Strays | Short Story
A murderous general, a mysterious stranger and a lawless space-station. From The Scikera Universe comes a new tale of danger, mystery and revenge.
‘The War is just the beginning. Now we must fight to build something new.’ - from ‘The Declaration of Renewal’ by the Thousand Suns Confederation Council
General Lera Verth, a name he’d worked hard to forget, was dressing in his room on Anstible Station1 when the call came through on the comm. The mechanical clicking of the rooms comm system - broken, he suspected - was hard to ignore, even over the sound of running water pouring from the tap as he washed the nights rest from his face.
He let out a sigh as the chiming refused to relent and called out for the rooms comm system.
“Answer,” he said.
The ringing continued lending more credence to his theory that the whole system was broken.
“Answer.”
He shouted this time, twisting the tap off the ensure that nothing would overshadow his voice.
It worked, the ringing ceased, replaced instead by a tinny voice. Even through the comm systems interference he recognised the softly spoken voice as belonging to Tarin, the Anstible’s chief of operations.
“Mr. Serna,” she said, using the name he’d adopted in his newfound exile. It didn’t yet ring true to his ear. Serna was an old metallurgist from his home planet Doraketh2. A kindly, mild mannered man who always stopped to say hello to anyone, no matter who they were. Most would return the sentiment dutifully right up until they found out the research Serna was doing and who he was doing it for.
This, of course, never bothered Verth. He and his family were proud and loyal and wholly supported their King’s3 quest to maintain peace and rid his system of dissent. Not everyone subscribed to this way of thinking, something that was even more evident in Verth’s current situation.
He remembered feeling pride the first time a classmate told him that Serna’s job was to extract information from supposed threats to the lineage. Such extractions were key to preserving the King’s peace. Such noble pain is a key part of any war effort.
Even now, without that apparatus around him, he found solace in the little information he did have. Serna was long dead and with him any number of histories he’d molded with his methods. Truthfully, it was the first name that came to him when he was fashioning this new identity for himself on Anstible Station. The benefit of Serna having lived a life in the shadows, Verth supposed, was that his name would remain all but inconsequential now that the war was over.
The Serna part wasn’t the issue, though. It was hearing Mr. Serna. For a decorated general like Lera Verth, that was a dagger to his honour. Still, he reminded himself of his need for discretion.
“Yes.”
“The Captain wished me to inform you of the imminent arrival of a trio of Confederation4 Intendants5.”
Verth had been living - if you could call what he was doing living - on Anstible Station for going on three standard months. His cache with the long defeated Royal Guard6 was enough to buy him safe refuge from any enemy hunters or nomadic pirates looking for a quick payout from the fledgling government. He suspected that cache was finite. Especially here on Anstible where coin was the only religion anyone followed.
Still, that the Captain continued honouring their agreement enough to inform him that Intendants from the Thousand Suns Confederation were inbound was a good sign. That he knew these Intendants were coming was of little comfort, however. He knew that meant long hours locked away in his room with little to do but wait in what amounted to a tomb. Or he could risk venturing out into the rest of Anstible Station - masked, of course.
Such comm chatter was commonplace now, especially given that the proprietor of Anstible, a gaudy man by the name of Captain Reeden whom Verth would ordinarily have had no time for, had been working to ensure his stations status as independent under the laws of this new government. Independent, Verth had come to learn, simply meant lawless.
Lawless isn’t quite accurate, though. Anstible has laws but they aren’t laws that would make sense to anyone who moved outside of illicit circles. One such law referred to the use of masks while on board the station. Given that many who passed through this den of iniquity were criminals and fugitives looking to lay low for a while - the notion that Verth would be lumped in with such a crowd deeply troubled him - many often wore masks or helmets to obfuscate their true selves.
The law wasn’t that masks were mandatory, it was that should a patron of the Anstible choose to wear a mask it is illegal to ask them to remove said mask or to make inquiries about the wearers true identity. For all its sins, Anstible was very good at protecting the wayward and psychotic.
Until now, Verth hadn’t been too keen on putting the enforcement of that particular law to the test, opting to remain in his quarters when unwanted visitors arrived at the station. What compelled him now, months into his time on the Anstible, to take out the chrome mask he’d purchased from a vendor on the stations concourse the day he’d arrived he didn’t know. Perhaps he was bored. Or perhaps he was tired of hiding. Either way, Verth donned his mask and headed out into the nighttime buzz of Anstible Station.
The station didn’t have traditional day and night cycles. The large windows that covered the length of the ships central concourse only showed the purple swirling vortexes of the planet Kundara7 around which Anstible orbited. He recalled how the world had looked like ink blotted onto wet paper or droplets slowly blooming in water.
