whiplash-story

[whiplash-story]

CHAPTER VIII

Kyler

* * *

“Astro 7? Come in, what’s your status?”

“Great! Everything’s going according to plan!” Kyler yelled.

Everything was most certainly not going according to plan.

He’d made it successfully out of the hangar, barrelling over a few guards on his way, but the Corinthians had quickly found their way to their own vessels, and it seemed his hull wasn’t as fortified as he’d thought. His stolen ship was taking heavy fire, and it wasn’t faring all that well.

The smell of smoke filled his nostrils and Kyler swore heavily as he maneuvered the ship between the soaring trees and dodged as many of the blasts as he could.

It didn’t exactly help that the ship’s systems felt the need to point out his current situation--”You are under heavy fire,” a robotic voice announced.

“I’m working on it,” he said through gritted teeth, fully aware that the system had no A.I. and most likely couldn’t hear him. Cracks splintered in the glass of his windshield as more of his attackers’ ships soared in front of him. He fired his shuttle’s weapons, but the blasts glanced harmlessly off the armored hulls of the newer carriers. Kyler’s heart thundered inside of his chest. He was surrounded--and utterly screwed.

“Surrender yourself,” came a blaring voice over the radio of his ship, “and perhaps we will spare your life.”

Ha. They’d hand him right over to Rzer for the bounty that hung over his head, and the only reason that Rzer would ever spare him would be to get information about the resistance--and then he would kill him. Yeah, right.

“Go to hell,” he responded coolly.

The ships pressed in closer, and Kyler had the fleeting thought that this was not how he wanted to go out.

His mind whirred. Corinthians were an advanced race, yes, with stronger weapons than almost any other race in the galaxy, but they were hesitant to spark disagreements with other planets unless there was money involved--especially ones they thought could beat them. Yeren was nearby, and far more powerful than Corinth. If he could get there, they wouldn’t follow him. He’d be safe--well, as safe as he could be with a few million hanging over his head. All he had to do was get off this godforsaken planet and get inside Yeren’s atmosphere.

Cake.

It was time to do something stupid.

Kyler scanned the ships in front of him. His was smaller, but that made it faster, sharper. And maybe he was surrounded on all sides, but that still left one way to go.

Up.

Kyler slammed the acceleration and yanked the throttle back as far as it would go without coming loose entirely. He barely had any room to get a start, but the ship did well, skyrocketing upwards like a bullet. It clipped one of the crafts in front of him as it did. A sharp crash resounded through his shuttle, but it survived, the circle of attackers growing more and more distant as he shot through the atmosphere.

“Yes!” Kyler grinned, blood still pounding in his ears.

“Structural damage to the right wing,” the ship replied.

He groaned at the reminder that he still had a ways to go before he could celebrate. Yeren was already visible in the distance, but the smell of smoke had grown stronger, and the ship harder to control. And the Corinthians hadn’t left his tail yet; they had settled into a formation behind him. Blasts shuddered against the hull once more.

There was nothing much to do besides fly; he pushed the ship harder and harder, firm on the acceleration and weaving between the fire until Yeren was within reach.

And then the lights on the console flickered. No, no no no--

“Structural damage to the main power core.”

“Fuck!” he swore. Yeren was so close. He gripped the throttle with white knuckles, but the ship began to falter. It needed power--a thought came to him suddenly, and he cursed himself for being so stupid. He had power. With a deep breath, Kyler shut his eyes as blue sparks began to dance along his fingers. He pressed his hands against the console, praying it would work, and let a surge of electricity pass through his body and into the vessel.

It whirred to life. The lights came on, brighter than before, and the ship made a final push through into Yeren’s atmosphere. He threw a glance over his shoulder, watching as the Corinthians fell back. A cheer rose in his throat, but it died very suddenly as he realized that the power surge had been short-lived, and he no longer had control of the ship.

“You are losing altitude,” the robotic voice declared.

Kyler yanked the throttle desperately, trying to aim away from the sprawling silver city and towards the empty hills. The ship sputtered, the ground coming at him faster and faster. Panic flooded him very suddenly.

“Hey, Commander Nova?” He pressed a finger to his comm and choked on the smoke filling the craft as he abandoned the controls altogether, struggling with the hatch. It would be better to land on the grass from this height than be trapped in the wreckage, he decided. But the door wouldn’t budge. He cursed again and screwed his eyes shut.

“So,” he said, trying to keep his tone even, “I might be a little late to our rendezvous point.”

He braced himself as the ship slammed into the ground.

* * 

Kyler woke up on a stranger’s ship with a splitting headache.

A soft groan escaped his lips as he sat up slowly, fingers brushing against his temple. He blinked in surprise when they met a soft white bandage. Strange. His eyes flitted around the room.

The ship was small but sleek, with white walls and long windows and strange potted plants scattered around. Whoever owned this ship had money--and they also had him, he realized abruptly.

Instantly, the worst possible scenarios came to his mind--bounty hunters, Yertian officials, maybe even some of Rzer’s men themselves--whatever it was, he was probably going to have to fight his way out of this one.

On the plus side, this ship would make a kickass gift for Nova and the rest of the Resistance.

Nova, he thought suddenly, and pressed a finger to his comm. “Commander? Can you hear me?” Nothing but static. The stupid thing was busted.

Kyler huffed as he swung his legs over the metal bed he sat on and stood up. His aviator’s jacket was gone, but his cargo pants and shirt remained--both singed and peppered with holes, he noted. He walked--stumbled--out of the room and into a narrow hallway that seemed to lead to the main cortex of the ship, where he could hear an unfamiliar voice. With carefully soft footsteps, he crept down the hall.

