Lt Shaitana vs the Pirates of Oghma
Chapters:
- A Taste of Danger! (released: Torpol 1104-350)
- The Wolf's Warning! (released: Drinax 1105-001)
- Descent Into Chaos! (released: Torpol 1105-009/10)
- Death From Above! (unreleased)
Chapter 1 - A Taste of Danger!
The shuttle door chimed softly before sliding open with a hiss, releasing a faint metallic tang that lingered in the air. Lieutenant Shaitana stepped through, his boots hitting the deck with a deliberate, steady cadence. His dark eyes swept the bustling spaceport, cataloging every detail—the flicker of a dying light, the weary shuffle of travelers, the faces that turned away just a beat too quickly. His unassuming stature and weathered features might have blended into the crowd, but his presence carried an unmistakable weight. Years of surviving hostile environments had honed his instincts to a fine edge, and now, they thrummed with unease.
He stopped just beyond the threshold, inhaling deeply. His breath lingered for a moment before he released it, slow and purposeful.
“You did that at Torbuk too,” came a sharp voice from behind him. Dr. Novak descended the shuttle ramp with a precision that hinted at a mind constantly dissecting, analyzing. Taller than Shaitana, with an angular frame and piercing eyes, she radiated an intensity that made her casual attire feel as clinical as a lab coat. “Why do you do that?”
Shaitana turned slightly, a faint smile touching his lips as he secured the shuttle door with practiced ease. “Just getting a taste for the local atmosphere, Doctor.”
Her brow arched. “A taste? You mean smell. And for the record, the air here is chemically identical to what we were breathing five minutes ago.”
Shaitana’s smile widened, though his gaze drifted back to the crowd. “Smell and taste are connected, Novak. Every ship, every station, has its own flavor of air. The scrubbers, the trace elements, the thousands of lungs it’s cycled through—they all leave a mark. You just have to know how to notice it.”
Novak folded her arms, her skepticism cutting through his explanation. “You’re romanticizing recycled air. It’s processed, industrial. Not some vintage wine.”
Shaitana chuckled softly, though his eyes never stopped scanning. “Call it what you will, but this air reeks of trouble.”
Novak shifted the strap of her bag, her irritation evident. “Trouble? The scans were clean—no pathogens, no toxins, no anomalies. It’s just air.”
“Fear doesn’t show up on a scanner,” Shaitana said, his tone low and measured. “Stress, desperation... they linger. Even in purified air. And this place has been steeped in them for far too long.”
Before Novak could respond, Shaitana’s posture shifted, his hand brushing the hilt of the blade at his hip in one fluid motion. “Keep the package close, Doctor. No distractions.”
Her fingers tightened around the strap of her bag, her jaw setting with defiance. “I always do my job, Lieutenant.”
He nodded once, his focus snapping back to the spaceport. The crowd surged around them—vendors shouting over one another, travelers weaving through the chaos, drones gliding silently on their tracks. But beneath the surface, something felt off. People moved with an energy that was slightly too frantic, their conversations too hushed. Eyes darted away as they passed, and the rhythm of the crowd wavered, like a melody played out of tune.
Shaitana’s instincts sharpened, a prickling awareness spreading through him. He felt it before he saw it—a presence, heavy and oppressive, lurking just out of sight. The air seemed to grow thicker, charged with an unspoken tension.
Novak glanced at him, her voice tinged with exasperation. “You’re imagining things. This is just another busy station.”
“Trust me,” Shaitana murmured, his hand resting lightly on his sword. “I’ve learned to trust my instincts.”
Before she could argue, a voice rumbled from the shadows, low and rough: “You’re more right than you know, Lieutenant Shaitana.”
The words hit like a thunderclap. Shaitana’s hand flew to his sword in one fluid motion, his body coiled and ready. Novak froze beside him, her breath catching as the air around them seemed to hum with unseen menace.
For a heartbeat, the spaceport fell silent. The distant hum of machinery faded, the chaotic energy of the crowd blurring into the background. Shaitana’s sharp eyes scanned the direction of the voice, every muscle in his body taut, every instinct screaming at him to stay alert. The unseen threat pressed closer, palpable, suffocating.
And then, like the crack of a whip, the moment snapped.
A figure stepped into view, their silhouette cutting through the haze of the crowd.
To be continued in Chapter 2 - The Wolf's Warning!...
Chapter 2 - The Wolf's Warning!
Lt. Shaitana’s sword slid from its scabbard with a whisper, its polished edge catching the cold station lights. His movements were deliberate, precise, each muscle coiled with readiness as a shadow emerged from the corridor ahead. The figure stepped into view—a bipedal canine, lean and imposing. The Vargr’s silver-streaked gray fur seemed to ripple with the glow of the flickering lights, his amber eyes sharp and watchful. Intricate braids adorned with metallic beads swayed as he moved, jingling faintly with each step. Despite the faint limp in his left leg, the Vargr’s presence exuded confidence, his posture regal yet alert.
