The Adventures of Captain Rem: Space Trucker!

by 5thBeastieBoy 

No, no, no, no, no, no...

"No!" Rem hurled a pillow at the source, but it did nothing to deter the blaring klaxon from wailing its warning. He sat up in bed, pressing his palms to his face doing his best to wake himself from the fog of sleep.

"Alright, dammit. I hear you. Hold your fucking horses." He was speaking to himself. Not that it mattered, no one would hear him over the constant clanging of the alarm.

His disheveled looked portrayed more than just the outer appearance of exhaustion. His hair, greasy and unkempt. His face, tired and pale, covered in scruff. Internally, Rem felt worn down mentally. Physically he was fit, more than one would expect from a truck jockey. But it belied the true fatigue that hammered him into the slumber he was just rudely awoken from.

Rem didn't expect to be so worn out. He miscalculated the mental toll making a shipping run that the government would deem illegal would take on him. "Smuggler" is what the Intergalactic Government would brand him as. He hated that term. Almost as much as he hated the fact that he had to take a job smuggling goods for the rebel faction in the first place. I'm a space trucker, dammit! he would curse at times in the past when approached with smuggling opportunities. Hauling legally across the galaxy was all he wanted to do. But that was no longer the case. Government regulations were making it harder each year to find honest work.

Now someone had taken interest in his space hauler. Prospects for an easy run were not looking good.

He managed to pull himself out of bed and shuffle his way over to the auxiliary control station located across the living quarters. Rem's "office" was anything but; just a desk littered by mounds of papers stacked all over the place. Organized chaos he would joke, if there were anyone to joke with.

Rem moved a stack of old shipping orders out of the way and pressed a key that silenced klaxon. He could feel the noise still reverberating through his skull as the ship's alert system went silent. He grimaced at the thought of how long the damn noise would continue to buzz in his ears. He keyed another control to bring up the source of all the commotion.

He snapped to attention immediately, any residual haze from his sleep quickly dissipated, when the control station alerted him that he, or more precisely his ship, was being flagged down by an Interstellar Law Enforcement cruiser. The intruder was designated as part of the Cargo/Shipping Division. Any hope Rem had for a clean and clear run to the Freedom Movement's outpost was lost.

A light blinked indicating the ILE was hailing him. Rem connected the call and smiled upon seeing the officer's face on the screen. A respite from his worries, however brief it may be, invigorated the space trucker.

"Lieutenant Brax," Rem opened with mock cheer. "What brings you and your goons to this side of the system?" His opening repartee would signal to anyone else listening on the ILE cruiser that Rem and the lieutenant had some sort of history together.

The officer was dressed in his official blues and had a clean look about him, contrasting Rem in every single way. "Rem," he stated and then paused to take in what he was looking at. "Dammit, Rem. Are you naked?" he asked incredulously. The officer's face began to flush with embarrassment.

Rem smirked and stepped back a few feet so the cam would show that he was wearing only a pair of boxer shorts with red hearts dotting the design. "I have boots on, too, if you want to see them."

"Cut the shit, Rem," Brax's tone was official again. His face was now red in anger. Rem could see a twitch in the man's eye. A tick that told him Brax was in no mood for games. "You're being boarded."

"What the hell for? My manifest was cleared." The respite was over apparently as Rem deliberated in his head if he would be able to reason with Brax in any way as he had done in the past.

"Call it," Brax paused and met Rem with a smirk of his own before concluding, "random suspicion."

"Ah, that's bullshit."

At that moment Rem felt his ship shudder as the ILE cruiser coupled to dock. He grabbed the edge of the desk to steady himself.

"Top hatch? That's awfully forward of you, Brax. At least buy a guy some dinner before entering his bedroom." But Brax had already left the conversation, not caring to hear Rem's witty retort.

It wasn't a long wait before Rem heard the hiss of the airlock cycling above his bed. The top hatch dropped open followed by a rope ladder from which three members of the ILE descended. Rem scowled as he watched each man drop from the ladder and onto his bed before placing their boots on the floor.

The first two were ILE guardsmen. "Goons" as the spacers would call them. They were the ones who actually got their hands dirty when some ILE officer wanted to fuck up a person's day. Each wore body armor and carried a DX-9 laser rifle slung across the chest. Both had a smugness about them that made Rem want to instantly punch them in the face. Brax definitely wasn't playing around.