A man sat at the controls, holding a radio that crackled with a voice Kyler couldn’t fully understand. A moment passed and the ship’s pilot responded with a curt, “Thank you for the report. Dismissed,” and set the radio aside.

Kyler stepped forward, but before he could make another move, the man had turned around in his chair and was staring him down with cold, icy blue eyes.

“Where am I? Who are you?” Kyler demanded, his fingers crackling with blue electricity.

The man tilted his head curiously. “I wouldn’t do that, if I were you,” he replied, nodding at his sparking hands.

“Oh yeah?” Kyler scoffed. “And why the hell shouldn’t I?” As soon as the words left his mouth, he felt a wave of nausea and swayed on his feet. Oh. That’s why. “What did you do to me?” he groaned, clutching a hand to his bandaged head.

“Nothing,” his kidnapper said swiftly. “But you had quite the crash back on Yeren. Really, it was a spectacle. It’s a wonder you’re on your feet already.”

“I’ve got a thick skull.”

“I’m sure.” The man looked amused.

Kyler steadied himself against the wall, waiting for his head to stop spinning. “So you’re gonna take me back to Zetari? Hand me over to Rzer?” he said finally. “Fair warning, as soon as he gets what he wants he’ll probably knock that perfect head of yours right off its shoulders. Mount it on a wall or something—right next to a huge gold-framed picture of himself.” He rolled his eyes.

“Oh, I’m well aware of the...shortcomings of Zetari’s leadership. But the bounty isn’t what I’m looking for.”

Kyler’s eyes narrowed. That came as an unexpected surprise. “If you’re not a bounty hunter...then who are you, and what do you want?” he asked, brow furrowed. “I’m guessing you didn’t get me off of Yeren out of the goodness of your heart.”

The man laughed. “Not quite. My name is Nolan Sharpe. I’m the CEO of a clandestine research operation, and,” he paused, which seemed to Kyler like it was just for the sake of dramatics, “I have a job for you.”

“Yeah?” Kyler lifted an eyebrow and put on what he hoped was a somewhat intimidating scowl—which perhaps would’ve been a little scarier if he wasn’t currently using the ship’s wall as a crutch. “What makes you think I want to be your lackey?”

“It’s come to my attention that you went to Corinth in search of weapons from Vorlan, but he wanted more money than you have to offer.” Sharpe leaned forward, folding his hands in his lap. “I can give you the money. Better yet, I can supply you with weapons more advanced than anything Vorlan can offer you.”

Kyler’s mind whirred. This man already seemed to know far too much about him and his mission—but his offer sounded tempting. The last thing he wanted to do was return to the Zetarian underground empty-handed.

“I’m just supposed to believe you have that sort of money and tech?” he asked suspiciously.

Sharpe smiled and stood up from his chair, pulling out a long case from under the dashboard. “I thought it might take some convincing.” He opened the case.

Inside was a slim, shining prosthetic leg. It was made of silver metal, with electric blue lining and smooth joints. Kyler’s eyes swept over it, studying the design carefully; it was better made than anything he’d ever seen and looked more effective than anything he’d used before. Whoever this guy was, he really wasn’t messing around.

“It’s a blend of carbon fiber and a titanium-steel alloy. Extra light, but also extremely durable. And, you no longer have to switch between settings when you run or walk or anything else—this will do it for you. There’s even an underwater feature,” Nolan explained, a proud expression on his face.

Kyler felt his eyes grow wide and actually had to stop himself from gasping aloud. He reached a hand out to touch it, but before he could, the case snapped closed.

“So, we have a deal?” Sharpe asked. “You do the job in exchange for weapons? Or, I could drop you back on Yeren and we could pretend this exchange never happened.”

He chewed his lip in thought. He didn’t know if he could trust this Nolan character, but he had a better shot of helping the resistance if he had the money and the resources that he’d offered. And besides, that leg was pretty freaking badass.

“Alright, Sharpe,” he nodded finally. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”

Nolan smiled. “Wonderful.” He reached under the dashboard once more and handed Kyler a pile of clean clothes; his aviator’s jacket, freshly washed and sewn up, and under it a t-shirt and cargo pants not unlike the damaged ones he currently wore.

“Get dressed,” he said, gesturing to a bathroom. “We’ll be arriving shortly.”

[whiplash-story]

CHAPTER VII

Aisha

* * *

The white van did not follow her. Yellow 2 and 3 knew when she needed to be left alone.

Aisha had no idea where she planned on going. The suburban street spread out in front of her, bathed in sunlight. Neat rows of ornate houses lined the road, complete with their twisting driveways and perfectly kept lawns. And she faced an impossible decision.

No, that was wrong. She faced a decision that she didn’t want to make. It was her life weighed against her village’s, and she knew which way the scale tipped, knew exactly what she was supposed to do here and yet--

Her eyes burned. Aisha felt the sudden urge to bring the egg out of her pocket and hurl it across the street, watch it crash against the asphalt and shatter into a million pieces. She had done everything right, everything; she had done her research and made a plan that had seemed foolproof. And Thomas Kind--that bastard deserved it, he had never once lived up to his name. He was nothing more than another selfish CEO, a conniving thief, but one way or another, Aisha would be paying the price for giving him his comeuppance.

It was a cold, caustic reminder of how unfair the universe was.