Mesmerising if you stare too long. It was a painting to him, it had to be. The sheer scale of the universe beyond the window was beyond his ability to comprehend and so he didn’t try. He instead watched this painterly world pass, changing only slightly as the Anstible moved through its fixed orbit forever avoiding the light of the systems twin stars.
This perpetual night lent the station a neon aura helped along by the constant thrum of music coming from inside one of several pleasure houses that lined the concourse. Anstible was bigger than most stations but markedly smaller than even the largest district back in Calon’s8 capital, which Verth had called home for all of his 46 standard years.
Three rings housed the accommodation for the stations patrons, staff and crew, each ring slightly larger than the one before it and each one placed further along the spine of the station. This central concourse stretched like a sword into the void between worlds. Its walls were black steel, broken up only by door ways leading to bars and black market vendors and pleasure houses.
Without any of the stark, neon lights and holographic facades, the concourse was nothing more than an empty metal cylinder, cold and dead and drifting through the din like a snuffed out world. But with those neon lights and holographic facades, these establishments that lined both sides of the concourse were a colourful cornucopia of decadence.
It was overwhelming for Verth, at first. Overwhelming the way dawn-light can be when you first open your eyes in the morning. This blinding place was teeming with people from all over the system. Verilians’s9 with their tall, gaunt visages and Dorakethi mine proprietors looking to gamble away their wealth.
As was customary, there were many anonymous, masks walking the concourse, some wearing extravagant dress that belied their true identity if you knew, as Verth did, where such garments could be purchased. Masks ranged from simple chrome faces akin to the one Verth now wore to more elaborate designs depicting nightmarish demons and creatures from the wilds of alien worlds. All of these masks moved with a confidence that is only afforded to the anonymous. A confidence that Verth, in his restlessness, severely lacked.
He made his way to the far end of the concourse, near where the orbital engine and vast energy reactor caused a near constant, grinding hum. Tucked away behind a comparatively simple holographic facade depicting a traditional Calonian tavern, was the Perdition. Like many things on Anstible Station, the holographic facade was partly broken. A flickering facsimile of the kind of bar that was all too familiar to Verth from his time back on Calon. Its wooden beams, golden brick and ornate sign over a faux window shimmered in the way many holographic images were want to do. ‘Ales from all corners of the system,’ the sign read. The only place on the whole of Anstible Station that Verth had spent more time than his room.
Inside, the Perdition was much the same as the rest of Anstible. An empty shell upon which whatever world you want, or more accurately, could afford, can be projected using the same hologram tech that rendered the facade of the bar and the rest of Anstible’s many establishments. This particular corner of the station was plain, just a few holographic images playing across the walls, a green field cut through by a river and the red and orange and purple vistas of Doraketh. Tables were scattered, squared off metal cubes with just enough space to fit your legs underneath, mapped with warm wye-wood from Tameria10.
The bar, stretched across the entire back wall of the space. Surfaced with the same projected wood as the rest of the tables and backed by a wall of shelved liquors from all corners of the system, a promised. The only thing in this place, other than the people, that was real.
For a second it felt as though he actually was back in a dive bar on the outskirts of The Golden City. The kind of place he’d have taken his squad for some rec time between drills. That reality quickly faded upon closer examination of the world. The holograms flickered, breaking the illusion and belying the cold, mechanical world beneath the digital wrapper.
When he sat down at the bar and rested his hands on the surface he felt the cool of metal and not the warm wood his brain had expected. The whole place could be disorienting at first, like perpetual double vision. One world shifting just slightly away from the other like magnets resisting each other.
The barman, dressed in a white shirt and black pants overlaid with a yellowed apron stained with blooms of gold and black, walked over to him and leaned forward.
“What can I get for you Mr. Serna?” he asked. That name again. It felt like a chip in stone every time he heard it, as though each time it was used saw a small part of his true self he’d worked so hard to build being slowly dismantled.
“Whiskey,” Verth asked. “Neat.”
The barman nodded and took out a glass, pouring Verth a finger of syrupy brown liquor.
He took the glass in hand and swallowed its contents in one before signalling for another. The barman turned his attention to the other patrons, a smattering of folks from across the system. Some Verth recognised. Or, more accurately, some masks he recognised.
There was a man in a wolf mask who always occupied the far edge of the bar. The mask looked as though it had once been ornate in its design, perhaps carved from some real wood. Now, as Verth regarded the man, he saw a smoothed mask with the faintest echo of its former glory.
