Fortuna

Written by Adam Mullen, with art by Mike Lombardo, and edited by Ted Kendrick. December, 2022.

Cerius Bavlacore felt the warm air on his skin as the back door to the saloon where he bussed tables opened in front of him. Cerius took a moment to gaze into the vast emptiness around him. No vehicles. No space vessels. Not even a woomp chuck to be seen. All Cerius saw was the tip of the sun being swallowed up by the evening’s darkness. 

He looked down to the sack of waste he carried in one hand, looked over to the disposal unit that was propped up against the side of the rundown building, and sighed. It had been several days since anyone visited the saloon, that is if you didn’t count Cerius, his boss Laskey, and the only person to always be at the bar day or night, a drunk named Ozza.

Ever since atominite ore became sparse on Vorenden over a year ago, less people had any reason to stop by the tiny dusty planet. For Cerius, he didn't mind not having to break up unruly bar fights, but he did miss all the stories he heard from miners and smugglers who passed through. What he wouldn't give to hear more about Boreasian prong horned owls or assassin robots on the loose. Cerius resigned himself to the fact that this was all he would ever experience in life. He never had enough chips to buy transport off the planet. Every single chip he earned from the bar was given right back to Laskey for renting him a room in the back. There was no way he could experience first hand any of the adventures that he heard from visitors. 

Cerius opened the top of the disposal unit and tossed the sack of waste away. As he turned to retire to his bed for the evening, he heard the roar of an engine above. It grew louder until Cerius saw what was causing the sound. A spaceship was landing at the pad nearby. Cerius nearly forgot what it was like to see a ship, and this one was painted gray with black accents. There was no mistaking who the vessel belonged to: the Skran Imperium.

The appearance of the military craft piqued Bavlacore’s curiosity. Vorenden was within Naams Protectorate space, but Bavlacore couldn't recall ever seeing an Imperium ship around here before.

“What’s a lone Imperium ship doing on Vorenden?” Bavlacore wondered aloud.

The newly arrived ship was nothing like the type that normally came to Vorenden. It’s hull was new and shiny. There were no signs of rust or replacement parts. In addition to its sleek design, it also had a few different weapons at its disposal. This wasn't a cargo hauler. It was a military vessel designed for war. Cerius looked at the ship with awe. 

“Wow, what a beauty,” he said absentmindedly. 

Bavalcore approached the vessel, but his boss, Laskey, sprung the door open, and waddled out of the saloon, pushing Cerius out of the way. “Outta the way, Bavlacore!” 

The older man wheezed as he rushed ahead of the busboy. Cerius witnessed the quickest movement he had ever seen from the old kodger in his life. The only other time Cerius could remember seeing Laskey move that fast was when the last of the atominite ore was mined, and all of his customers left the planet. 

“Don’t do anything that will scare them away!” Laskey stopped to catch his breath. The hatch to the ship opened, and revealed a single person, an orange alien called a Gronaran dressed in a black jumpsuit. Bavlacore had never seen an Imperium soldier dressed like that. In the blink of an eye, the Gronaran withdrew a pistol, and pointed it at Laskey and Bavlacore.

“That’s close enough.” The Gomorian narrowed his eyes and walked closer.  “I’m here for the phase alignment coil. Are you the man who has it?”

“Y...yes. My name is Laskey. I have what you need. You’re Zat Tabow’s operative, right? Who do I have the pleasure of speaking with?” Laskey had never been this nervous before. Bavlacore recognized the name Zat Tabow as the most powerful crime leader in all of known space who operated out of the Delkian-Zaknoth Alliance, free from the laws of the Skran Imperium and the Naams Protectorate. 

“My designation is Blue-44,” said the Gronaran. “Take me to the phase alignment coil.”

“How strange to have a name-- no, a designation-- such as Blue-44,” Bavlacore thought. The last Gronaran he had met had an actual name, and it was Zerblat. 

Something was all wrong about this. An Imperium ship landed on an abandoned Protectorate mining planet, flown by a strange Gronaran working for the biggest crime leader in all of space. Bavlacore knew that Laskey had a shady past, but Laskey told Bavlacore those days were long behind him. 

“Follow me, and we can talk terms,” Laskey turned to lead Blue-44 to the saloon. “I’ll pour you a glass on the house, of course.”

“I do not require nourishment of any kind,” Blue-44 said with zero emotion in his voice. He turned to look at Bavlacore. “Identify yourself.”

Bavlacore stammered, “It’s...my name is Cerius Bavlacore.” 

Laskey quickly interjected, “He’s with me. You can trust him.” The answer seemed to appease Blue-44 who, after a long pause, continued to follow Laskey into the building across from the landing pad. Bavlacore followed closely behind. 

As they walked, the Gronaran spoke. “That is a strong name, Cerius Bavlacore. You should be honored to have such a unique identification. I...do not. Blue-44 is so...generic.”

“Why are you called Blue-44?” Bavlacore asked. “I didn't know Gronarans had such names.”

