JAK PHOENIX
Matt D. Williams
Copyright © 2010 Azore’s Crown Publishing
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without prior written permission of Azore’s Crown Publishing.
Special thanks to Brandon Hunt and Sarah Forrest.
Jak Phoenix character art by Jeff Thomason
https://www.skyfitsjeff.com/
R6.CE
ISBN: 978-0-9865266-0-2
VISIT
WWW.JAKPHOENIX.COM
Dedicated to my love Shannon, whose never-ending support always kept me moving forward.
Chapter One - A Day in the Life
Sand. It’s amazing how many planets are covered in it. Gray sand, black sand, red sand, brown sand, white sand. The universe seemed to have arranged the odd coincidence to make most planets either too hot or too cold. The cold ones had snow—basically cold sand. It must have been a life-shattering disappointment to the ancient people who first mastered space travel. They lived their lives working on it, spent their money funding it and sometimes died trying it, only to find more of the same dirty rocks and sand they had just left behind.
Captain Jak Phoenix went over these random thoughts in his head as he lay burning in the sun, in the vast deserts of Scoparia, just behind the peak of a tightly packed sand dune. He peered over the edge and into the canyon below, eyeing his goal: a small space freighter that sat crashed, abandoned, and had apparently been left untouched for decades.
It was also a quirk of fate that Jak’s involvement in various ridiculous schemes would inevitably lead him to some moon, asteroid or planet that would surely be covered in some type of sand. Despite the dull appearance and apparent lack of appeal of these desolate sand-balls, action always seemed to involve them. Locations like this were essentially a child’s sandbox for adults. Somewhere to hide, (or lose), expensive and valuable objects or build fruitless sand castle colonies destined to fail due to the lack of resources and the inverse abundance of hunger and thirst. They were also a common place to hide yourself, (or get lost), if you weren’t already in the process of being killed and disposed of in an easily excavated hole.
“So where is this ship anyway?” asked Baxter.
“Quiet,” Jak shot back, snapping out of his mindful wanderings.
Baxter, Jak’s long-time shipmate, was just now coming up to the foot of the sand dune. He watched Baxter stumble through the sand like an infant who had just learned to walk.
Jak realized he should have come alone.
Turning his focus back to his target, Jak pulled out his worn and beaten pistol. It was an old fashioned Z8 model with a handle that curved right around into the barrel, ending with a slightly flared muzzle. It was a gem to Jak, but archaic to nearly every other gun-requiring space pirate. It would only hold enough charge for eight shots, making accuracy rather important.
Why in God’s name did he bring the Z8? He should have brought the Z16. Then Jak remembered his frugal thoughts about not wanting to lose the expensive sixteen shot rifle in the sand and made a mental note to possibly re-evaluate his priorities on future missions.
He shifted upwards, put his gun over the peak, and looked down the decline. The dune sloped down and ended abruptly at a rock wall where it dumped into a canyon below. Jak estimated that it was at least ten times his height from the canyon ledge to the bottom, and about equally as wide. The trench carved a jagged path through the planet’s sandy crust, exposing the deep layers of bedrock.
Their prize lay in the bottom of the precipice, jammed up against the opposite wall, near the next sharp bend. The natural environment had slowly begun to assimilate the cargo vessel into its surroundings, encrusting it with dirt in some spots and sandblasting it in others. Metallic objects in these dry environments formed a kind of dry-rust that seemed to slowly but relentlessly destroy them. For a ship, it was a kind of slow death, denying it the respectable ending of a spectacular explosion or collision.
Normally, Jak wouldn’t have even wasted his time visiting the old metal space-box but for the rumour being circulated that this ship contained a crate of rare artifacts, removed from the second moon of Larian before it had been incinerated.
Miraculously, it had remained untouched by scavengers, due to the second rumour regarding the presence of the mythical Scoparian Dragon, which had apparently thwarted several previous attempts by other less cautious pirates, outlaws and mercenaries.
