(We hope you are enjoying the serialised novel ‘Starfang’ by Joyce Chng. Here is the third chapter for your enjoyment. We’d love to see your fan art or werewolf cosplay pics, so please send them in to adele@foxspirit.co.uk and we will add them to our gallerys)
Chapter Three
Starfang emerged from the jump gate in a sunburst of light.
I watched her re-entry into known space from my chair, the wide screen awash with ‘fireflies’, as I always called it, drifting in a cloud. Starfang’s heart thrummed beneath me, as her steel body fought to slow down. The centrifugal engine-heart must be on the verge of over-heating, cooled somewhat by the automatic coolant system. Prolonged jumping often stressed ships, even warships who plied the space routes in packs and fleets.
“The rest of the fleet are now emerging from the ‘gate, captain,” First Officer April Yue announced calmly. She was sat on my right side, her face lit by the consoles. Her hand flew over the panels. “Starsong, Startear and Starsword.” My destroyers, dutifully accompanying Starfang.
“We are now in Sector 41B,” Mariette announced on cue from her section. “Shields ready, captain.”
“All stop,” I ordered. Ju Fan inclined her head to signal acknowledgement. Starfang didn’t really stop like a vehicle with the usual braking of speed, but I felt it in my bones. She now hung over the orange-grey planet like a ready dagger. The orange-grey planet was a hive planet, shrouded with pollution. My skin prickled at the thought of the air touching my face. Neo-Samarkand. Drug planet.
“They will know we are here,” April said. “Their ships are probably hiding. Cloaked, if they have that technology.”
“Signal the destroyers to point their main cannon at the planet,” I said. “The word for firing the cannons will be ‘prey’. Mission log: started at current system time, 0900hr.”
~*~
Slinking down the paths of underhive Neo-Samarkand, in wolf form, dark like the night and silent, paws on soft effluvia. Hunting the prey, in silence, with the trails in golden before me. Nobody cared about the feral form slipping in and out of the darkness. Until somebody glanced over, saw the size of it, smelled the smell of it, and turned away, knowing it was his nightmare made flesh.
My prey was right in the middle of the underhive, in the dripping sewage-covered streets.
My informant, my lead into the Pariahs’ den.
In this form, I was no longer Captain Francesca. I was now a hunter, sniffing out the trail. I was aware that I was being followed, shadowed by two trusted pack-members. Somewhere, the snipers waited and watched, with their rifles trained on certain targets.
The informant was there, huddled in front of refuse. A bundle of rags and something else: cancer in the lungs. My nose picked up rotting, fermentation, and I snarled. And the hint of something sharp, like mint. Craz. The entire planet was hateful.
My paws sank into shit-filled mud or vice versa. Underhives were shelters for the poor, but they killed hundreds with dismal hygiene. The main sewage pipes ran through the underhives; they leaked and streams criss-crossed the streets. Food was openly sold beside these toxic streams.
Wide eyes peered from the pile of rags. Male, ageing fifties. Craz addict.
I padded forward, snuffling, making sure that he had seen me.
His response was explosive. Gibbering first, before back-peddling in a burst of violent energy. He dropped a silver of jagged metal and started sobbing. Tins overturned in front of him, spilling pieces of rotted vegetables and meat, cowrie shells, oak corks.
“Let’s talk, Dek,” I said in my human voice.
A pungent ammonia scent filled the air. He had peed into his pants.
~*~
Continue reading “Chapter 3”