She was broken out of her thoughts by a soft whirring sound. Aisha looked up to see several simplistic white androids settling into a circle in the air around her, their black screen-faces peering at her curiously.

“State your name and purpose, stranger,” the security bot in front of her said in a monotonous, but somehow sinister voice.

Eyes narrowing, her hand drifted to the blaster on her belt. “Cora Kiver,” she lied swiftly, thinking of Kind’s house staff. “Housekeeper.”

The android raised its arm, and a soft teal light passed over her body. “No match,” it droned. “Prepare to be--”

What the robot planned on doing to her, Aisha didn’t take the time to find out. She raised her blaster and fired a swift shot through its head.

Instantly, she was under the fire of its comrades. She ducked nimbly out of the way of a shot and made a break for it, but they flew after her, too fast. She fired two blasts over her shoulder; one clipped a security bot’s arm, but its partner dodged the second.

Lunging out of the way of another brightly-colored blast, Aisha trained her vision on the fence at the end of the street. They wouldn’t be able to go past it, but that was assuming she could make it there to begin with. It was too far away, and the bots were better equipped for a chase sequence than she.

As she turned towards the androids and raised her blaster again, a blinding neon light filled the air, harsh and bright. Aisha shielded her eyes with her arm, stumbling backwards.

When the light faded, she opened her eyes, blinking.

The robots had fallen in an arc in front of her, their white metal bodies sparking. And an unfamiliar man stood behind them, his hand on his wrist. Aisha studied him carefully. He had closely cropped salt and pepper hair and a five-o’clock shadow that made him look a confusing mixture of scrappy and professional. His eyes were a startlingly pale, crystal blue, like chips of ice.

He looked up at her, expression curious. She narrowed her eyes as he adjusted his navy blazer. He looked like a businessman.

She didn’t trust businessmen.

“Hello, Yellow 1,” he said after a beat of silence. “Or should I call you Aisha?”

Aisha felt her blood freeze. “Who are you?” she demanded, raising her blaster again. “How do you know who I am?”

He gave her the sort of smile that made his eyes look even colder--and now he really seems like a businessman, she thought.

“There’s no need for that.” He nodded to the gun in her hands. “I’m not the enemy here.”

“Who are you? I won’t ask a third time,” Aisha growled.

The smile didn’t fade from his face. If anything, amusement only grew in his eyes. “My name is Nolan Sharpe, of Paricida IX. I have a proposal for you, Aisha,” he replied, voice gravelly under the smoothness of his words.

She scoffed, her grip on her blaster tightening. “I’m not interested.”

“Oh, I think you will be.” When Aisha raised an eyebrow, unconvinced, he gestured to the slight bulge in the pocket of her coat. “I can sell that egg for you. Give you the money so you can use it to save your village or something equally noble,” he paused for a moment as her eyes widened.

“But first,” he added, “I need you to do something for me.”

[whiplash-story]

CHAPTER VI

Pilar

* * *

Space is vast. It’s huge and seemingly empty, but enlarge the scale and you’ll find a dizzying complexity of intricacies, individuals that make wholes, wholes make more wholes, wholes, in the end, come back to individuals. There are trillions of stories that no one will ever tell, and trillions more told too many times. Space is vast, and it is vastly terrifying. It can drive a traveler mad.

Not, however, if you have a well-loved CD of Toto IV on hand. Pilar slid it into the CD player her brother, Joaquim, had given her for her 17th birthday. She stretched out in the back of her ship, Marisela’s creaks and groans accompanying the sweet, sweet marimba of Africa. The windows curved from maybe three feet off the floor into the rest of ship’s body, creating an orange slice of pure wonder.

That’s a weird analogy, Pilar thought. But we’re going with it. 

Stars pricked brilliantly in the distance served as a constant reminder of how small everything really is. Very, very small.

Mouthing along to Toto, Pilar gazed out the window and let her mind drift.

Of course, it’s hard to let your mind drift when the blare of sirens drown out the calming synth and smooth harmonies that bless the rains down in Africa.

Pilar started. Leaping from the sofa, she bolted to the cockpit. “Who the hell are you?” she asked a ship that couldn’t hear her. “Oh, shit,” she answered to herself, “You’re the Gordonian police. I swear,” she muttered, “you make out with the queen one time, and suddenly everyone’s on your ass.”

Pilar felt a panic set into her gut. It burrowed deep and squirmed uncomfortably. She glanced out the window. The Gordonians had advanced quite a lot since she’d last… visited. Marisela had her stunning looks, but not much else. Her chances seemed dim and the dread balled up in her throat.

The ships were closing in. They were sleek, shiny, and a deep indigo, making them almost blend in with the inky void around them. However, the deafening sirens and flashing lights kind of undermined the stealth aspect of the ships. Pilar switched autopilot off but didn’t run just yet.

Marisela’s radio spat out a crackle. “Pilar Delarosa, you are under arrest for capital adultery. Anything you say or do will lead to immediate and painful death. Surrender and we might reduce your sentence to immediate but not painful death.” The radio cut off.

“Some reading of my rights,” Pilar grumbled. Something told her, however, that taking it up with the king wouldn’t be her very best idea.

She sized up the ships flanking her. They seemed to be waiting for her response. They wouldn’t wait for long, though. She couldn’t outrun them in a million light years. And her firepower left much to be desired. Pilar tuned back into the radio.

“Hey, guys,” she said, scrambling for anything that might buy her time. “So I’ve got a question about this plea deal of yours’—“

“You have thirty seconds to surrender.” A voice interrupted, rather rudely. But a bell went off in Pilar’s mind. She grinned.