Jak didn’t believe in mythical Scoparian Dragons, but he did believe in rare artifacts and their solution to bankruptcy. As unbelievable as the tale sounded, it was told with conviction by the glossy-eyed story-teller at the Cartagena outpost just two weeks ago. It was from one of those old drunken weathered souls who happened to know everything about everything, yet never seemed to leave the bar. Jak and Baxter had stepped in for a quick drink while contemplating their next move. Their finances had dried up, Jak’s ship was falling apart and their weapons and tools should have been on display in a museum. They were facing the reality that they may have to quit and gain real, meaningful employment. Would it be selling the ship and moving to some boring colony or signing on with the Galactic Guard to function as policemen for hire? When the alcohol soaked gentleman presented his story, Jak felt guilty for considering any option other than pursuing his heart and his freedom. He figured it may be their last trip, but would not sit down and bow out that easily.
“Is this what we’ve come to?” asked Jak, already knowing the answer. “Scavenging an old ship because of a suggestion by some crazy old guy?” Baxter wasn’t able to respond, holding his knees, panting and sweating like he had jogged around the planet. It was blisteringly hot and dusty, but they had been in worse conditions.
Jak knew he definitely should have come alone.
“It was only about five minutes from the ship, Bax.”
“No,” Baxter replied between gasps, “I’m sure it’s more.”
Jak glanced back at the trail of footsteps along their recent route leading back to their nearby ship, the Tempest, and decided to let the subject go. What was doing Baxter in was the three pounds of hot wings he had finished off last night and washed down with ten Trellian ales. Jak had matched him on ales, but skipped the wings. A man had to know his limitations, especially on the night before a mission.
Jak had refused to bring the ship in any closer until he was sure the coast was clear. If there was any trouble, it would be far less difficult to get the two of them out of the way than it would be to move the bulky ship around at ground level. He turned back around and re-focused on the abandoned freighter.
“What do you think?” asked Baxter, regaining some of his breathing and speaking abilities.
“I don’t know,” said Jak, while inwardly contemplating what his next move would be. “I don’t see any sign of a ‘great beast.’ I’ll bet either this ship is empty or—” He stopped talking only for the additional stillness it allowed his body. Had the sand dune shifted below them? He was sure he felt something.
Jak was flying up into the air amidst a cloud of sand and grit before he could even begin to comprehend that the sand dune had exploded from beneath the two of them. His body blasted vertically with a slant toward the canyon, while Baxter must have been blown backwards. As Jak coasted through the thick dirty air, he realized he had lost his gun in the unexpected jolt. The first thought that entered his mind as he made a cushioned landing back on the remaining front slope of the dune was relief that he had not lost his Z16 rifle instead.
Jak slid uncontrollably down the slope with an avalanche of loosened soil in a direction he could only assume was toward the canyon. The l
ack of any visibility in the sandy fog surrounding him prevented him from getting any bearing on the situation. The gut wrenching feeling of falling was the only thing to tell him that he had now left the cliff and was plummeting into the canyon.
Remembering his earlier estimate of the depth of the canyon, he made a futile attempt to get into some form of protective position, so he wouldn’t snap his neck when he hit the bottom. The bone jarring landing came much sooner than expected as he made contact, flat on his back, with the ground. Despite knocking the wind out of him, the impact was softer than he expected the landing of a typical canyon-dive to be.
As the air cleared slightly, he could make out that the sand had shifted up above and heaved most of the dune down into the bottom of the canyon, providing just enough of a padding to keep his bones from shattering on what should have been a solid rock base.
Jak regained his composure and sat up, brushing some of the sand out of his shaggy hair and three-days-unshaven face.
He looked down the ancient dried ravine at the freighter which was now on his plane.
The sudden darkening of the bright daylight brought his attention to the area above the canyon wall. Through the quickly clearing air he saw the previously mythical Scoparian Dragon blotting out the intense sun.
The great sand lizard was as big as a building and coated in brown scales resembling a dried and cracked clay surface. Its yellow eyes pierced Jak’s as it let loose a scream that made his skin crawl.
They had been right in taking the precaution of landing their ship further back and walking in to the freighter’s location. However, the plan had not been to walk on top of the very thing they were trying to avoid. The beast reared up and spread its wings while it made its way through the remains of the dune, toward the edge of the canyon where Jak waited.
He was defenceless and had no ideas. How could he protect himself? Could anyone possibly kill this giant thing? Where was Baxter? His disbelief in the validity of the existence of the Scoparian had rendered him ill-prepared. Jak quickly searched his belt and pockets to see if he had anything of value. Two rusted concussion grenades. Obsolete, even twenty years ago. If they still functioned they would be his only opportunity for an offensive attack.
