Omnigalactic

  Contents

  Copyright

  Contact

  Omnigalactic: The Eye of Shen'roth

  Dedication

  CHAPTER ONE Welcome Home

  CHAPTER TWO Have A Seat

  CHAPTER THREE The Weak Spot

  CHAPTER FOUR An Alternative Career Option

  CHAPTER FIVE The Entrepreneur

  CHAPTER SIX Omnigalactic, LLC

  CHAPTER SEVEN Money, the Lifeblood

  CHAPTER EIGHT Founder and CEO

  CHAPTER NINE Beyond Your Comprehension

  CHAPTER TEN Speaking of Wizards

  CHAPTER ELEVEN You Crazy Psycho

  CHAPTER TWELVE Too Early

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN Death Throes

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN Shadow of a Beast

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN Misery Loves Company

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN The Sanest Man

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN Stringy Meat Scraps

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN World-Class Loser

  CHAPTER NINETEEN Jord

  CHAPTER TWENTY Thanks For Everything

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE Finish This Thing

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO Fish Food

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE Loverboy

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR Hand It Over

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE Top of the World

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX My Own Boss

  Omnigalactic: The Eye of Shen’roth

  Copyright 2019 Christopher Conner

  All rights reserved

  Published by Christopher Conner at Smashwords

  This book is a work of fiction. All characters, dialogue, and incidents described in this publication are fictional or entirely coincidental.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced or reprinted without permission from the publisher. Please address all inquiries to c.c.longhand@gmail.com

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  Omnigalactic: The Eye of Shen’roth

  Christopher Conner

  To Mom and Dad

  CHAPTER ONE

  Welcome Home

  In Interspace, everything was black and white. I mean, everything. Imagine an old, black-and-white movie from three centuries ago, but you're in it. Pitch-black trails of smog swirled around aimlessly in a piercing white space. It reminded me of a negative photograph of cigarette smoke, like something a freshman photography major would think was “deep” and “abstract”. Not that I would have chosen those words to describe Interspace. I would have described it as “disturbing” and “abysmal”.

  I spotted a massive, spire-shaped object slowly tumbling through the black haze. Must have been a derelict ship of some kind. Creatures flew around it, scuffling over who would get the next bite of the poor souls trapped inside. Those things were not of our universe, and we were most certainly not of theirs.

  I pushed forward on the thruster to increase my speed. My head hit the back of my captain's chair as the thrusters kicked in response. I didn't want to end up like that ship back there, and spending a week screaming through Interspace was more than I wanted to endure. That place started to wear on your psyche after a while, like a sand grinder against the jagged end of a metal beam.

  I don't share this with too many people, but sometimes, on really long jobs, I would start to hear whispers inside my head. Some strange language I'd never heard in my entire twenty-two years of life. My doctor back home prescribed me an antipsychotic to take while I was on the job. When I told him it didn't work, he told me to see a therapist. I appreciated the gesture, and I knew he was doing his job, but he didn't get it - I only heard the noise in Interspace. Once I left, it disappeared; vanished like a cheap magic trick.

  Despite the dangers that lay there, it was a calm and quiet place - for a time, anyway, because the longer I was there, the more those creeping fingers of insanity took a hold of my mind. In the commercial business, we pilots had a rule: Only do short jumps at a time; otherwise, you'll go insane and jab your eyes out before you ever reenter Realspace. (That is, if you could first survive an attack from a ravenous swarm of razorfangs, harpies, or uberserpents.)

  Up ahead, the triangular Wyn Gate sat idle against the white - my way out of there. I quickly tapped the six-digit code commanding the Wyn Gate to home in on my ship's - excuse me; the company’s ship's - Realspace beacon. A light on the console flickered and oscillated until it remained solid, locked in for Realspace transition. As I neared the Wyn Gate, it spun faster and faster, until the image of a teal-and-brown sphere appeared between the angles.

  Anura - the homeworld of my beautiful people.

  Color returned as I exited Interspace. White transitioned into a star-pocked, black canvas littered with starships great and small, zooming in all directions. The red-orange iris of the Fire-Eye Nebula was ablaze behind Anura, unblinking, as if eternally transfixed by the tiny planet. I breathed a heavy sigh, relieved that everything was exactly where I left it.

  Only the people who travelled through Wyn Gates understood that time dilated in Interspace. What might have been a few day's passing on Anura would stretch to a week in there. I won't lie; it wore on me after a time. But, the overtime pay made up for it. (And it really made up for it, thanks to the time delay.)

  I had more years than any other commercial pilot at Liberty Freight, and at my hefty pay rate, nothing was going to change that - unless I owned my own ship, of course. It would have been nice to be my own boss, take my own shipping jobs, and take a vacation whenever I wanted. Heck, I would have just lived on the ship. No utility bills, no rent; just food and fuel. And Wat's Master Brew, of course. Bah, who am I kidding? I didn't have the gonads to go out on my own.

  A klaxon squeaked at the control console. I flicked a switch to accept the transmission. “This is Cadel. Go ahead,” I said.