He turned on his stool and leaned back against the bar looking out at the rest of the occupants.
Two women from one of the pleasure houses chatted in a booth, still dressed in the low cut red dresses that passed as a uniform in such establishments. Beautiful as they were and tempted as Verth had been to indulge in the many gifts available in such premises, he knew that a visit to a pleasure house would attract attention he didn't need.
That was why he came to this hole in the first place. It was the one place in all of Scikera where the end of the war hadn't brought chaos and disarray - the exact chaos and disarray he fought to prevent, he thought daily. A cesspool though it was, Anstible was also just about the most stable place in Scikera at this point in time.
When the war ended most of its regular guests and residents merely swapped out war profiteering for the lucrative deals they'd struck with the incoming government during the fighting. Knowing that he was surrounded by not only criminals but criminals who were in bed with the enemy made him feel uneasy anytime he considered it. Playing both sides pays off if neither finds out that’s what you’re doing, evidently.
He swallowed a third glass of whiskey in two gulps just as he heard the distinct chatter of three men entering the Perdition and approaching the bar to his right. He flicked his eyes towards the trio and struggled to see past the edge of his mask. Despite not being able to see them, he knew exactly who they were. Intendants of the Thousand Suns Confederation, what passed as a police force in this new world order, wore heavy black boots with steel caps around their toes that tapped like a ring on a glass with every step.
The trio were all men and all wearing the standard uniform of the TSC - a light blue jumpsuit with the Confederation insignia on their right arm and a belt with an 89 glock-plasma holstered alongside a barrel extension.
"Three, please," the tallest and, Verth thought, most senior Intendant of the three. He wore a ghostly complexion with a shock of dusty white hair. Verth recognised the look.
He pushed up a pair of thick, gold framed glasses and divided the newly poured drinks between his companions. A younger looking man, more filled out and handsome, raised his glass.
"To the TSC," he toasted, earning him a discrete eye-roll from the man in the wolf mask. His companions raised their glasses and they each sipped at their drink.
"What brings you out to the Anstible, Sirs," the barman asked as he wiped down a small pool of liquor that had gathered on the bar following the toast. Verth watched the holographic wooden surface flicker as the rag passed over the metal beneath, mopping up the liquid.
"Right now," the Intendant who had given the toast said, "it's your vast array of booze we're after." The third, and youngest, companion chuckled and finished his drink but the more senior Intendant remained stoic.
"As I'm sure you're aware, we have some concerns that there maybe former Royal Guard in hiding on this station," the senior Intendant said. "It is the belief of the Thousand Suns Confederation that this is unacceptable."
"Unacceptable, huh?" the barman said. "I can see that. I'll be sure to let you know when I see one."
For the first time in all the months Verth had been drinking at the Perdition, the man in the wolf mask spoke up.
"Where's the cavalry?" he asked.
"The TSC doesn't wish to disrupt the stations operations with a needless show of force," the senior Intendant said.
"You're the same as the last lot," the masked man said.
The younger Intendant looked aggrieved by his remark, not that it mattered much to the man in the wolf mask whose soft gaze remained on the wall of liquor and the drink in his hand.
"Excuse me?" the Intendant said. "The TSC is a home for everyone, the same can't be said for the Kingdom we just defeated."
The man in the wolf mask chuckled as he finished his drink.
"True believer or not, nothing's changed. New paint on the wall is all."
The young Intendant, clearly furious now, reached a handout to grab the older man. Forgetting himself for a moment, Verth stood from his stool, sending it crashing onto the metal floor, and stepped between the young Intendant and the masked man. The commotion silenced the bar and all eyes turned to Verth.
"Excuse me," the young Intendant said. Verth didn't move, standing his ground. "Move." The young Intendant pushed at Verth.
"It's like you people have forgotten what it was like under those bastards? For generations they just..." the young Intendant trailed off. "I'm trying to reason with criminals wearing masks."
The senior Intendant began to shift on his feet as if anticipating something while the other Intendant merely took a few steps back from the slowly broiling conflict.
"Perhaps you're former Royal Guard," the young Intendant said. "Wearing a mask to hide their atrocities is exactly the kind of bullshit King-kin would do."
The young man finished his drink and pulled back from Verth.
"Who are you under there anyway?" A murmur rippled through the bar after his question. "What? Why are you so afraid of a mask?"
"There are laws here," Verth said, "you can't ask a masked man his true identity."
"The only laws I recognise are those put down by the Thousand Suns Confederation," the young Intendant said.