"Glad to see you've kept things tidy around here," Brax scoffed as he looked about the quarters.

"Well, if I knew I was going to have company," Rem shrugged as he turned his attention to the two guardsmen. "Hey, you two want the nickel tour?" Their lack of response didn't deter Rem from continuing. "That right there, where you fellas came down? I call that my boom-boom room." He gesticulated a humping motion with his hips. "And that right there," he said pointing across the room to his bathroom. "That's the shitter. That's where I shit." He sounded out each word of his last statement slowly as if he was speaking to a child.

One of the goons began to make an aggressive move toward Rem.

"Alright, enough," Brax cut in. "I wonder if you have a serious bone in your body, Rem. Do you not see the gravity in this moment?" There was an audible concern toward Rem in his question. But he didn't wait to hear what his detainee had to say. "Get dressed and meet me on the main deck." Brax proceeded to head down a ladder leaving Rem with his guardsmen.

"Luckily for you boys," Rem addressed the two goons. "It looks like this tour is going to continue." The guardsmen scoffed in unison while Rem grabbed a ratty robe off a chair and tied it on. "Dressed!" he exclaimed overenthusiastically. "Let's boogie."

The loft served as Rem's quarters, spanning the length of the ship from starboard to aft. The main deck was a quick ladder climb down. Here, the Cassix-78b hauler-class starship felt cramped with all four men. Square footage was compromised by the starboard storage compartment, the engine room aft, the portside kitchen and main entry lock, and the forward cockpit.

Rem found Brax looking through the porthole of the shielded door to the engine room. "Find anything you like?" Rem questioned, knowing Brax's answer before he asked.

"No, not at all," the officer replied in a clipped tone. "I see you're still running a Gamma-415 Series 6 engine. Still just as illegal as the last time we talked." He faced Rem and grinned, "Gonna have to fine you this time."

"Awe, that little engine? It's nothing. I mean, it will out run any of your ILE cruisers..."

Brax ignored Rem and moved to the storage compartment. As the officer looked through his storage, Rem began running possible scenarios through his head. Preferably ones that didn't land him in jail for the rest of his life on smuggling charges. There was a seriousness about Brax that he hadn't encountered before in prior run-ins with the officer. Usually their tit for tat was a one-on-one affair, no armed guardsmen required. Rem wondered if his brain was capable of taking the totality of his situation seriously. Or rather, would he revert to the safety of his personal defense mechanism and try to make a joke out of it.

Rem wrestled with his thoughts until Brax emerged from storage holding up a blaster rifle.

"A F5-25 Combax rifle. Illegal contraband." Brax handed the weapon to one of his goons.

"That was a birthday gift from my mom," Rem feigned innocence.

Brax only sneered in reply. One of the guardsmen handed over a holo-sheet to the officer. "Ship's manifest says you're hauling foodstuff to Gamma-5."

"Yep."

"That only accounts for a third of the containers you're hauling," Brax stated as he folded his arms behind his back. "I suppose you want me to assume the others are empty?" He raised an eyebrow to punctuate his question.

"Hoping to pick up a big shipment on the return." Rem tapped his head and grinned. "Trying to think ahead."

"So if we were to scan those containers they would come up empty, correct?" Brax volleyed the grin as he paced around Rem.

"Look, there's no need for that," Rem began, cursing at himself for beginning to plead. He never had to devolve to pleading with Brax in the past.

Brax activated the comm in his earpiece. "Run the scan," he ordered his ship while staring directly at Rem, unflinchingly keeping eye contact. Waiting to see the man break.

Rem broke. But not with a confession or mea culpa Brax anticipated. Instead, the trucker walked silently to the kitchen unit and rummaged through a cabinet before pulling out an old cookie tin. Rem returned to Brax with a stack of credit chips in hand.

"Like I said, there's no need to."

"Ah, excellent, a bribe." Brax flashed his best shit-eating grin to Rem before sharing the gesture with his guardsmen. The officer plucked a bright blue chip from the stack in Rem's hand. "This will cover the illegal engine." He tossed the chip to one of his goons who thanked him.