“David? David Glaxley? Is that you?”

“What— I don’t— who—“

“Davey! Why didn’t you just say it was you!” Pilar chattered on about his kids, garden, hit list, and so on as she tried to calculate if she could make it to the nearest moon without being blown to bits. “And Mikey— how is he doing? Oh, don’t pretend you don’t know! Mikey! The man eating Dearon!” And before not-David could say ‘what’s a man eating Dearon,’ Pilar gunned it.

The combination of being caught off guard on two fronts should, with any luck, give her enough time to slip away from the officers in the Fantre asteroid belt. Probably.

Marisela was making decent headway until they started shooting. Pilar wrenched the steering wheel every which way, narrowly avoiding the blasts, but that slowed her down, and the cops were gaining fast. She needed a diversion, and one was approaching. The asteroid belt approached rapidly, and only a skilled pilot could maneuver their way through. Lucky for her, the best pilot in the galaxy was sitting in the front seat of this rig.

“Oh wait!” Pilar laughed to herself in mock surprise, laying a hand flat on her chest. “It’s me! I’m in the front seat!” Still dodging blasts, she readied herself for the field. The other ships were still gaining, but they’d never get close enough to—

Clunk.

Marisela swung wildly to the side. Cursing at the top of her lungs, Pilar was thrown from the seat, tumbling straight into the wall. She peeled herself off the control panel. A glance in the rear camera showed that one of the police ships had launched a cable that was now lodged in the side of Marisela. They didn’t have that when Pilar went to Gordonia.

“You’re paying for me to get that banged out!” She yelled into the radio.

But she hadn’t lost yet. If she could get to the asteroid field, she could wrench the hook out of her baby’s side. Having learned her lesson, Pilar strapped her seatbelt in. She grabbed the throttle and pushed with all her might. Marisela lurched forward. It was relatively slow going, but she was making definite progress until—

Cha-gunk.

The seat stopped moving. Pilar, on the other hand, did not. She nearly puked from the yank of the seatbelt on her gut.

“You guys almost made me lose my lunch!” She groaned indignantly into the comm. “Joke’s on you guys,” she continued, trying to grin through the nausea, “I didn’t have lunch.” Sick burn, Pilar, she congratulated herself. I’m sure they’ll be really sore about it while they kill you.

A minute passed as the police ships slowly reeled her in. All this high tech nonsense, you’d think they’d be able to do this a little faster, Pilar thought critically. This was the end of line. There was no way to dislodge the cables without compromising Marisela, and while she’d normally rather die by freezing in space than the… methods… the Gordonians have, she couldn’t do that to her ship. So she walked to the back of the ship, and listened as the last chords of Africa faded out.

Suddenly, neon light exploded out of the cockpits of both ships. The comm screeched with interference, and Pilar ran to her own cockpit to make it stop.  The light vanished from the two ships behind her as quickly as it’d come. There was no sign of life in either. The comm, turned back on, crackled absently. The ships drifted. They rolled to one side, floating as if in water. As if in water, with no one controlling them.

The radio made some more fuzzy noises, but all of a sudden a voice emitted from the comm, clear as a bell.

“Pilar Delarosa,” it sounded amused. Pilar wasn’t so quick to trust this mystery voice.

“Uh,” she tried to sound as monotonous as possible, “Pilar isn’t here right now, please leave a message after the—“

“There’s no time for games,” the voice snapped. It was male, and gravelly. Not smoker-gravelly, but sexy movie actor-gravelly. “I’ve got a proposition for you.”

“And my alternative?” Pilar didn’t suppose this would be an offer she could refuse.

“Well,” the voice mused, “I could leave you here for the Gordonians to find you.”

“Sounds like a great deal,” Pilar said hastily, “I’ll take it.”

[whiplash-story]

[ WHIPLASH ]

WHIPLASH is a sci-fi adventure story, set far in the future in the depths of space. It follows the adventures of four unlikely heroes, Pilar Delarosa, a con woman, Aisha Al-Zaria, a thief, Kyler Haxem, a pilot, Harris Forester, a scientist, and Carrie Languardian, a fighter.

Their paths cross when they are given a proposal, and tasked with a job that will end with them getting exactly what they want. But when hidden plots come into light, the five must band together to preserve themselves—and possibly the universe.

WHIPLASH is a story with a gripping plot, diverse and lovable characters, and turns so fast they’ll give you—well, whiplash.

First five chapters out now!

[whiplash-story]

[ CHAPTER LIST ]

Chapter I

Chapter II

Chapter III

Chapter IV

Chapter V

Chapter VI

Chapter VII

[whiplash-story]

CHAPTER V

Carrie

* * *

Carrie vaulted out of the stolen ship as an automatic voice counted down.

She sprinted with all her might, but was still too close for comfort when the rig exploded, propelling her outwards and onto the ground. Carrie lay there for a moment, content with her hiding place.

She could smell burning and supposed she’d have to cut off the singed hair later. It was a shame, she’d always liked having it long.

This was when Carrie realized she had barely any money, clothes, or weapons aside from the dagger she kept on her person. Sighing, she stood and dusted herself off. A lamp shone through the night in the distance.

The pitch black forest was brighter than her prospects of survival at this point, so she made her way toward the light.

* * *

Carrie slumped down in the barstool. Everything was sore. Her feet, her arms, even her head thundered. She had been running all day from the bounty hunters, but managed to shake them off somewhere around Jolus III.

