warned Yssk as he pulled back a protective plastic screen on his console and reached for a set of red switches. Graceful reptilian fingers pushed the switches forward and a series of explosive bolts detonated, rocking the rickety Yardbird. Nobody was happier than Yssk to dump the cloaked mines. The black market jewels fell down and away, bound for the crushing depths of the nameless gas giant. Then, with all the skill in his hands and a nod from Boz, Nexbo pushed gently forward on the rudder grip and Yardbird descended into the angry clouds.

From the rear of the bridge, Senator HvHuss and Grssn watched silently as their new hosts coaxed the vessel into flirtation with the gnashing gravity of planet below. The makeshift vessel closed in on the trailing strobes, watching, mezmerized by the flashes, as they burned through the rolling fog. The bursts of light from the proximity beacons intensified as Yardbird narrowed the gap and finally there was a clear view.

Boz recognized it first. The vision sent a jolt of pain and terror to the core of his gut. The memories still cut at him like a knife: the burning flesh, the rocking chaos, the acrid smoke of electrical fires and the weeks of hopeless drifting. The dead kids.

They were looking at the stern quarter of a mammoth Gazurtoid warship.
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Next: “Ghostly”