  “About time you got back, Sai.” It was Tuve, the dockyard manager. Good guy.

  “I know. I had a slight delay back at the mining depot. Looks like the Nivarans are trying to flex their muscles again.”

  Tuve ignored me. “You need to get back as soon as possible. Things have changed since you left.”

  “What do you mean? Is everything okay?”

  Tuve sighed into the speaker. I couldn't stand when people did that. Horrible radio etiquette. Breathe, cough, clear your throat; do whatever you need to do first, then press the transmitter to speak. So simple.

  “You're clear to land at Dock 308,” he said. “Hurry up.”

  What was wrong with him? Tuve wasn't a thin-skinned kind of person. It was the end of the month. Maybe he’d received a poor performance review?

  I engaged the route tracker for the Heads-Up-Display (HUD) projected on the glasteel viewing area. A path of green-yellow rings popped up. I kept the ship inside the rings as I reentered Anura's atmosphere. Intense heat cooked the inside of the ship. Beads of sweat formed on my cheeks, under my armpits, and at the small of my back. Thank the Pantheon, I had the company install the synthetic-fiber chair, because if the fabric didn’t breathe so well, I would have had sweat marks on my ass, too. I undid the zipper on my leather bomber jacket to cool off. I loved that jacket. It made me look badass. Bought it at an antique Human store some time back; couldn't pass on it. We were shorter than Humans, though. So, I had to get it tailored.

  The temperature lowered to a more comfortable level as I finally passed into the lower atmosphere. Vast swamps and wetlands covered the surface of Anura for miles. Greenish gasses hung over the bogs and mixed with the billowy white clouds. Ritan City, named after the famous warrior of old, emerged from the fo
g. Hemispherical buildings choked the little area of stable ground, and a sea of green-skinned Anurans went about their day. Ah, it was good to be back home.

  The route tracker blipped repeatedly, signaling that I had reached Dock 308. I approached a building with the crimson-and-gold logo of Liberty Freight. A door slid open and revealed a landing pad, so I slowed the ship. The main thrusters decrescendoed from a roar to a hum as I landed.

  When I exited the rear access ramp, I noticed an extreme lack of dock personnel - as in, no one was working. The docks were never that empty. There were no shipping containers, no loaders, no forklift mechs, and no starships. My freighter was the only thing in there.

  “Sai, over here!” Tuve's voice echoed from the main office to my left.

  I quickened my stride and entered the main office. I stopped in the doorway and looked around the room. It was completely empty. No desks, computers, chairs, monitors - and most of all, no employees. An eerie silence hung in the air. Only my thoughts and breath broke up the quiet.

  “Tuve, you mind telling me what's going on?” I asked.

  “The company's been liquidated,” he answered with the bluntness of a sledgehammer.

  “Liquidated?”

  “Liberty Freight is no more. After the markets crashed, it came down from the top that they were cashing in, cutting their losses. They sold off everything they could.”

  “Wait. Wait. You're telling me the company's gone? Poof? Just like that? And what do you mean, the market crashed?”

  Tuve shook his head and sighed. “I don't know how it all happened, but by the time we heard, it was already too late. They cut everyone except for a skeleton crew, until the rest of the pilots get back. Then, the dock closes for good.”

  “When are the rest of the pilots supposed to return?”

  Tuve handed me a small box. “You are the last one. Make sure you get everything out of your locker. Once I lock up the office, no one's allowed back in. Severance will be included in your last deposit.”

  So, that was it. Nearly ten years of my loyalty, my life, to this company, burnt black. I’d always imagined myself riding the job out, maybe even slowly moving up the chain, but that idea had just blown up in my face like a runway technician standing behind starship thrusters.

  “What are you going to do now?” Tuve asked.

  “Get another piloting gig, obviously,” I lied. I really wasn't sure what I was going to do next. This was all so unexpected. An anomaly.

  Tuve shook his head. “Good luck. We weren't the only shipping company to go under. A lot of pilots are out of work now.”

  “What about you?”

  “I hear Reliant Shipping is still in business. I might try my luck there.”

  Reliant Shipping? Our main competitor? What a traitor! I take back what I said about him. To think I had been about to ask him out for a drink - or ten. You know, to drown our sorrows in beer.

  “Well,” he said. “We’d better get going. I'll be waiting for you in the lobby.”

  I went to my circular locker in the room around the corner, box in hand. Five, two, eight, five. The tiny light on the lock changed from red to blue and popped open. I didn't keep much in my locker: A Personal Communication Device (PCD), a mug, and a picture of me sitting on top of a vanar I’d hunted a few years ago. My best friend, Jord, had taken the picture. Great guy. I shut my locker for the last time, headed to the lobby, and stepped out the front door with Tuve right behind. We gave each other halfhearted farewells - at least, I did, anyway - and left Liberty Freight for good.