“I am Khorvan Whitefang,” the Vargr announced, his gravelly voice measured but edged with caution. His gaze flicked briefly to Shaitana’s sword before returning to meet the Lieutenant’s unyielding stare. “My apologies for the abrupt meeting. I had to ensure I wasn’t followed, and your approach was quicker than I anticipated.”
Shaitana’s blade slid back into its scabbard with a soft click, though his hand didn’t stray far from the hilt. “You’re early, Whitefang. Our meeting wasn’t scheduled for another hour.”
Khorvan’s ears twitched, and a faint smirk tugged at his muzzle. “Plans have a way of changing, Lieutenant. Pirates are circling this sector like vultures. I couldn’t risk sticking to a predictable schedule.”
Dr. Novak, standing slightly behind Shaitana, adjusted her bag strap with a practiced motion, her expression skeptical. “Pirates?” she asked, her voice sharp and clinical. “There’s been no official mention of any pirate activity in this region.”
Khorvan’s gaze shifted to Novak, his tone steady as he replied, “The station’s authorities are keeping it under wraps. They’re afraid the news will scare off merchants and traders. But the threat is real, Doctor. And these pirates aren’t just after cargo—they’re targeting skilled personnel. Engineers. Medics.” His amber eyes lingered meaningfully on her.
Novak’s lips pressed into a thin line. Though her composure remained intact, there was a faint tightening of her grip on her bag. “Is there a reason you waited until now to share this?”
Khorvan shrugged, his beads jingling faintly. “It’s not the kind of information you send in a transmission. Too risky.”
Shaitana’s voice cut through the tension, calm but firm. “We stick to the mission. No distractions. No mistakes.” His words, though simple, carried the weight of command, leaving no room for argument.
The group began to move, their footsteps echoing softly in the steel-lined corridor. Khorvan led the way, his movements fluid despite his limp, his sharp eyes scanning every shadow. The station around them buzzed with subdued activity—technicians tinkering with exposed panels, utility droids gliding silently past—but beneath the surface hum of machinery, an air of unease clung to the walls. Shaitana’s instincts prickled, every nerve on edge as if unseen eyes followed their every move.
As they passed a directional sign, Shaitana frowned slightly. “We’re not heading toward Processing.”
Khorvan glanced over his shoulder, his grin sly. “Your paperwork’s already handled. A little... persuasion expedited the process.”
“Persuasion?” Novak’s tone was icy, her disapproval evident. “You mean bribery.”
“Call it what you like, Doctor.” Khorvan’s reply was casual, unaffected by her glare. “The forms are flawless. Just submitted a little early.”
Before Novak could retort, Shaitana shook his head, a subtle gesture to keep her focused. “Eyes forward,” he murmured. His own gaze swept the corridor ahead, his hand brushing the hilt of his sword.
They turned a final corner and came upon a man pacing in front of a sealed docking port. His wiry frame was taut with irritation, and he spun toward them as they approached, adjusting the glasses slipping down his nose.
“Do you know how long I’ve been standing here?” he snapped, waving a datapad in frustration. “I get a message out of nowhere—‘report to the shuttle an hour early’—and here I am, waiting for nothing! The shuttle isn’t even docked yet!” His voice rose with every word, his indignation filling the narrow space.
“We just arrived,” Novak replied coolly, her tone clipped. “We’re as uninformed as you are.”
Khorvan stepped forward, his claws clicking faintly against the floor. Without acknowledging the man’s complaints, he rapped a complex rhythm on the docking door. The red lights above it blinked immediately to green, and the hiss of decompressing air signaled the seal breaking.
On the other side stood a woman in a pilot’s uniform, her stance casual but her eyes sharp. “Shuttle Prandrisha, surface bound,” she announced briskly. “Let’s move, people.”
The group exchanged tense glances before stepping toward the open shuttle. Shaitana’s hand brushed his weapon once more, his instincts screaming that the danger wasn’t over. Khorvan’s ears twitched, his gaze flicking toward the shadows behind them, every movement betraying a predator’s wariness. Novak clutched her bag tighter, her usual precision replaced by a faint unease.
The impatient man, still muttering under his breath, hesitated before following, his earlier bravado tempered by the oppressive atmosphere. Even the pilot’s sharp gaze swept the corridor, her casual demeanor faltering slightly as the shadows seemed to deepen.
As the group crossed the threshold, the docking door slid shut behind them with an ominous finality, the sound echoing like a death knell in the silent corridor.
Unseen and unheard, something stirred in the darkness they left behind.
To be continued in Chapter 3 - Descent Into Chaos!...
Chapter 3 - Descent Into Chaos!
Jareth Voss stormed aboard the shuttle like a tempest, his datapad clutched tightly in one hand, his glasses slipping down his nose. “This is absurd!” he barked, his voice brimming with righteous indignation. “I will be filing a formal complaint about this ridiculous rescheduling! Who runs an operation like this?”