She motioned to the bartender. “Strongest thing you’ve got,” she said. I’m gonna need it, she thought to herself, eyeing the poster with her face on the wall, resting just above the price on her head. She could see already several people looking from it to her and back. She snarled and brushed back her leather jacket to reveal her dagger. Most of them backed off.

She downed her drink in one gulp, just in time for the bounty hunters from earlier to burst through the door. They were lean but scrappy, and they all wore masks of different animals. Their leader chuckled with a muffled sound, and drew his blaster. Before he could, Carrie leapt at him, and got a good slash in with her knife before he riled back, hissing.

She kneed lackey number one in the groin and forced him onto the ground, putting a knee on top of his chest. She held him down as he struggled, giving the second lackey who was trying to intervene a good zinger to the gut. That should keep him occupied for a bit. The man on the ground got a few punches into her ribs, but she grappled him into a headlock until he stopped struggling. There were only three hunters left. The two that weren’t the leader looked a bit more hesitant than they had before. Carrie grabbed one by the collar, crashing his head into a table. He fell limp onto the floor.

The third person, finally mobilizing after the shock of seeing his friends being eaten alive. He rushed at Carrie, who wasn’t fully turned around yet, and she felt a yank at her gut as he pulled her to the ground. He put his weight on her as he put his gross hands around her neck. Carrie pinched the tendon by his shoulder, and he reeled back in pain. She used the momentum to shove him back onto the ground, hard. There was a crack and he stopped moving.

Carrie stood up then to take the ringleader, but was met only with the unmistakable sound of a blaster charging. She cursed under her breath. Slowly, she turned around. The bar was silent, but Carrie could feel all the eyes in the room on her like an itchy sweater. The manager was on the phone in the back room, making frantic hand motions and talking fast. The leader of the bounty hunters had his blaster pointed right at her head. She sighed. Putting her hands behind her head, Carrie turned toward the door.

[whiplash-story]

CHAPTER IV

Harris

* * * 

There were fumes everywhere. Harris coughed, waving them from his face. He held the eye-dropper steady in his hands as he added the last drops of the formula.

This mix was almost 50% sugar. One of Harris’s oldest customers was scheduled to pick up his fix that afternoon.

Cleaning his supplies off the fold out table he kept in his backyard, Harris smiled at his progress. Usually the process didn’t take this long, because, hey, when you’re stoned, you don’t usually realize that most of what you’re smoking increasingly isn’t cocaine. But Xander had powerful connections, and he wasn’t going to take any chances. Although he wouldn’t normally stick his neck out for a guy like Xander, there was something about the guy that made Harris believe he was worth saving, a spark of light, of hope, maybe. He checked his watch. It was 3:30, and Xander would be there in half an hour.

He carefully cleaned his supplies and placed them in his briefcase. Heat beat down on his neck as he bagged the product and folded the plastic table he’d used to make it. He glanced up at the shafts of light beaming between the trees that surrounded his house. Wisps of smoke were still visible, illuminated by the setting sun. It was 3:45. Harris went inside. Just past the patio door was the kitchen, old and outdated but clean as a whistle.

Harris’s roommate, Nate, was there, cleaning the dishes. He smiled. “Making some smoke signals, huh?” He jibed. Harris rolled his eyes.

“The closest neighbor is, like, a million miles away,” he responded. “I’ll be fine.” There was a silence. “What time is it?” Nate pointed at the clock on the wall. It was 3:50.

“Is it Xander again?” He asked, an odd expression creeping over his face. “I swear, you’re obsessed with that guy. Are you, like, in love with him or something?”

“Of course not!” Harris shot him a glare. “Get off my ass, will you?” Harris could feel Nate’s gaze lingering on him, but turned away. He wandered into the next room, fiddling absentmindedly with the ziplock bag. Harris glanced at the clock. 3:55.

BOOM. BOOM. BOOM.  Harris’ heart shuddered to a stop. That wasn’t the knock of a scrawny drug addict. “Nate?” He turned around. “Would you go upstairs for me?”

Nate chuckled. “Kinky,” he remarked cheekily, taking the stairs two at a time as Harris tried to hide the pang of fear prodding at his chest.

He stood up straight, cramming the unease down where all his other feelings went. He wasn’t quite sure where that was, actually.

Taking deep breaths, he walked slowly to the front door, a thin veil of calm daintily draped over a mountain of dread. He peered through the peephole. Crap.

Thundris, the leader of Xander’s gang, stood there, muscles bulging, handlebar mustache looking as comically cartoonish as ever, but overshadowed by the scowl nestled underneath. Xander was standing behind him, along with several other guys he’d never seen before, looking equally furious but much less formidable.

What were his options? Running? He’d rather just get caught by the mob.

“Here goes nothing, I guess,” he said under his breath, and flung open the door. “Thundris!” He beamed, trying--failing--to hide the fact that he was shaking like a leaf in an earthquake. “Been a while, huh?”

[whiplash-story]

CHAPTER III

Kyler

* * *

“There’s been a small hiccup,” Kyler announced into his comm set.

His finger twisted the chain around his neck out of habit as he strolled down the crowded street, trying to blend in with the passerby. The creatures on the planet Corinth were less humanoid than on the others he had visited; they had long, fuzzy ears stretching from their heads, and their eyes were pitch-dark and their shoulders broad. But they were docile, dressed in rich satins and fabrics, with technology more advanced than anything they had on Zetari.

