Interstellar Spark

Chapter 13

He braced himself, mind churning for a way out.

The two other women, draped in bikini-like scraps, sneered down at him with haughty scorn.

Suspended waist-high by the arms, Michael hung exposed to their mocking stares.

The short Augment stepped near, his hand probing Michael's chest, his voice a frigid whisper. "Kid, you're solid. Where'd you come from? Ship wreck? No ID chip?"

The chip, a Federation citizen's badge, sat embedded at the nape, a tiny square holding every secret of a life. Without it, you drifted as a phantom in their world.

Michael had his tale prepared. "I'm a runaway. Left Maiden for Paradise, hounded by Feds. Fled in a pod, but meteorites tore it apart. Been floating since—glad you nabbed me. Chip's back on Maiden. Where you bound?"

The short one blinked. "Glad, huh?"

He erupted into laughter, then drove a palm into Michael's chest.

Even Michael's steely frame shuddered with pain.

Yet the smaller Augment froze, stunned. He'd expected to shatter him, but only tremors rippled through, leaving no trace. The cabin buzzed, every eye widening.

The bald Augment snapped, "Rick, enough!"

He pushed the woman aside and stalked over. "This whelp's got grit, but he's no Augment."

His stare drilled into Michael. "Name? Why running?"

A lanky, bearded man broke in. "Baldy, no time. Our mission's hushed—kill this drifter, or the boss'll flay us."

Another nodded. "Just make sure he's no Fed mole."

Baldy's grin twisted sharp. "Fair enough. Rick's itching—he's restless without blood or flesh."

Laughter spilled free, the women's voices loud and brazen.

Michael's stomach sank. As he gathered his frail energy to snap the arms and strike, a red gleam flared below. A whip-like jolt seared his spine, nerves twisting in anguish.

His senses tracked it: an Augment woman, dazzling in tight leather, her high collar framing a metallic gleam at her chest, stood at the cockpit's edge, a short rod in hand, her gaze icy.

Gritting through the torment, he wondered, What tool wields energy like a lash?

Rick crowed, "Miss Aria loves taming men—your turn now."

Her boots clicked as she glided forward, slipping the rod at her waist, her eyes locking with Michael's.

He knew Augments bore no souls. Forcing his eyes open, he met her stare.

Their gazes collided—her golden moons wavered, her altered form trembling faintly.

Gasps rustled through the crew.

Baldy gaped. "What's he forged from? Aria's whip, and he's blinking already—seeing?"

Rick growled, lunging a finger at Michael's eye.

Aria's hand flicked, knocking Rick's aside.

Rick, numb to pain, bellowed, "What's that for?"

Aria smirked, bold and unyielding. "Didn't you hand him to me?"

Baldy leered. "Aria's hooked—want him in your bed, or a spectacle here for us?"

Her laugh purred, strange and enticing, her eyes glinting at Michael.

He thought grimly, Pair with this hollow venom, all ruin and no spark? I'd sooner die swinging. He summoned his dwindling strength.

Eddie, the bearded man, grumbled, "No time. One hour to Paradise—end him."

Aria giggled. "Fine, but Eddie warms my bed first."

Eddie flinched, flailing. "Miss Aria's joking!"

Her voice chilled. "Feed him a nutrient tube, then lock him in the mag-box. If he lasts me at Paradise, he's Massimo's—choice lab fodder. He'll thank me."

The Paradise system sprawled wide, orbiting twin suns—Angel and Devil—each smaller than Earth's own.

Angel governed eight planets, Devil three, each tracing paths around their star as the pair, 1.8 light-years apart, spun in a cosmic waltz, spawning wild days and nights.

No one fathomed the seasons' caprice—sunlight could twist to storms or hail in a blink. No one minded.

Its people were rogues, lost wanderers, thrill-chasers, or dupes snared by Massimo's gilded promises.

Too late, they learned his private force blocked all exits, chaining them to a mire of vice and rot.

Three habitable worlds, all Angel's, bore his stamp. Paradise One, third from its sun, weighed 1.3 Earths—blazing, with barren peaks and sands, save two polar cities, armored and modern, sheltering three million.

Factories, labs, and institutes hummed there, driving the system's tech. Order was a myth—lawless but for Massimo's fist, no act went judged.

Paradise Two, near Earth's mass, held air from pre-altered days, its tilted axis carving sharper seasons.

Its vast flora flourished until Massimo's hunts wiped out its reptiles, spitting on Federation codes.

At its equator rose Fallen City, named for his title—the system's pulse, home to his Fallen Palace.

Beyond sprawled hamlets and hubs, brimming with over a billion souls.

Paradise Three, triple Earth's girth, stood as his war bastion, its fleets and bases a death-trap for intruders.

Other planets, rich with ore, churned endlessly—automated rigs feeding arsenals on One and Three.

Devil's worlds cradled rare metals, weapon-grade and prized, funding Massimo's reign through shadow trades to Federation outposts.

In this weave of Devil and Angel, Massimo—the galaxy's darkest Augment—swelled ever stronger.