  Now, what was I going to do? I continued to ask myself that question as I walked past hordes of the newly-unemployed, bustling about on the quest for work. To think that while I’d spent what felt like a week in Interspace, everyone else on Anura had already reacted to their new situation. Everyone was two or three steps ahead of me. It felt like I was flying without knowing the pitch, yaw, or roll of my ship. I had to devise a plan, quick, or the crash was going to devour me alive.

  A sudden, violent jerk of my shoulders sent me hurling into an alleyway. I crashed face-first into a pile of garbage. Before I could even attempt to get back on my feet, I was grabbed and thrown against the opposite wall. Something hard stuck into my spine, and I winced from the sharp pain. Can't say I'd ever been robbed before, but I could tell it was some kind of handgun.

  “All right, pal, keep your hands where I can see 'em,” a grizzled voice said behind me. He nudged me in the back again.

  I stretched my arms out wide. “C'mon, I don't have anything on me. Let me go.”

  “That ain't the first lie I've heard this week,” he said. “First, they tell me, ‘Don't worry; you won't lose your job. Your department's safe. It's just a dip in this quarter's revenue. We're just trimmin' the fat.’ Next thing I know, I'm clearing out my desk. Now, take out that digiwallet and drop it on the ground.”

  “Trust me,” I tried to reason with him. “I know the feeling. I was just laid off after ten years of work.”

  He jabbed the gun harder into my back. “Shut up and spare me the sympathy.”

  Something about the guy's voice was familiar - too familiar. “Wait a second,” I said and turned around. It was an older Anuran, dressed in business slacks and a shirt and tie, with a little extra weight around his midsection. He’d worked in accounting at Liberty Freight. He and I used to talk fishing whenever I had to hand over my travel-expense reports.

  “Nil?”

  “Sai? Oh, shit!” He lowered the gun and tucked it into his blazer. “I didn't realize it was you. Sorry.”

  I lowered my hands. “Like that is going to make it any better? What the hell are you doing?”

  Nil shook his head and rubbed his eyes. “I don't know what I'm doing anymore. It’s only been a week, but I'm going crazy. My wife needs a new prosthetic liver, but we don't have any money. My retirement's completely down the toilet, and I only have two months in savings. I don't know what I'm going to do, Sai.”

  I shook my head and adjusted my jacket. “I just got back from the Nivara Sector. I don't even know what I'm going to do yet.”

  He looked away from me and out of the alley, watching the people pass by. “I doubt any of them know, either. Well, I wish you luck. Oh, and sorry again about trying to rob you.”

  I scoffed. “Don't mention it. Make sure you double-check it’s not someone you know next time, eh?"

  Nil collected himself and disappeared into the alley, his head down and eyes lowered in clear embarrassment. I mean, I would have been embarrassed, too, if I’d almost robbed someone I knew. But then, would I have done the same in his position? Could I have stooped that low? Even worse, would I have to resort to Nil's tactics in the near future? How bad was the situation if an accountant would rob people at gunpoint?

  All these questions swirled around in my head, until I reached the body-packed Central Square. Near the center was the Ritan City Stock Exchange building - a cylindrical tower permanently illuminated with hundreds of lights from hundreds of offices. A share-price ticker frantically scrolled from left to right. I searched for the three-symbolled Liberty Freight price amongst them - as if I needed any more proof that the company had gone under. So many were red - too many were red. I’d never liked that color. Always reminded me of my test scores in school.

  There it was - Liberty Freight Services, down to one bitcred a share. There went my retirement. It would take another ten years to replace it. And I could kiss any chance of buying my own ship goodbye, too.

  I felt sweaty again. My heart jumped into my throat and strangled me. I swallowed hard, pushing it back into my chest. I'm going to be honest; no ideas were coming to mind. I felt both creatively and financially bankrupt. My knees gave out and forced me to sit on the humidity-moistened ground, sure to leave a nice ass imprint on my trousers. So much for that breathable chair.

  Then, it popped into my head: Apply at Reliant Shipping. You know you have to. It is the safest option at this point. With a new vac
uum in the shipping market, Reliant was sure to make the move to gobble it up. That's what I would have done if I ran that company. But, that would have made me no better than Tuve.

  What the hell was I thinking? Liberty Freight was gone. It had been gone the entire time I was hauling gold to the Nivaran Union. My loyalty to the company meant about as much as the share price. Hell, less than that. I owed it to myself (and my bank account) to give it a chance. Not to mention the fact that I didn't care to draw the ire of my dad once again. I could already hear his voice in back of my mind. That same, tired speech, over and over and over. When are you going to do this? When are you going to do that? Look at your brothers and sisters. It was like, “I get it, Dad - you know everything there is to know about success.”

  I wasn’t cut out for all that “go get 'em” stuff. Too many people got burned when they went their own way.

  I pulled the PCD out of my jacket and searched for Reliant Shipping's employment number. I found it. My finger hovered shakily over the digital number pad. Just dial the number, idiot. I took a breath, long and deep. My lungs filled with the thick, moist, Anuran air. I dialed the number and waited for another person to speak on the other end. It was an eternity before I heard someone answer.