“Define hiccup, Astro 7,” Nova’s voice came in his ear, already laced with frustration. He pictured her gritting her teeth, the frown lines around her mouth showing more clearly than usual, and grimaced. It wasn’t so much that he wasn’t used to this tone on her words--what with Kyler being so...himself and Nova having absolutely none of it--but what came after was rarely ever very pleasant.

He peered around the street, pace quickening as he spied the golden uniforms coming into view. “Vorlan wants more money,” he explained. “He won’t help us unless he has it.”

“Figures,” she grunted, sounding unsurprised. Her distaste of the infamous Corinthian weapons dealer showed through her tone. “That greedy son of a bitch won’t do anything unless there’s a few billion in it for him. I thought he’d at least consider--”

“There’s more.”

She huffed a sigh. “Isn’t there always, with you?”

“Ha, ha.” Kyler rolled his eyes toward the violet sky. “Listen, that bounty over our heads? It’s found its way all the way out here--and I saw some of their guards contacting Rzer’s forces. I’m out of the underground, but they’re still on my tail.” He spared a glance behind him. The gold-uniformed guards were closer now, pushing their way through the crowds of people and yelling in his direction. Kyler felt his heartbeat pick up in his chest. His hand drifted to the button on the side of his prosthetic and he lifted the limb a few inches off the ground, taking a moment to let the flat foot to retract into a J-shaped blade that would allow him to run. He broke into a sprint as soon as the prosthetic had switched. “Awaiting your instructions, Commander,” he said, impatience and a touch of sarcasm mixed in with the normally respectful words.

The guards fell into a run after him, pulling out their own guns.

They won’t fire in a public area like this, he reassured himself. They wouldn’t risk hurting innocents.

The sound of a blaster firing and the subsequent outcry of the civilians that followed proved him wrong.

Kyler swore loudly, shoving a fuzzy-eared Corinthian out of the way and bolting through the street as he swiftly ducked out of the way of the multi-colored blasts that flew by him. He turned for a split second to let a bolt of lightning fly from his palm, feeling a rush of satisfaction as it sent one of his pursuers sprawling against the street with a sharp cry. There were a lot more where he came from, though.

“Get to your ship immediately, Astro 7. You need to get off that planet, now,” Nova barked.

“Thank you, Commander, the thought hadn’t even crossed my mind.” He didn’t take the time to weigh the sensibility of the quip, but he’d take Nova’s punishments over a blast to the head, if only by a slim margin.

The buildings began to thin out as he reached the outskirts of the city, but he had only just broken through the crowd when he felt dread pool in the pit of his stomach. His ship was gone. “Those bastards!” he cursed in frustration, heart racing. Alright, time to find another exit.

He had studied the city maps meticulously before coming to Corinth; there was an old hangar not far from here. The ships would be dated, but better than nothing. The only problem was getting to them without getting shot. There were far too many of them and far too few of him, which left trying to shoot them all down out of the question.

Maybe this was a situation in which one would make a plan. Except, time was waning, and Kyler had always been more of a go-where-the-galaxy-takes-you sort of guy. Plans were not exactly his style.

So he did the sensible thing, and made a break for it.

The guards spared considerably less expense now than they had in the streets. The blasts came at a rapid fire, and Kyler silently thanked his years of training (and possibly pure luck) for being able to avoid them. Most of them, he amended; a shot glanced off the side of his cheek, leaving a hot, stinging pain and a thin mark. He winced but didn’t slow his pace until the silver doors of a hangar came into view.

Kyler threw himself inside the building, shutting and bolting the doors behind him. Blasts peppered the metal, but the doors held.

He didn’t bank on that being permanent, though, and surveyed his options with quick, skilled eyes. They landed on a small shuttle in the far corner, one that seemed fast but durable enough. Kyler leapt inside.

The controls were different than any ship he’d ever flown. But he wasn’t the best pilot in the galaxy for nothing (self-proclaimed, maybe, but same difference). He took a seat and turned the ignition on, giving himself a moment to familiarize himself with the plethora of different colored buttons that sat in front of him.

“Let’s blow this popsicle stand,” he muttered to himself, launching into motion just as the hangar doors flew open.

[whiplash-story]

CHAPTER II

Aisha

* * *

Vents are eerily silent sometimes. Aisha would know. She was trapped in one, holding her breath and waiting for whoever was below her to pass. When they did, she took a careful breath. Looking at her watch anxiously, she tried to devise a way out of this. She was several minutes behind schedule.

She blamed the OCD owner of the house, Thomas Kind. The air ducts, which she’d banked on being weak due to lack of maintenance, common in houses like these, had recently been reinforced. Although she wore steel toed boots, she couldn’t do jack without someone hearing. Quietly crawling along the vents, she opened each one carefully, trying to find a way out.

There’s an odd security in such dark, confined spaces. Except, of course, when they’re not dark or confined. That is to say, Aisha was falling, fast and hard.

She hit the floor on her side, and no sooner than she did so did a clanging of sirens echo through the building. Cursing, she peeled herself from the marble tiles and booked it through the blindingly white building, scrambling through her brain to remember the layout. Shouts could be heard, bouncing off the walls at random so that Aisha had no idea where it came from.

A right turn, a left turn, and two more rights later, she skidded to a stop in front of a glass case. Inside was an ornate, 17th century fabergé egg, adorned with gems and pearls and seated on three golden legs.

Aisha grinned. Throwing caution to the wind, she ripped off the glass casing and snatched the egg. She sprinted down endless hallways, heart beating like a sinner in church, as she heard sirens coming from the distance.