Blue-44 stopped, paused, and turned to face Bavlacore. “You wouldn't want to find out.” Blue-44 resumed walking toward the saloon, but there was something about how Blue-44 spoke that made Cerius get the feeling that Blue-44 meant it more as a threat than anything else.  

Inside the saloon, Laskey offered a seat at the bar to Blue-44. “Cerius, give us a few minutes alone.” Laskey pointed to another bag of waste laying next to the back door. “There’s another bag to take out. After that, see if you can tune up that new pair of thermal regulators  sitting outside. They’ve been on the fritz lately. Those damn whoomp chucks eat at the wires. Remember, don’t cross the wires on the control pad or you’ll blow this entire place to Hell.”

Bavlacore grabbed the bag and turned to go outside. Before leaving, Bavlacore gave a glance behind him. Laskey was behind the bar counter, grabbing a lock box, which he then placed in front of Blue-44. Bavlacore got the feeling he wasn’t supposed to see what was in the box, so he opened the door to the outside.

After he disposed of the waste bag, he turned his attention to the ship parked at the landing pad. There was something about it that drew Bavlacore closer. Always fascinated by ships as a young boy, he used to watch them come and go from the spaceport on Datreen. Maybe it was the sound of the thrusters or the smell of the exhaust. Whatever it was, Bavlacore wanted nothing more than to have more of those experiences again, but he doubted he would while stuck on this dustball of a planet. 

He turned his attention to the thermal regulators sitting nearby, which controlled the environmental settings inside the saloon and living quarters, making it somewhat tolerable while the temperatures outside reached excruciating levels during the day. Living in the middle of a desert wasn’t fun for Bavlacore. He grabbed the control pad and eyeballed it. Little chew marks could be easily seen along it. Bavlacore remembered Laskey saying that woomp chucks loved gnawing at the wires in the control pad since they were rich in the atominite mineral that they required. Of course, Laskey never placed the control pad anywhere something could get at the wires, which made adjusting the temperature in the saloon difficult.

Zap! The sound of energy weapons discharging from inside the saloon shook him from his concentration. Bavlacore dropped the control pad, and quickly opened the door. What he saw horrified him. The lifeless eyes of Laskey stared back from across the bar. The old man fell backwards, smashing and knocking bottles to the ground. A hole in Laskey’s abdomen still smoked from where Blue-44 shot him. The saloon’s only other occupant, Ozza, woke from his drunken stupor only to quickly pass out again. 

The door to the saloon slammed shut behind Bavlacore, causing Blue-44’s attention to focus on the young man. Blue-44 turned his head to reveal a cybernetic face hiding behind what remained of his orange skin. Blue-44 was not flesh and blood, but instead a machine built for killing, parading around as a Gronaran. He clenched his jaw, sneered at Bavlacore, and aimed his weapon at him. 

Bavlacore couldn’t move, frozen with fear. Blue-44 moved swiftly towards him. “Be a good lad and let me kill you. I’ll make sure it’s quick, just like I did with Laskey.”

His fight or flight response kicked in, and Bavlacore ran out the door. His instincts took hold as he grabbed the control pad to the thermal regulators, and headed towards the Imperium ship. Blue-44 appeared at the door to the saloon. Looking angry and ready to kill again, he aimed at the young man. Energy bolts lashed out at Bavlacore. With surprising agility, Bavlacore dodged them. He ran past the thermal regulators. Bavlacore knew he was risking being shot by the crazy cyborg that chased him, but he looked back to see that Blue-44 was nearly to the thermal regulators. Bavlacore crossed the wires on the control pad. 

The thermal regulators exploded, causing a shock wave that knocked back both Bavlacore and Blue-44. Bavlacore landed hard on the desert ground. He pulled himself up to see the saloon engulfed in another explosion. He looked at the motionless body of Blue-44 nearby. Not wanting to find out if the machine was still alive, Bavlacore ran the rest of the distance to the Imperium ship.

Bavlacore entered the ship and hurried to the cockpit where he looked over the controls, quickly assessing the schematics. With ease, Bavlacore brought the ship to life and prepared the thrusters for take off. When he was a boy on Datreen watching the ships, he occasionally asked the pilots to teach him about the controls, until one day when he sneaked aboard one, and took it for a joy ride around the planet.

Suddenly, a figure jumped onto the cockpit window in front of Bavlacore. It was Blue-44. His skin was now completely gone, and a partially melted machine face stared back at him. Bavlacore had no idea how he was going to get rid of Blue-44, so he did the only thing he could. He engaged the thrusters and took off, straight into the atmosphere. Little by little, Blue-44’s grip on the ship slipped until he let go, falling back to the dust ball’s surface. Without any hesitation, Cerius Bavlacore flew into space in his new spaceship, and reflected on his great fortune.

“The goddess of luck must be with me,” he mused. “Thank you, Fortuna.”

©2022 Lumo Station LLC.

“TALES FROM THE LOST DOMINION,” and “LOST DOMINION,” all characters, designs, and story elements are ©2020-2024 Lumo Station LLC. All rights reserved. No reproduction in any format, digital or print, without the express written permission of Adam Mullen.