True North

Set in the same world (but centuries later) as: Salt of Nayla

I laid in the pocket of his trousers, darkness my only companion, along with distant cheers and shouting. A growl came from my owner, he was angry, furious in fact. The growl shook his entire body. I felt every move of his physique. He lowered himself, decreasing his center of gravity. Something mighty impacted his upper body, the shockwave propagated throughout him into his feet that sank into the sand of the arena. He lashed out in an instant, retaliating against the strike he had just received. I could tell he wasn’t having an easy time. A distant voice mocked him

“Come on… ‘s that all you got little kitten? All bark and no bite!”

He lowered his body even more, a pounce was coming. I could feel the tension in his legs, but he froze, waiting, ignoring the taunting from his opponent. I heard a soft step, and then he pounced. His claws were sharp enough to slice concrete. Aimed at the opponent before him. His heart was pounding, pumping adrenaline through his feline body. Another growl as his claws sliced through the thin armor plating of the fighter that mocked him a moment prior. I heard a pained scream. His body slammed into the ground, with my owner pinning him down, and his claws sunken into the flesh beneath.

“Agghh! Concede! I… conc…” Pleaded his opponent but his pleas were muffled by a strong massive hand that was placed over his mouth.

“Mock me again…” he growled in a voice that resembled a distant thunderstorm.

“Kitten?” His muscles tightened as he pushed his claws deeper in. Squirming and squealing followed. A moment later I felt us getting pulled away. The security must’ve intervened. The following darkness was filled with cheers, shouts, growls, and loud applause. What happened after I hardly remember; they were fairly ordinary for the events that followed a victory in a match.

Light! I rejoiced as I got pulled out of the pocket and held in his warm, strong hand. He rubbed me with his thumb. My ancient scars glistened in the light of the pub where we had found ourselves, my owner and I, accompanied by his crew.

“A fancy thing ya got there pal.” Called out a voice of a waiter. A young man with a long scar that went through the length of his entire forehead, from temple to temple. My owner glared at him.

“Ain’t yer pal. Trot outta here while you can.”

A softer voice quickly interfered “Micah, chill, he’s just our waiter.”

My owner’s gaze was cold and stern. “A waiter from the line-scars clan? Funny tale.” His gaze returned to the young man with the scar. “The hell ya want?”

My owner dangled me on the antique chain that was attached to me. His gaze firmly fixated on the scarred man.

“Uhh, sorry sorry. Rude of me to not introduce myself. I’m James De Grace, of the Line Scars as you’ve already noticed. We got… a job, that might be suitable to your crews expertise.”

The commotion and rambling around the table where Micah sat with his crew died down in an instant. Although the rest of the pub was still as loud as ever, somehow it felt deadly quiet at this table.

“We, the Black Lagoon pirates do not FFFUCK WITH YOUR KIND, and don’t appreciate it…” He replied harshly, in a threatening tone. “Now scatter before I run out of patience and make a snack out of you, PAL!”

The scarred man, despite being part of a criminal syndicate felt threatened, he took a hesitant step back and bowed slightly.

“Apologies, Micah, and, Black Lagoons. We won’t bother you again…”

As he turned I felt my owner’s body jerk, he snapped and grabbed the young man’s wrist. “Bring… me… beer! Since you dare pose as waiter.”

“I’m afraid that’s not my job.” The young man replied without turning around.

“You ARE wearing a waiter’s uniform, so you WILL bring me my beer.”

The young man glanced down at his apron that he stole a moment prior to approach the table.

“Uh… In that case I suppose I must comply with the customer’s orders.” He shook his hand free of Micah’s grasp and walked away. Micah slowly lowered me and sat me on the table, face up. My needle spun from the momentum, but finding no magnetic field to attach to, it eventually came to a halt, pointing in a random direction.

“Micah, you fucking outta your mind? You just said it yourself… we don’t fuck with their kind man…”

Micah grinned at his right-hand man.

“Easy, Elias, we’re in our home turf. Besides… he knocked our waiter out, and I WANT! MY! BEER!”

Elias froze for a split second with a dumbfounded look on his face, and then chortled. “Fair point, cap’.”

After a night of celebration, we were back in his quarters. Micah pulled out his combi-dev. A device that far surpassed my own abilities. Where I can simply point north, and only on a planet’s surface, this fancy device could point to any planet, in any star’s orbit, within several thousand light-years radius. It could communicate with other such devices, show news and even offer jobs for captain Micah. I, an old, scarred, compass, could never compete with it, but he would kill for me.

