John Durnst Sci-Fi Story Rough Draft WIP

         Arthel II was a damnable planet. Little grew and what did shriveled under the gaze of two suns. Only the Arthelites, the carapace clad folk, ever truly thrived on this rock. Its inhospitality, though great, also provided cover for the more dubious trades of piracy, trafficking, and smuggling. A ship, worn by years and hard use, descended upon a launch pad of Arthel II. Stenciled lettering on the side, scratched and scraped, identified the ship as The Orchid. The ship was enveloped by the pad’s automated shields in response to the coming storm.
         John Durnst walked down the loading ramp of his ship, the dusty breeze making his long coat whip and turn in the breeze. Another smuggler among many, John had come to take part in the lucrative drug trade. The Arthelites produced many pheromones, one of which serving as a potent hallucingen, one that many would pay top dollar for. This pheromone, more affectionately called ‘bug juice’ by traders, was what brought Durnst to this desert planet. The prospects to finally make it big.
Durnst was greeted by a Frynoan half dried in the heat. The toad man greedily clutched at a nozzle affixed to a water pack. It drank from the pack between words as it spoke.
         “Captain John Durnst, good to see you made it. Let’s get inside -” the Frynoan took a massive swig of the precious liquid, “out of this cursed heat before I fry.” It’s voice croaked even more than usual for a toadman. The two hurried their way to a sandstone structure. It was small in size with a rounded top. Two, maybe three men could fit inside. The inside bore an appearance different from the outside, smooth and dark with a white platform in the center. With the push of a few panels, the platform descended, bringing the two deeper below Arthel II’s surface.
         “Figured I would’ve arrived before the sandstorm. Sorry about that Craid.” John sputtered as he cleared his mouth of sand.
         “Another minute and I would have left you to dry out, and your ship stripped to the metal. I suggest you try to be more punctual, Durnst. Time is money.” The Frynoan took another greedy swig of water. Durnst almost asked for some as well, but thought better of the possessive nature of his companion and their species.

         The first impression of the underworld of Arthel II was that it was cool. Humid and stuffy, but far cooler than the surface. The platform stopped in a chamber similar to the one they entered. They exited to an antechamber hewn from the sandstone that extended many miles deeper. The Arthelites were masters when it came to burrowing and fortifying tunnels, this was but a taste of the many more miles of tunnels.
         “So this is where everyone goes during the storms?” Durnst turned to Craid, the Frynoan grunted affirmatively. For many millennia, the Arthelites were the only sapient species on the planet, but now small human and Frynoan colonies have popped up in search of fortune. They lived in settlements up above, but retreated to the tunnels below during the storm season. The tunnels were lit with an orange light, emanating from strange pockets of fungi. They were cultivated to grow in criss-crossing patterns along the walls and ceiling.
         It was quiet, save for distant footsteps and echoes of the planet’s residents going about their business and preparing to travel topside again. The silence faded as a procession of footsteps and rustling gave way to a flood of small insectoid creatures. Each roughly the size of a small dog. they were carrying a multitude of tools, vessels, and materials, shepherded by taller beings. These were proper Arthelites, tasked with guiding and tending to the worker drones. Almost a minute passed before they were gone again, followed by silence.
         “Watch your step. They don’t take kindly to outsiders stomping out their kin.” Craid began walking, more often hobbling, down one of the tunnel entrances in the antechamber. “I trust your ship is in good order?” The Frynoan quipped.
         “Aye, she’s in good shape for shipping.” Durnst replied conversationally.
         “These pheromones need to be delivered quickly. The last couple partners failed, not taking into account the sandstorm upon landing. Like you did.” Durnst remained quiet. He never let a frog get under his skin yet, nor was he going to let this one. Deeper and deeper they went into the snaking tunnels and chambers. Until they reached the hatching chamber. The entire room glowed orange. A sweet, intoxicating smell hung heavy in the air.