"Then you won't make it off this station alive," a voice spoke out from somewhere behind Verth. He couldn't tell where, purposefully keeping his focus on the Intendants in front of him. He could tell from the electronic sound of the voice that it's point of origin was obfuscated by a mask.
"We look forward to working with you all," the older Intendant said as he put one hand on the shoulder of his younger colleague. They paid up their tab, regarded the bar once more, and made leave without another word.
As the Intendants left, Verth caught sight of the source of the electronic voice. A tall figure dressed in dinged and scuffed red and black blast-armour and wearing a faceless black mask partly hidden beneath a black hood attached to a long cloak that wrapped around their shoulders. The Stranger stepped up to the bar and ordered a drink. Verth picked up the overturned stool and retook his spot at the bar.
"I haven't seen you here before," Verth said to the Stranger who raised his mask just enough to take sip of his drink. Beneath, Verth could see clean shaven, tanned skin and a scar across the jawline that looked as though it had been caused by the kind of long and deep wound that remained in some form forever.
"It's been a busy few months," the man said.
"That it has."
The Stranger pulled down their mask again and turned to Verth. Even without being able to see their eyes, Verth could feel their stare.
"That was brave of you," The Stranger said.
"I'm not afraid of them," Verth said, "they're just boys getting used to flexing their newfound power. It won't last."
Verth caught himself, stopping short of saying anymore.
"True enough," The Stranger said. "What's the saying, 'the pathway to hell is paved with noble intentions?'"
Verth nodded. Up close, Verth could see that The Stranger wore a strange weapon on their belt. A long, pristine blade attached to a short black handle just long enough for a two-handed grip.
"Still," The Stranger continued, "give it time and they'll show their true colours. That's power, isn't it."
Verth nodded again, not sure he liked where the conversation was heading.
"I don't believe the laws of this place prevent me from asking what line of work you're in?" Verth said.
"I catch strays," The Stranger replied.
"Strays?"
The Stranger didn't reply, they simply took a stool and sat next to Verth.
"It's interesting, isn't it," they said. "How, when the hierarchy is flipped and the rats become King, the masters scuttle away and hide?"
"It is," Verth said, his body tightened and back straight, sweat pooling around the edge of his mask.
"Would you mind if I told you a story?" The Stranger asked.
"Go ahead."
"It's short, I promise."
The bars patrons had returned to their own lives now that the commotion had died down, but even still, Verth could feel an electricity rising in the air as though lightening was about to strike at his feet.
"It's about a young boy," The Stranger said. "Just like all children this child shits and cries and eats and shits and cries and eats and grows. Like all children, this child plays with toys and laughs at jokes. But, unlike other children, this child had to attend court. He had to greet dignitaries from the many worlds of Scikera at great feasts.
He had to observe his father as he presided over palace meetings and councils. And somewhere in there, that boy who ate and slept and cried and shitted just like any other child, started to hate those who weren't like him. Oh, he continued to play like any other child but he very quickly swapped his toys for a different kind of plaything.
Soon the boys father died and he became King and then we all became his playthings. Now that the boy was King, his hatred fueled him. Soon he was presiding over conquests where he ordered his men to murder thousands. We all became his experiment.
Soon, this boy who once ate and slept and shit just the same as every other child, had taken so much life that those he deemed lesser than turned on him. And then he was leading a war, one that he would ultimately lose. And so, those that served him, those that fired the weapons he aimed, scattered across the system."
Verth had one foot on the floor, waiting for The Stranger to move.
"You're with the TSC?"
"I am with no one," The Stranger said, deadpan.
Verth grabbed at the weapon he'd hidden in his belt and aimed it at the centre of The Strangers mask.
"You knew I was here?" Verth said.
"You have very few friends left General Verth."
"Who are you?"
The barman, who up to this point had paid little mind to the fact that Verth had drawn his weapon, looked up at the pair.
"I'm going to leave now," Verth said.
The Stranger didn't move, they stayed facing the bar, hands clasped in front of them.
"I suggest you let me leave."
Verth knew that Captain Reede had betrayed his location. His cache had finally ran out.
"In a house full of criminals," The Stranger said, "someone like you blends in real easy."
In a flash, The Stranger drew their weapon and swiped upwards with a swift whip. It took Verth a moment to register what had happened. Even the dull thud of his severed hand hitting the floor, fingers still grasping his weapon, took a moment for his brain comprehend.
"Please," Verth said, falling to his knees. He held his left hand over the space where his right had been just seconds ago, blood oozing through his fingers.
"They always say please," The Stranger said. "Say what you will about the Royal Guard, they're polite until their last."