Back in the days when Levi held me in his hands, when he built his empire and expanded his reach. When he became the most influential force and controlled the seas and traffic, I was at his side. And now, centuries past, I sail the high seas with no water and no winds. In the vast ocean of space, I am nothing but an heirloom, and yet I stand by his side all the same, as he, the captain of the Black Lagoon pirates, expands his reach and influence once more. He checked the device; a tournament map displayed on it. He scrolled through it to see his next fight.

“Sector 7, Lynastra system. Opponent: Gregory Fedorovich, from the USSF. Planet of Lebyr.”

He poked at the combi-dev to pull up the intel. It was soon discovered that the fight took place on a dwarf planet with low gravity. It was an armed match; all weapons were permitted. The Black Lagoon, name of our flagship in the fleet, was always accompanied by an escort of no less than 3 interceptors, 1 drop ship, and 2 frigates. That was merely an escort group of the fleet that grew ever larger and aimed for full control over 4 sectors, with currently three being under full control. Arrival of the flagship was always quite a spectacle, but the opponents we faced were no less impressive. Micah held me in his grasp, glancing up at the arriving armada of the USSF, bringing their fighter to the designated arena. It was a part of an abandoned village, an outpost of sorts.

I recognized some markings on the walls. Of course, the syndicate’s former outpost. Not a bad place to host the outlaw tournament. One might wonder why the Space-Soviet Federation is participating, well, the answer lies in the name. They seek influence and control, and if it means mangling in the outlaw business, they aren’t opposed to that idea. They reached Micah with countless offers, seeking his influence to increase theirs, but he always denied them in the most spectacular fashion, by making demands they couldn’t fulfill since it would decrease their power and influence. He tucked me away and readied his rifle. This grand tournament’s fights ranged from unarmed and melee, to flagship combat sometimes. It was a spectacle for all, and a means for the organizations to show why they shouldn’t be messed with.

Micah was old-school. He preferred ballistic weaponry. Cannons and rifles that shot physical bullets, and knives. Simple, but quite effective. Low gravity made for a fun use of the environment, especially beneficial to the beastman and his strong legs. The fight began with a shot of a cannon from 1 of the ships, and instantly Micah leaped up. The fighters began on opposite sides of the outpost. Micah’s claws easily dug into the sandstone bricks that the buildings were constructed of, and the low gravity allowed for a hasty climb.

Within moments from the start, I found myself dangling off his wrist at the top of a building, as he knelt and aimed down sights, scouting for any form of movement. An advantageous position, with a quick and easy retreat route, and his animalistic instincts and strength, really made this fight quite unfair, or so I thought, but then something grazed the side of his head. Micah ducked instantly; a soft groan escaped his lips. I felt the scorching hot bricks beneath me when I slammed against them. No sound. Micah remained down on the ground for a few brief moments, regaining his composure and sniffing the air. He reached for me and glanced. My arrow wobbled, uncertain, but pointing roughly in the direction of the North.

This planet’s weak magnetic field made me semi-functional. He grinned and then rolled over to the opposite edge of the roof from where the shot came from and pushed himself over the edge. Digging his claws into the soft brick, he slid down the side of the wall and darted for the nearest cover. Careful movement and scouting followed, staying hidden, and keeping his head low. The opponent was clearly a sniper but lacking Micah’s beastly strength he likely remained on lower roofs.

It did not take long for Micah to track down his prey. The beastman prowled toward his target, slow and steady, armed with his claws, desiring a personal kill rather than using a rifle. The sniper’s gaze darted from roof to roof, expecting the beastman to use height to his advantage, and not the shadows. But the target that Micah had acquired turned out to be a decoy. As he leaped at his prey and phased right through it, another shot followed from quite far away, missing me by a mere few millimeters. I felt the shockwave from the projectile as it rushed past me. My heart would have stopped if I had one, and still I knew that even if I got destroyed in a fight, Micah would keep me by his side and pass me along to his offsprings, as his father, and many fathers before did.

The hunt went on for hours, and in that time, Micah’s thrill grew duller, as the opponent kept circling him, trying to take him off from afar, while Micah kept trying to get up close. An unfortunate matchup for Micah, that ended in an unfortunate way for his opponent. Once he grew tired of playing cat and mouse, he dialed up someone on his combi-dev.

“All weapons are a go, right?” He inquired.

“So long as the weapon is in the arena and not firing from the outside, it is part of the fighter’s arsenal.” Replied a voice in an official tone from his combi-dev.

Micah grinned and glanced up where his crew, aboard their flagship hovered. He dialed something else in the combi-dev and gave instructions with what vaguely resembled coordinates. A few minutes passed, and from the skies above it rained death. Half the outpost was flattened in mere seconds; turned to dust. Not a hint of a building was left.