…

         A sleek ship pulled into the hangar of the Hawi Shipping Corporation. It being fashioned from a meteor, carved into a smooth, gray sphere. The inside of the hangar was rough and dark, lit by dim, white light. The tall form of Nyl Hel’Dren emerged from the ship as it docked in the station. Clad in gray-black clothing and a wide brimmed hat, Nyl grabbed his energy rifle and jumped down to the hangar floor. The Andromedean was here for one purpose, to hunt those that the Twelve Star Federation deemed too criminal for their tastes.
He made his way to the reception lobby. He had to duck to get through the door, standing head and shoulders over most species. The room was a sharp contrast to the hangar. Polished black stone, white walls, and a warm lighting. The receptionist sat behind a desk. Nyl approached, towering over them.
         “Nyl Hel’Dren I presume? You can find your package in box 3-0044. Just need verification and payment.” They held a small tablet up to Nyl. The Andromedean dug his large hand into one of his pockets, pulling out a small, rectangular stick. Upon touching it to the tablet, the stick glowed green.
“Very well, here is the combination. Thank you for your patronage.”
         “Yeah, thanks.” Nyl grunted, slowly striding to where his package was being kept. Rows and rows of small metal doors lined the walls in the long room. Each with a small glowing display. The constellation of blue lights would be overwhelming, if it wasn’t for the fact that Nyl had visited this very room many times. He quickly navigated the room and found his box. Inside sat a parcel sealed in a polymer case. Without another word, Nyl returned to his ship and opened the package. Within was a cheap display. Upon turning it on, it displayed a message:

         To Nyl Hel’Dren,
         We have a business opportunity, should you accept. We offer a contract to seek down and capture one Ja-

         A noise distracted Nyl, one of the hangar workers had stubbed their toe. A slight movement of the letters brough Nyl’s attention to the message:

         John Durnst. They are a high level criminal responsible for illegal smuggling, kidnapping officials, destroying the property of the Twelve Star System, and terroristic acts. They were last seen around Sol Gamma and Delta of the Arthel System. The reward is 40,000 Federation Dollars alive, 25,000 dead. We appreciate your cooperation and summary success.
Kyben Contracting Company.

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         “Sol Gamma and Sol Delta.” Nyl scratched his chin. “The suns of Arthel I, II, and III. Arthel II is the only rock that won’t cook you on entry. Best to get some more water.” Nyl inspected his rifle, Wylde Armaments. Largest manufacturer in the system, and the doom of John Durnst.

…

         The sandstorm subsided. Durnst had been with Craid for a few hours now, observing the extraction of the pheromones. Some Arthelites remained as well, speaking to them in harsh, clicking tones. They explained that only a few Arthelites are capable of speaking and making decisions. Most are hatched as drones, with a few becoming potential queens. If the queen is alive before they hatch, they become soldiers and shepherds instead. Otherwise, one will replace the queen. This is all decided by a mix of pheromones. Depending on the combination, you can end up with varying amounts and combinations of each.
         Durnst was only half listening, focusing more on the process of his product, a red honey. It was more or less a byproduct of hatching. When an Arthelite hatches, the remaining juice can be harvested and sold either raw or refined. Curious, Durnst scooped a generous helping onto the tip of his finger from a stray puddle of the fluid. Intent on trying some for himself. Craid quickly gripped his wrist, honey laden finger half an inch to his mouth.
         “That’s spoken for Captain Durnst.” the Frynoan growled, “Besides, I need you alive to load the product. That dose on your grubbing finger is enough to kill two of you”
         “By the stars! How much are you getting for this stuff?”          “For that much,” Craid nodded at Durnst’s finger, “about 5,000 Federation dollars. 1,000,000 if refined. Of course to get that much refined resin we would need to cook an entire hatchery’s worth. Most of what you’re holding is impurities, toxins and embryonic fluid.” Durnst flung the fluid on his finger and frantically wiped it clean. “However, we don’t have the equipment for that, but our customers do. Their middle man is the one you will be bringing the product to.“ Durnst opened his mouth to ask a question, but Craid already had the answer. “Don’t think I forgot about your compensation. I wouldn’t be what I am if I did. If you complete this job, you’ll walk away 30,000 richer. You’ll receive payment from the customer upon delivery.”
         "But you-” Durnst started to argue before multiple Arthelite soldiers arrived, hastily setting up strange looking equipment.
         “Looks like they finally have the siphon. Get to work captain Durnst. We don’t pay for idleness.” With that, the frynoan trundled off, leaving Durnst to deal with the Arthelites alone.