Captain Chen, standing at the entryway, barely looked up as she processed his boarding pass with a flick of her wrist. Her expression was as unmoved as the shuttle’s steel walls. “Of course, sir. Complaint noted, sir. Please take your seat, sir,” she replied, her tone so flat it seemed to sap the air from the room.
Jareth huffed and stomped to the nearest seat, slamming the window shade down with theatrical flair before burying himself in his datapad. The rest of the group filed in behind him, their footsteps echoing faintly in the shuttle’s worn interior. Scuffed seats, dull walls, and a floor marked by countless bootprints made the space feel more like a workhorse than a passenger transport. Comfort was clearly not on the design brief.
Dr. Novak adjusted the strap of her bag, her sharp gaze scanning the cabin with clinical detachment. “Charming,” she muttered under her breath, her tone laced with dry disdain.
With a heavy hiss and an audible clunk, Captain Chen sealed the shuttle door. She turned to face the passengers, her posture as firm as her clipped words. “Alright, listen up. I’m Captain Chen, and I’ll be your pilot for this little milk run. Regular guy’s out sick, so here I am. Not exactly what I signed up for, but hey, bills don’t pay themselves.”
She strode into the cockpit and began flipping switches, her movements brisk and efficient. “For those of you who don’t know, Marduk’s atmosphere is a storm-ridden hellscape. My suggestion? Stay seated unless you’ve got a death wish. If you fall and crack your skull, don’t come crying to me.”
With that ominous advice, she pulled the throttle. The shuttle jolted free of the docking port, and the engines growled to life, vibrating through the cabin with a low, steady hum. The descent to Marduk had begun.
Lt. Shaitana leaned toward Khorvan, his voice low and measured. “Your handiwork, I assume?”
The Vargr’s lips curled into a faint grin, his amber eyes gleaming with mischief. “You could say that.”
Dr. Novak raised an eyebrow but said nothing, her fingers tightening around her bag as the shuttle tilted slightly. The ascent seemed smooth—for now—but Shaitana’s instincts told him the calm wouldn’t last. It never did.
The turbulence hit like a hammer. The shuttle jolted violently, sending passengers lurching against their restraints. Jareth let out a startled yelp, his earlier bravado evaporating in an instant. Khorvan’s claws dug into his armrests, his usual composure slipping as he braced himself. Novak clutched her datapad, her knuckles white, while Shaitana, his pilot’s instincts kicking in, sat steady, his expression calm but alert.
“This is completely unacceptable!” Jareth shrieked, his voice cracking as he clung to his seat. “I demand to speak to someone in charge!”
Captain Chen’s voice crackled over the intercom, laced with biting sarcasm. “That’d be me, Mr. Voss. And my advice? Hold on tight. We’re just getting started.”
The ship bucked again, harder this time, and a storage compartment overhead popped open, spilling equipment onto the floor. Dr. Novak gave a brief cry as a thermal blanket in a sealed packet fell upon her from above. After realizing what it was that struck her she firmly grasped it and shoved it down into the seat beside her. Her cheeks turned a slight pink from embarrassment at her loss of composure.
Then, as suddenly as it started, the turbulence stopped. The silence was deafening, broken only by the faint hum of the engines and the creak of the shuttle’s strained hull.
“Did we land?” Jareth asked, his voice trembling with fragile hope.
Shaitana smirked, his tone dry. “Not quite. Welcome to the eye of the storm.”
Khorvan’s ears twitched as he peered through the windows, his sharp gaze locking onto the swirling wall of clouds ahead. “Enjoy the calm while it lasts,” he muttered, his voice low enough that only Shaitana caught it.
The reprieve didn’t last long. An ear-splitting alarm blared through the cabin, and Captain Chen’s voice came over the intercom, sharp and urgent. “Heads up, people! Highport Security just flagged us—pirates have jumped into orbit and launched an attack! Good thing we got out when we did, or we’d be space dust.”
The weight of her words settled over the cabin like a heavy shroud. Shaitana met Khorvan’s gaze, a silent understanding passing between them. This wasn’t a coincidence. They’d been marked.
The shriek of another alarm cut through the tension, louder and more urgent. Captain Chen’s voice roared through the comm system, her tone edged with strain. “MISSILES INBOUND! Brace yourselves!”
The shuttle pitched forward, diving headlong into the storm. The hull groaned under the strain, the lights flickering as wind howled against the ship. Shaitana’s knuckles whitened as he gripped his armrests, his sharp gaze fixed on the chaos outside. Around him, the others clung to their seats, their faces pale with fear.
Through the cacophony of alarms and roaring wind, one thought burned in Shaitana’s mind: this was no random attack. They were being hunted.
As the shuttle plunged deeper into the storm, the howling wind seemed to carry a sinister whisper, a promise of the danger yet to come. Somewhere in the darkness, something deadly waited, watching.
The Prandrisha hurtled forward, its passengers bracing themselves for the unknown. The storm wasn’t the enemy—it was merely the curtain rising on the chaos yet to unfold.
To be continued in Chapter 4 - Death From Above!...