The sand beast and Jak both saw Baxter at the same moment. Hanging onto the bottom of the dragon’s wing with all of his strength trying to keep himself from taking a nasty fall. Jak could also now estimate the enormity of the creature, realizing Baxter’s portly shape was only about the size of its head. It turned to look at the swinging and yelling form of Baxter, focusing its bright yellow eyes on the distraction. With fluid motion, and what almost seemed like it could have been amusement, it shook its wing forward and back, whipping Baxter around like a leaf. His white knuckled grip was no match for the final scream and powerful wing flap from the sand dragon. He was launched off the wing and onto the remnants of the slope Jak had slid down.
Baxter hit the surface and rolled, gaining momentum until he took flight off the cliff. Jak briefly considered his options before Baxter bowled directly into him, sending both of them painfully skipping across the rock floor of the canyon. After both checking to see if they were still breathing, they got to their feet and made a mutually unstated decision to start running through the ancient rock trench in the direction that did not lead toward the great Scoparian Dragon. The monstrosity made its way to the edge of the cliff and dropped into the canyon.
“Thanks!” shouted Baxter as they bolted through the hot trench. Jak didn’t reply. He didn’t feel the need to let Baxter know he would have moved out of the way if he’d had the time. Life-saving stories were always good for one’s reputation—whether they were true or not.
The great monster made its way through the crevice, gaining distance quickly. The mass of the creature caused it some difficulty in smooth passage, as it caught itself on sharp outcroppings of rock, which shattered into dust as it ploughed through. For its size it was an incredibly agile creature, not lumbering, but moving in a smooth fashion like a rush of water would have likely once moved through the same gorge.
Jak and Baxter were approaching the mummified freighter. It was a long box-like ship that would not have been much to look at even when it was brand new. It was essentially a storage box that flew through space and its design reflected that. The solid arch topped door hatches gave the ship a classic feel. At least a hundred years old Jak figured. The rivet patterns on the door frame and the overall thickness and durability of the metal gave it away. His affection for yesterday’s technology gave him insight into the older engineering designs most others would ignore and disregard due to stylistic concerns. Jak appreciated the tried and true technology that most people would call dated.
He also thought it was about time to use one of his concussion grenades. One for the door of the freighter and one for the dragon. He unhooked one, pressed the rusted ignition button, spun around and threw it in the beast’s direction. A dull thud sounded the moment the device arched downward and touched the surface.
It seemed to momentarily suck the air out of the canyon, replacing it with a heavy cloud of dust and debris. Jak and Baxter both turned around and shielded themselves with their hands and arms, in the attempt to protect their faces from the rock fragments ricocheting amongst the dense and jagged walls. The concussive force blew them both off of their feet and into the rusty metallic wall of the old freighter. Shaking off the jolt, they pulled themselves up off the ground. They turned back toward where the dragon had been and watched the dust settle.
It took Jak a moment to comprehend the fact that there was an absence of anything but a bit of residual dust in front of them. The massive metal clang, so close behind them, confirmed that their pursuer had not in fact deteriorated into particles, but was instead now perched upon the rusty freighter. He could hear the creaking as the metal strained to support the weight of the monstrosity. Jak could feel the heat coming off it and was now close enough to clearly see its rock-like hide.
Jak turned just as the great beast’s head came plummeting toward him. It let loose another scream, which nearly split his ear drums. Jak rolled to the side, letting the giant open jaws smash into the ground. The teeth were as long as his forearm. He was dealing with arm-length teeth and didn’t even have a stick to fight with.
Jak reviewed his surroundings. “Bax, there’s a cave over there!” He pointed over to the opposite wall of the canyon, where a crack in the rock had hopefully left enough of a space for the two of them to slip in. Baxter dodged a swing from one of the rock-like claws and wasted no time bounding into the cave.
“Come on!” urged Baxter. It was Jak’s turn.
Jak analyzed the situation. He was up against the far wall of the rock shelf. The dragon dismounted the freighter in a leap shaking the ground below them, causing smaller rocks and pebbles to break loose and roll down the canyon walls. It stomped into a position in the center between the cave and Jak. It stopped and looked at him, essentially waiting for him to make an attempt at a run. The Scoparian’s yellow slit eyes read Jak’s as it stood patiently waiting for him to make the next move.
