Rowdy Dead Productions

By David C. Daoust

 

Bernard Vice kept pace with the starship captain as her long stride made short work of the corridors through the bowels of the stolen freighter. One of many stolen freighters, that was quickly forming a fleet. A fleet Bernard dubbed, ‘the Unheard’.

“Well, I wish I knew what to tell you,” she said almost trying to ignore the facts, “Truth is, we’re just filling time between this and that.”

“I understand that, Captain,” Bernard said grimly, “It’s really just a matter of time though… am I right?”

Flannery was her name. She was a tall lanky woman with dirty blond hair, and, truth to tell, a rather bulbous nose- one that matched her pock marked face. She was not exactly fetching– though she was quick, blessed with an intelligence he could see in her eyes; made her uncommonly attractive.

“I’ve noticed that you are usually right, Bernard,” Flannery answered simply with a nod.

Bernard visibly considered her words. He knew she was right; had to hold back a laugh with a steely clench of his jaw. He figured he’d be pushing it, if he said that aloud.

Flannery was actually one of the first women Bernard had freed. The first to volunteer to help.

That first group- almost every one of them had stayed on, offering to help to free as many other women as they possibly could. He was surprised at the offer, never planned for such a contingency.

Over the years– as their operation became more of a ‘well-oiled machine’, Bernard noted, many more of the woman wanted nothing more than to return to their old lives. The fact that their situation was becoming less desperate, boded well, in Bernard’s opinion.

The lot of them, tossed into a life of back deals and shady characters, had learned quickly, picked up the tricks of the trade, and paved their own way into the underworld. The Unheard had grown into a small fleet of smugglers at this point.

Having so many people volunteer for the life, certainly made his work easier. A lot of these women were so far gone, trying to get them clean all by himself would have been beyond reason. Even so, many of them preferred to just stay doped up. It was a harsh reality, which meant they needed to make a bit more than just enough to keep feeding the crew. They needed enough to feed all those extra demons that were forced into these women’s very souls.

Bernard could not do much more than grimace at her silence. He was not sure how long they would have to keep up this farce of a conversation. She was moving stiffly, totally failing at trying to look casual… They probably both looked like horrible actors trying to make their way through a scene, for which there was no prepared dialogue.

Something was not right. He detected the power surge, only moments before docking with the larger ship. He managed to tip off the captain with a note passed between an awkward handshake. The ploy started out pretty good- It had been a few a days since they had seen one another. Unfortunately they ran out of bullshit to spout before they made it to the bridge. Now, they were just silently trying to seem ‘busy’. Their grim looks, back and forth, would really only help if they were being watched as well as listened to; Bernard was not sure which.

Luckily, once they had crossed the threshold onto the bridge, the helmsmen immediately began to report- unwittingly helping them to seem oblivious— or so Bernard had hoped.

To list a few:

Word of the Unheards’ operations had spread through the shady underbelly of the Onion.

Doubly so of the creeping shade with a jagged black knife that slaughtered any that so much as dipped a toe in the slave trade.

All their ships were stolen; someone had to be missing them.

The new cargo they took on, was largely illegal.

All these things could lead to trouble, which meant the Unheard was forever weary.

Bernard could not say what kind, for sure, but trouble was here.

Flannery bantered back and forth, garnering strange looks from her helmsmen.

Bernard, casual as possible, shifted one of the crewmen away from a terminal, as he, seemingly, took over her duties there. She looked a little miffed at the treatment, though clearly decided to file it away for later as the Captain ordered her to a different station.

Bernard opened a backdoor into the ships server system, started flying through data. Looking for anything that may be out of place.

He was not seeing anything. Until he was– but it was not on the screen before him.

The figure seemed to materialize from thin air as the stealth field powered down.

Once the figure appeared- five more followed, spread out around the bridge. Each covered from head to toe in high-tech armor… glistening with energy.

This was Ark Age tech. Constables– the real ones. The superpowered secret police that kept the Royals in power during the Ark Age. They were supposed to be dissolved; Such enforcement was not needed these days.

The crew was smart enough not to put up a fight. Each was taken into custody. Each was questioned separately.

It would appear these ‘Ex-Constables’ had taken an interest in the missing women as well. More, it seemed Bernard was not the only one freeing them, which opened the door to new possibilities. Among them, that she might have already been freed.

The constables were not there to cause them more trouble, fact was Bernard’s methods were far more effective than their own. The Constables, instead, wanted the Unheard to continue on…

‘Seaguard’ was becoming a familiar term. The Unheard got a better look than most that day, when a young Zeke Otomo materialized upon Captain Flannery’s bridge- this marked the first steps of the ‘Organization’ becoming a dominant power among the underworld that stretched like shadowy tendrils throughout the entire Solar System.

The Seaguard was there to welcome the Organization as the devil they know.

More than that, the devil with at least some lines- it won’t cross.