“Yellow 2, do you copy?” she shouted into her microphone.

No reply.

Aisha rolled her eyes. “This is not the time, Yellow 2.” Radio silence. Aisha shoved down feelings of panic. Were they really throwing one of their tantrums now, of all times? She knew she’d set off the alarms, but she didn’t ask the vent to give way. But there was no going back now. She recalled from the mission briefing that in case of emergency, to leave through the beta entrance. That was about her only option at this point. She shrugged internally. Guess this is what we’re doing now.

After what seemed like days of running, she burst through a set of glass doors. She gripped the egg. Outside was a misleadingly calm, almost suburban scene. A shining sun, blue sky, neatly trimmed lawn, white van careening down the road—

White van careening down the road.

Yellow 2 slammed on the brakes, honking angrily at her. Aisha didn’t wait for instruction. Nearly losing the egg, she sped down the gently sloped grass and practically threw herself in the back, next to Yellow 3. “Drive!” She yelled. Yellow 2 had already floored the gas, and they rocketed off, the sirens fading into the distance.

Aisha sat back, finally able to breathe. A moment of silence passed, and she began to laugh. Nothing was funny about how close she’d come to going back to jail, but she couldn’t stop herself. “Did you see that?” She sat up straight, leaning towards Yellow 2. She know, of course, that they hadn’t, but was too excited to care. “I bet the looks on their faces were priceless!” she cheered. “That old fucker deserved it too,” she continued with a grin, “We’re single-handedly going to repay every cent he stole from back home! They’re going to be able to cure everyone!”

“Yellow 1-“ Yellow 2 began.

“We’ll be heroes! They’ll worship us! Think of the lives we’ll-“

“YELLOW ONE.” Yellow 2 said. Their voice broke.

Aisha stopped abruptly. “What?” Her voice was, for the first time, small. She felt a knot form in her chest. She glanced at Yellow 3, but her partner’s glasses reflected the light from her computer screen, hiding her face.

“Yellow 3 couldn’t… couldn’t loop the cameras. We didn’t realize until it was too late, and then your communicator stopped working.” There were tears in their eyes.

Throat suddenly tight, Aisha swallowed. “What… what does that mean?” She felt the knot grow bigger, and more tangled. Her breathing grew shallow to accommodate the extra space taken up in her chest.

“It means,” Yellow 2 said shakily, “They saw you. If that egg or the money that comes from it resurfaces anywhere, they’ll trace it back to you, and you’ll spend the rest of your live on the run, or in jail. Or worse.” Yellow 2 was trying hard not to cry. Yellow 3 looked up. Her face looked calm and collected, but she had a death grip on her computer. Her knuckles were turning white.

“We understand if you don’t want to go through with it. But you’ve got to decide within a week, or the window’ll close.” She looked back down. Aisha slowly felt the knot slide down into the pit of her stomach, leaving a hollow feeling where it had been moments before.

Aisha couldn’t believe it. The months they’d spent planning, to get justice. The people they’d paid off, just to have it end in failure or misery? She knew, of course, what the right decision was. But at the same time, just the thought of prison made her shudder. The landscape whizzed by outside the silent van, but Aisha was rooted to the spot. Little by little, pleasant green suburbs progressed into the bustling city, but Aisha hadn’t moved from her starting dilemma one inch. The van was silent.

“Stop the car.”

“What?”

“Stop. The car.”

Yellow 2 paused for a moment, and pulled over, reserved. Aisha pulled open the door and stepped out. No one tried to stop her.

[whiplash-story]

CHAPTER I

PILAR 

* * *

Pilar laughed genially as she closed the deal. Her client, Mr. Gaines, signed the contract to buy his very own home on Xenia IV and left her store with a smile. Pilar almost pitied the gullible man.

Almost.

As soon as he was out of earshot, she swept the contents of the counter into a suitcase and, pulling on a leather trench coat, left swiftly.

The house on Xenia IV, of course, was completely nonexistent, and the only thing he’d find at road XU level 4 lot 434 would be a greeting card store. He’d forked over a pretty hefty sum for it too. Nervously, she glanced behind her. She didn’t usually do business while squatting, but there had been nowhere else nearby. Pilar just hoped no one realized she hadn’t paid a dime of rent.

She hailed a taxi and was taken to the lot where she’d parked her starship. She hadn’t paid for that, either, she realized, pulling her hood over her head. As the hull door opened, the trailer door on the other side of the lot opened and a man stepping out stopped in his tracks as he saw her.

He became very angry, walking aggressively toward her, yelling something that she couldn’t make out but also couldn’t be good. Before the door had time to get all the time to get to the ground, Pilar pulled herself up and into the hull of the ship. Mashing the button to close it again, she strode to the cockpit. But when she turned the key, the engine just made a sad groaning sound. In response, Pilar did the same.

“Come on, Marisela,” she pleaded. She turned the key again, but still nothing. The angry man was getting closer. She yelled in frustration, pounding the steering wheel with her palm. Marisela roared to life. “A-HA!” she punched the air, “I knew you had it in you, old girl!” She made an obscene gesture or two to the angry landlord as she pulled away, getting honked at as she narrowly avoided a stream of air traffic.

She accelerated steadily until she’d breached the atmosphere, when she set her course to her next destination and switched her ship into autopilot. As she made her way to the stern, Marisela creaked and groaned.