"Oh look, now they speak," Rem mocked as his face began to sour over the fleecing that was about to commence.

"This will cover the illegal rifle." Another chip was tossed to the second guardsman. "And this," Brax took the rest of the stack from Rem. "Will cover any other issue I'm sure we're going to find."

The two men stood facing each other, close enough that Brax wanted to belch at Rem's morning breath. Each waiting for the other to make a move. Brax steeled himself in case Rem was foolish enough to strike him. Instead, Rem broke the tension with a loud, obnoxious laugh.

"Well this was fun, gentlemen," Rem motioned for them to make their way back up to the loft. "Now if you would all kindly leave me to wallow in my own misery while I contemplate life as a newly-minted pauper."

"Oh, it's not over yet," Brax chortled. There was a sheen of vindictiveness in his eyes that wasn't lost on Rem. "We will be impounding your starship, as well."

"Come on, Brax. That's bullshit and you know it," Rem stated as he tried his best to hide his anger.

Had he gone too far this time with the officer? Apparently his luck, and his money, had run out with the one ILE crony he could always bullshit his way out of trouble with. Unfortunately for the space trucker, this was the wrong run for that to happen.

"Sorry, Rem," Brax retorted. The malice in his voice had eased, leaving Rem a flicker of hope. "Scan came back showing those empty containers aren't actually empty." Brax shook his head regretfully it seemed before he motioned the guardsmen to head back up the ladder. "Tell me, does the Freedom Movement pay well to smuggle goods for them?"

"Pretty sure someone once told me there's a time and place where I need to shut my mouth," Rem smirked. Brax nodded at the first smart thing Rem had said.

"Maybe that someone should have been more specific and told you to always be quiet," Brax returned. "Prepare to be tractor beamed-in to the holding station." With that said, Brax clapped Rem on the shoulder and headed up the ladder.

Rem moved quickly, before Brax had finished his climb. The officer smiled down at the trucker before completing his ascent.

The single-pilot cockpit was partitioned from the main deck by custom armor-plated bulkhead Rem had installed. The bulkhead was a meter high off the ground and Rem hurdled it easily, sliding down into the pilot's seat in one smooth motion.

With a few clicks on the control board, Rem was in command of his ship having shut down the auto pilot system. He checked the cargo controls. The readout displayed the fourteen cargo containers he was hauling, the last being a thruster engine. The containers were connected to each other in a row by electro-magnets. The cargo train was coupled to his starship by a set of electro-lines, blue energy beams that towed the rig behind.

Rem waited patiently for the ILE cruiser to disengage its airlock on his ship. His hand held steady over a switch on the cargo controls. It would be mere seconds between the ILE cruiser disengaging before it put itself in range to lock Rem's ship in its tractor beam. Timing would be everything.

He felt the ship shudder, opening his window of opportunity. Quickly, Rem flipped a switch that shut off the electro-lines, decoupling his ship from the cargo. Another switch brought his engines to life, firing off thrust immediately. He gunned his thrusters to full power and in an instant he was gone into the stars leaving the ILE cruiser in his wake.

A day later Rem docked at the space station Oslo-X. The nefarious hangout known for catering to space haulers of all forms of ill repute orbited on the edge of an asteroid belt, dissuading Intergalactic Law Enforcement from poking around less they chance pursuits through the floating rocky debris.

Rem's senses were immediately assaulted by the sights and smells of alcohol, piss and sex upon entering. He smiled, feeling at home. He wandered the station fully clothed now in typical space trucker threads. His brown leather flight jacket looked above his pay grade but complemented the rest of his attire consisting of a white t-shirt, brown cargo pants and a cowboy hat.

The walkways became more crowded the further Rem moved from the docking bays toward the market district. Lifeforms representing hundreds of planets created a menagerie of sights and sounds, enough to overwhelm a first-time visitor.

Vendors hawked food and drink from various planets of origin, barking out to potential customers like carnies. Rem always steered clear, never trusting his gut to be adventurous with alien cuisine. It didn't matter to him if fried guoggullum tasted like chicken.

Bright neon signs pulsed advertisements for drinking establishments and strip bars. Rem whistled a tune as he pondered his options. While strip clubs catered to all, bars tended to segregate by species. Not ideal for a lonely human space trucker hoping to score with a beautiful Vixxen or Ya'ya.