“Play stupid games, win stupid prizes.” Micah cackled in his thunderous voice. The armada of the USSF took off, battle stations at the ready. The audience exploded into an outrageous shout, and the live-feed of the battle was cut while the tournament officials contemplated what just happened. Micah’s gaze was fixated on the armada that hovered above him. With his own fleet opposite of them with guns ready to blaze.

Announcement mumbled. The crowd’s uproar could be heard for kilometers. The armada’s engines whirred, as they ascended, deciding that engaging in a battle in which they’d anger every criminal organization in the entire cluster would not be useful to them.

Easy victory after a prolonged play. Chatter, celebrations, much the same as every other victory. Micah was hard set on the final prize of this tournament. A Ris’s eye, commonly known as the ‘Dragonstar jewel’, the rarest jewel around. Akin to tiger-eye gemstones from earth, but by far the most rare gemstone in this cluster. It is said to be able to produce equivalent power to a carrier-class starcruiser’s reactor.

Fighting day once more. It is the finals. I am left in the captain’s quarters, unable to witness this fight in person. A shame. This time it is not on a planet, but a station.

“LLLLADIES AND GENTLEMEN! SCUM OF THE WORLD AND THE VERSE ALL AROUND! GATHER! GATHER AROUND and hear me say – WELCOME TOOOOO THE FIGHT NIGHT!”

“We of the Syndicate welcome you. Our proud sponsors are – Shihiro clan, the Line-scar clan, Black Lagoon pirates, USSF, oh… they didn’t want to get mentioned TOO BAD! You’re messing with the baddies, we care not for the rules.”

The voice on the TV I couldn’t see kept talking. This is how I witnessed the final fight for the Dragonstar jewel.

“The contenders are entering the arena. In the red corner we have Micah, descendant of Levi. Heir to the Black Lagoon’s rule. And his opponent is none other than a representative of the Line-Scars, James De Grace, son to the vice-leader of the clan. Trained assassin. Seventy-three confirmed kills, over a hundred unconfirmed.”

“They glare at each other. The ref called them to the center but they seem to be discussing something, hey cameraman? Get us a close-up I wanna hear them.” The announcer demanded, and apparently, few moments later the camera switched to one on the ground.

“Again, captain of the Black Lagoons… I’ll have you know, I did not forget your beer this time, sir…” The sly, familiar to me voice mocked.

“Don’t bother, you fox.”

The fight promised to be personal as it was melee weapons, in a no-gravity environment.

“Micah’s superb reflexes really are giving him an edge in this fight, but James’ precision is giving him the upper hand in the end. From each encounter and contact, the captain of the pirates seems to come out wounded, while his opponent seems unscathed. Perhaps going unarmed against a trained assassin wasn’t his best decision… And now for a commercial break!”

The commercial breaks were frequent, since the syndicate aimed to force people into subscription to avoid the commercials and not get distracted from the fight, the outcome of which would essentially determine the one in charge of this sector.

“Another encounter, Micah is tumbling… ouuffff impact. He hit his head on the wall of the arena and seems to be unconscious. James has come to a stop and is re-assessing the situation.”

“He pulls something out of his coat, what is that? A tri-blade knife. He’s preparing to go for a kill… aaand take off! James pushes himself off the arena’s edge, with a tri-blade in hand he’s aiming to gut the pirate captain and bleed him dry. He’s speeding to the unconscious body of the pirate captain who is tumbling through the zero-g.”

“Aaaaaand that’s the… OH MY GOD!”

The narrator exclaimed. “Did you see that? In a blink of an eye, from a limp mass to a vicious beast. He snapped as if called by his predator instinct. Micah awoke moments before the tri-blade dagger would have pierced his chest and instantly grabbed his assaulter by the neck. With no hesitation he tore through James’ throat. Only his growl could be heard… Ladies and gentlemen, just like that the situation turned around, and we HAVE A WINNER.”

The Black Lagoon pirates prevail. They always prevail. Be it vampires or armadas. A whole fleet or an entire kingdom’s army, it matters not to the pirates who value life of freedom and cherish their comrades. Flicker of candlelight, a cheering crowd at the pub. I am passed from hands to hands, each feeling the scratches and dings in my brass casing. The night ends in a blink, and I sit on a shelf in the captain’s quarters once more, next to a new neighbor of mine, the rarest jewel in the galaxy, the Ris’s Eye – Dragonstar. The acquisition of which with no small effort, opened the doors to greatness for Micah and his crew. However, that story – is for another time.

Prompts for this story were:

• Let’s go into a world, or worlds, with remarkably low gravity, or variable?

• I want the story to be written from the perspective of an object witnessing it.

• Oh uhm ehh.. I was thinking about including a big cat to the story, roughly the size of Raewyr ;-;

• but there will be a fighting tournament!