"I..." Verth could barely breathe through the pain.
"You're not going to disappoint me by telling me you were just following orders, are you?" The Stranger said. "Because I know that would be lie, General Verth."
The Stranger turned to the man in the wolf mask who was still drinking and paying little mind to the situation unfolding to his left.
"What was the phrase you used? True believer," The Stranger said. "A zealot is a marvelous weapon for a King who sees himself as a god."
"Please..." Another quick swipe of The Strangers blade separated Verth's head from his body and both slumped to the metal floor with consecutive thumps.
The Stranger slid a wad of coin across the bar towards the barman who looked at the heap of body parts and the ever widening pool of blood on the floor of the Perdition with resignation. They sheathed their sword and started across the bar towards the door.
"You think you're making the system a better place with this?" the man in the wolf mask shouted.
"I don't care about making the system a better place," The Stranger said. "I just catch strays."
END.
Notes from Scikera
This is the section where I plan on diving into the ideas and inspirations behind the story you’ve just read. This first installment is free but intend to paywall future behind-the-scenes commentary.
‘Strays’ began life as an attempt to tell a story about what comes after the rebellion defeats the evil tyrannical government. In this case, we see that those that fought on the side of said evil government have scattered to the wind and are being hunted by pretty much everyone.
I was hugely inspired by those scenes from films like X-Men: First Class where the bad-guy slowly has the tables turned on them and gets their compupance after a lifetime of oppression. In this case, I wanted the bad-guy to be the POV character to reinforce the mysterious nature of The Stranger while also offering a different take on this kind of showdown.
The Stranger is a character who wants revenge - for what, you’ll have to wait and see! - at any cost. They don’t believe in any system of governement due to the pain they’ve suffered in their life, instead believing all power to be a pathway to tyranny and oppression. For the Stranger, I drew inspiration from the likes of the fantastic Netflix animated series Blue Eye Samurai, Puss in Boots: The Last Wish and, of course, Star Wars. There’s a lot more to come from this character, so watch this space!
For Verth, I wanted him to feel like a man pining after a time when he thought things were better. He sees himself as above those around him, an enlightened soldier fighting for order above all else. He’s obsessed with his name and how he is percieved by others, believing himself to be worthy of admiration and respect merely because of the circumstances of his birth. This is, of course, complete fiction and not at all inspired by anything in the real world.
And then there’s Anstible Base, the third major character in the story. A cyberpunk world of masks and fakery. I wanted this place to feel like Vegas if Vegas was floating in space. It’s a dangerous place, a place filled with mysterious characters with obfuscated intentions. It’s international waters drifting in orbit around a gas giant. And, like The Stranger, this is just a taste of Anstible Base.
This story is a small window into a wider world, one that will get weirder and more mythological. It’s heavily inspired by Mythopoeia, a sub-genre of speculative fiction that centres around fictionalised mythologies. Think Tolkien and Le Guin and Lovecraft. Scikera is a science-fantasy universe filled with strange mysteries of which, ‘Strays’ is simply the beginning.
Matthew J. Trask
21/04/25
Anstible Station is officially designated as an ‘independent trade port’ by the Thousand Suns Confederation retaining the same status it possessed under the previous regime. ‘Independent trade port’ is, of course, code for criminal safe haven. A fun place, if you keep your wits about you.
The second largest planet in the Scikera System, Doraketh is home to many of the systems largest mining operations. It was also the site of The Final War’s most famous battle which left the planet and its people scarred and broken.
King Hera Setia II, also known as The Last King, was a despotic monarch who sought dominion over all life. His line was destroyed by the Thousand Suns Confederation and their allies during The Final War.
The Thousand Suns Confederation are the new ruling government following the war. Idealists, soldiers and academics, if there’s one thing they can agree on its that they can’t agree on anything.
Intendents are high ranking investigators within the Thousand Suns Confederation. Mostly military men, Intendants are stationed across the worlds of Scikera to carry out the will of the TSC Council.
The Royal Guard were the personal battalion assigned to King Hera Setia II and widely considered the most formidable troops in the Royal Army.
Kundara is a gas giant and the largest planetary body in The Scikera System.
Calon is a moon in orbit around the planet Hellan Prime and the capital of The Scikeran System. It is home to two sprawling metropolis including The Golden City, the seat of the Council of the Thousand Suns Confederation.
A mysterious population that resides on the dark side of the moon Verilia. *see the short story Night Rise for more from Verilia
A vast and beautiful world, Tameria is home to many mysteries and cultures. *see the story First Flight for more from Tameria