“I know, vieja,” she told the ship absentmindedly. Marisela had been in her family for years. Her father learned to drive on it, her siblings learned too, and finally she did. However, she was the one that Papá had said could keep it. A small grin flickered across her face at the thought. The only time she, the runt of the litter, had beat her siblings at something.

Papá might not, however, approve of what she used it for, she thought. Her smile faded.

Papá had always preached on the values of honesty and morals, for which a con woman wasn’t exactly the poster child. Pilar shook her head. No, she had done her research. She could tell that Gaines was worthy of her suspicion from their first correspondence. He had introduced himself as Andrew Harding, but a quick image sweep told that he was running from some pretty serious assault, battery, extortion, and harassment charges on several countries, one being just a few light years from Xenia IV. With any luck, someone would recognize his face. It was all she could do. Any more involvement and she was risking her own neck, and that was rule number one. Protect yourself first.

Sighing, she shed her coat. She made her way to the airlock and tossed it out. She had really liked that one, but she’d been seen in it, so it had to go. Staring out the window, she watched the coat and the planet fade into the distance.

[whiplash-story]

HARRIS FORESTER

HARRIS FORESTER is a scientist. He has a brilliant mind, and uses it to create formulas for diluted drugs to help addicts slowly regain control. He is kind and soft-hearted, not always quick to fight but always rising to the defense of his friends.

* * *

“Is it Xander again?” Nate asked, an odd expression creeping over his face. “I swear, you’re obsessed with that guy. Are you, like, in love with him or something?”

“Of course not!” Harris shot him a glare. “Get off my ass, will you?” Harris could feel Nate’s gaze lingering on him, but turned away. He wandered into the next room, fiddling absentmindedly with the ziplock bag. Harris glanced at the clock. 3:55.

BOOM. BOOM. BOOM.  Harris’ heart shuddered to a stop. That wasn’t the knock of a scrawny drug addict. “Nate?” He turned around. “Would you go upstairs for me?”

~ excerpt from WHIPLASH

[whiplash-story]

CARRIE LANGUARDIAN

CARRIE LANGUARDIAN is one of the toughest, fiercest fighters you’ll ever meet. She is always quick to jump to a challenge, and is stubborn in her beliefs. Unmatched on her dual pistols, she protects herself and those she cares about with a fiery, unwavering spirit.

* * *

She motioned to the bartender. “Strongest thing you’ve got,” she said. I’m gonna need it, she thought to herself, eyeing the poster with her face on the wall, resting just above the price on her head. She could see already several people looking from it to her and back. She snarled and brushed back her leather jacket to reveal her dagger. Most of them backed off.

She downed her drink in one gulp, just in time for the bounty hunters from earlier to burst through the door. They were lean but scrappy, and they all wore masks of different animals. Their leader chuckled with a muffled sound, and drew his blaster. 

~ excerpt from WHIPLASH

[whiplash-story]

KYLER HAXEM

KYLER HAXEM is a pilot from the planet Zetari. His electrokinesis makes him a minority group on his planet, and he operates under the command of the leader of the rebellion. Kyler is cocky and humorous and loves pulling pranks. He can often be brash and tends to act before he thinks.

* * *

Kyler swore loudly, shoving a fuzzy-eared Corinthian out of the way and bolting through the street as he swiftly ducked out of the way of the multi-colored blasts that flew by him. He turned for a split second to let a bolt of lightning fly from his palm, feeling a rush of satisfaction as it sent one of his pursuers sprawling against the street with a sharp cry. There were a lot more where he came from, though.

“Get to your ship immediately, Astro 7. You need to get off that planet, now,” Nova barked.

“Thank you, Commander, the thought hadn’t even crossed my mind.” He didn’t take the time to weigh the sensibility of the quip, but he’d take Nova’s punishments over a blast to the head, if only by a slim margin.

~ excerpt from WHIPLASH

[whiplash-story]

AISHA AL-ZORIA

AISHA AL-ZORIA is a thief and a spy. Her loyalty lies, first and foremost, with the people of her village. She has a reserved, quiet personality, and great instincts, and is very intelligent and cunning. 

* * * 

After what seemed like days of running, Aisha burst through a set of glass doors. She gripped the egg. Outside was a misleadingly calm, almost suburban scene. A shining sun, blue sky, neatly trimmed lawn, white van careening down the road—

White van careening down the road.

Yellow 2 slammed on the brakes, honking angrily at her. Aisha didn’t wait for instruction. Nearly losing the egg, she sped down the gently sloped grass and practically threw herself in the back, next to Yellow 3. “Drive!” She yelled. Yellow 2 had already floored the gas, and they rocketed off, the sirens fading into the distance.

~ excerpt from WHIPLASH

[whiplash-story]

PILAR DELAROSA

PILAR DELAROSA is a con woman from Earth. Her charming wit and vibrant personality make her a fast friend and aid in her act of swindling the greedy and corrupt. She travels through space on Marisela, a ship gifted to her by her father, and enjoys music from home on a kickass playlist. Pilar is clever, humorous, and fun-loving.

* * *

Pilar accelerated steadily until she’d breached the atmosphere, when she set her course to her next destination and switched her ship into autopilot. As she made her way to the stern, Marisela creaked and groaned.

“I know, vieja,” she told the ship absentmindedly. Marisela had been in her family for years. Her father learned to drive on it, her siblings learned too, and finally she did. However, she was the one that Papá had said could keep it. A small grin flickered across her face at the thought. The only time she, the runt of the litter, had beat her siblings at something.

Papá might not, however, approve of what she used it for, she thought.

~ excerpt from WHIPLASH