The last concussion grenade was his only hope in this draw. At this range it would likely kill them both but would at least give Baxter the opportunity to escape. He pulled it from his belt, ignited it and threw it in one quick motion. The menace swept aside the explosive just as smoothly, shielding itself and knocking the threat away with its strong flexible wing. It detonated against the far wall, blew a piece of bedrock off and brought down a pile of loose sand. At this point Jak had felt more than enough blasts of burning sandy air for one day.
The earthen beast stormed toward Jak, seemingly determined to end this interruption to its day. Jak yelled for Baxter to run while he did the same in the opposite direction. It was a futile move, but would distract the monster long enough for Baxter to make his way down the canyon to a point where he could climb up to the surface level. Jak could feel the beast’s hot
breath on his neck as he dove forward, trying to prolong his inevitable demise by another second or two.
Jak hit the dust face first as he heard a loud high voltage arc, followed by a low electrical hum, which for an instant he mistook for the sound of death. Flipping around he saw the Scoparian grabbing at a steel collar securely clamped around its neck. It let out a shortened screech then grunted and huffed, confused and angry. From the collar ran a thick cable, which originated from an unknown point above the gorge. The low electrical hum persisted.
“Quick, we have only two minutes,” ordered an amplified voice from above.
Four figures in dark blue armour approached the edge of the canyon and jumped. Half way down they decelerated and came to a dead stop in mid air, when their jet propulsion packs kicked in and gently lowered the four men to the ground. The blast pressure kicked up another cloud of dust below each individual as the ionized air cleaned off the bedrock. They deactivated their propulsion packs as they made contact with the ground and immediately began removing the various tools and weaponry strapped to them.
Two men moved into position on each side of the nearly paralyzed, but still towering, dragon beast. Much like Jak, the Scoparian was surveying the happenings around it while unable to interfere. Jak decided to stay quiet for the moment and observe.
The men unloaded and configured what looked like a pair of tripod mounted cannons in a practiced and organized fashion. These were professionals, definitely not there to save Jak and Baxter’s sorry souls. The equipment looked to be top notch. Brand new, modernly styled and untarnished, much like the armour and helmets the men wore. This was expensive gadgetry.
One man on each side of the captive beast loaded his cannon with a projectile tipped with a strong piece of U-shaped steel. In sequence, they tipped the large guns on the tripod mounts to face toward the ground below them. With a thud and some flying stone debris, each of them embedded this steel in the rock, creating a metal loop in the canyon floor on each side of the dragon.
Both teams targeted the Scoparian. One man on each side affixed a large reel of steel chain to their weapons. The cannons were loaded again, with something Jak could not see, then fired in sequence. Steel clamps blasted out of the thick barrels, followed by a trail of the thick steel chain attached to each of them. The two clamps hooked around the dragons arms, forcing shut on impact. One armoured man on either side slid the end of the chain through the metal hooks in the rock.
“Forty five seconds,” said the voice from above. Had Jak heard this voice before today?
Both men on either side grabbed onto the chains and tugged. The dragon’s arms were forcibly pulled down toward the ground. Still mostly paralyzed, it could not react with much more than a few grunts and a minor physical resistance. The great Scoparian Dragon fell to its knees, shaking the landscape again. The men tugged hard, pulling the chain through and their captive down. The loops were spaced so that when its arms reached the ground, they were also spread out. The jaw of the giant also landed on the ground as the creature’s upper body was forced into resignation.
“Ten seconds.”
The team on the left pulled the rest of the cable’s slack through the loop. The cannon was again directed at the ground and fired, securing the chain to the rock. The excess chain was thrown to the right side team over the dragon’s neck. The men pulled the chain through the remaining loop until the creature’s bottom jaw was forced into the dust.
“Five seconds.”
One of the mercenaries targeted the other cannon at the ground and fired a steel plug into the ancient rock, securing the chain the same way as the first. The dull hum in the background ceased and the chains immediately tensed.
The scream sent shivers through Jak’s body as the dragon regained its ability to move and express itself. It seemed the voltage that had been paralyzing the creature had been limited, requiring the use of these primitive restraints. But with the lack of any leverage, the dragon could not pull itself free of its shackles without the risk of breaking its neck or arms. It seemed to Jak that this creature had some intelligence. For the meantime, it had chosen submission.