Rem's decision-making process was interrupted suddenly when a large hand gripped the back of his neck. Rem whirled around instinctively, shrugging off the arm. His eyes moved upward another six inches before he could see the face of his assailant who greeted him with a loud, guttural laugh.

"Fancy meeting you here," the large alien barked and slapped Rem on the shoulder. The alien's strength nearly knocked Rem to the ground with the gesture.

"Good to see you, too, Golgax," Rem replied as he rubbed his arm, sure that a deep bruise was already forming.

Golgax was a Spatrazi, or as Rem would say: what you'd get if a bulldog fucked a lizard, a face only a mother would love. Running into Golgax on Olso-X was no coincidence, and Rem was keenly aware of this fact. The Spatrazi brute served as the Freedom Movement's contact on the station, the guy who ensured shipments for the rebel faction were carried out or otherwise dealt with. This worried Rem, though he did his best to hide it.

His mind raced through his options, hoping one would lead to avoiding the big brute crushing him to death. Although Golgax appeared to be alone, Rem knew that wasn't the case. The Freedom Movement was notorious for moving in the shadows and Rem was sure he was currently being surrounded by other agents hidden within the crowded market place. Making a run for it was off the table. So, too, was blasting the ugly bastard in the face. Rem came quickly to the realization that delaying was going to be his best and only tactic.

"You completed your run to Gamma-5 already?"

Rem knew Golgax was now interrogating him, but that the alien didn't know for sure the answer to the question. The Freedom Movement was sparse with its intergalactic communications, preferring to move information safely by word of mouth. It would be another day at minimum before official word would reach Golgax reporting that Rem failed to make his shipment.

"Sure did big guy," Rem lied.

"Funny then," Golgax continued. "I saw your ship docked, but no return cargo?" His upper lip sneered, the Spatrazi-way of raising an eyebrow.

Rem gestured innocence, "I declined the job. Can't a guy take a break from time to time?"

"A trucker like you turning down that kind of payday? Not likely."

Rem was contemplating his next answer when he was interrupted by someone else calling out his name from behind. It was an unfamiliar voice, but he was relieved none the less that someone was cutting in on the conversation. He turned but didn't see anyone at first until he looked down to find a little green alien smiling and waving up at him. It was a Dadaxian who stood less than a meter tall with a cherub-like face. Two small tubes served as ears and two larger tubes waggled from the top of his head with sprouts of brown hair between them. High cheek bones gave him an annoyingly childish appearance when he smiled.

"The fuck are you?" Rem questioned with the first thing that came to mind.

"Hi," the little green guy replied cheerily. "I'm Q'orn. Are you Mr. Rem?"

"We're busy runt," Golgax growled over Rem's shoulder. "Fuck off!"

Q'orn shriveled at the threat and began to retreat away before Rem held up his hands to calm the scene.

"Easy big guy, relax," he said in hopes of not offending the brute. He turned to Q'orn, who appeared as if he was about to cry. "Don't go anywhere. We were just finishing up here."

"We were?" Golgax curled his lip once more.

Rem turned back to Golgax. "Sorry big guy, can't keep a potential customer waiting. You know how it goes." He slapped Golgax on the arm and the big alien grunted. "Look, we can catch up later. You can tell me all about how you're going to rip my arms off over a beer and one of those fancy robot hookers on your lap."

"Don't leave this station until we have a chance to finish our discussion," Golgax warned pressing his large finger into Rem's chest before marching off in a huff.

"I hope I'm not causing any trouble," Q'orn asked innocently.

"Not at all," Rem said with relief. "I'm Captain Rem, by the way. How may I be of service?" he inquired as he ushered Q'orn to an alcove in the market street away from the crowd.

Once in the clear from prying eyes and ears Q'orn the got to the point, "My colleagues and I are looking for someone to move a very important shipment for us. We are willing to pay two million credits for the service."

Rem gasped at the potential payout. "Two mil? Hot damn!" He realized how loud he was and calmed himself down not to attract attention. "What's the cargo?"

Q'orn reached into the front pocket of his suspenders and pulled out a small silver ball