UPDATE I

         The work took well into the night, if you could call it night. Durnst gazed upon the horizons, one sun sat in the west and the other sat east. This gave the entire sky a crimson-gold hue and outlined every building and being in black silhouettes. Durnst headed towards the nearest town, but not before checking his pistol. Manufactured by Wylde Armaments, it bore the appearance of a big iron revolver. Of course it used energy instead of ballistic ammunition. The six chambers held charging cells, which fed into laser crystals, instead of brass rounds. Firearms were for primitives and the truly desperate. The battery, stored above the 6-o’clock barrel, was almost empty.          “Looks like I found where the rest of my money is going. Gonna need all the firepower I can get.”

…

         Nyl Hel’Dren woke up with a start. bright sunlight filtered through the dust that laid thick on his display lens. He twisted the release lever that sealed his ship’s door. The mechanism gave way, but the door remained closed. Placing his large, four digit hands upon the roof, Nyl gave a hefty push until the door flung open. A long and loud hissing sound filled his hole-like ears as pounds upon pounds of sand flowed off of his ship onto the desert floor, or into his cockpit. He had not anticipated the sandstorm on his descent, the sand causing him to crash land.
         As he climbed out to inspect his ship, a tinge of anger sparked across his mind. The ship was buried all the way up to the cockpit door, and the damage from the crash disabled all of the systems. What little he could see of his ship was stripped down to the bare metal, with large chunks gouged out by larger debris. He was stranded on this rock with his rifle, and only three days worth of provisions. His anger faded just as quickly as it cropped up, extinguished by a calm particular to the Andromedean species. Ship or no, he was here now and this is where he wanted to be. He set off into the desert, water to his side and gun on his back.

         The suns had nearly set when Nyl finally found his first sign of civilization, a small settlement. He had to tilt his head forward as he walked. He eventually found a rest area designated by Federation Common, the universal language within the Twelve Star Federation. As he entered, his knees almost buckled. The humid but cool temperature reminded his body of the few close passes he had with heat stroke. Recovering, he made his way to a Frynoan sitting behind a desk, watching him.
         “One room.” The Andromedean exhaled in his deep voice, the Frynoan cocked an eyebrow that wasn’t there. “Please”, Nyl begrudgingly added. Now was not the time to make enemies.
         “Very well,” the old toad croaked, “50 fed dollars and the room is yours for the night.” Nyl fought down the urge to throttle the Frynoan’s non-existant neck. He only had a few hundred left, however, his exhaustion won out and he paid the fee. He’d only be here for a few days anyway.
         “The sandstorms, how often are they?” Nyl asked.
         “During this time of the cycle? quite frequent. There is usually a four day period between storms, it takes a while for the winds to pick up again. I have heard this one is going to be particularly nasty.” The Frynoan’s speech was followed by a hacking sound that could have been mistaken for a chuckle. It handed Nyl a card, “Your room is upstairs, second on the right. You are lucky, that is the last one.”
         With a nod, Nyl made his way upstairs and to his designated door. This one opened vertically by a pneumatic system, as opposed to the usual hydraulics. Any liquid was deemed to valuable to be used for such a simple purpose. He touched his card to a panel adjacent to the door, which caused it to lift, Nyl ducked inside. Naturally the ceiling was low, and what little furniture was inside was too short for comfortable use. The only decorations being a simple blue pot and a cheap rug on the floor. Nyl rested his long frame on the bed, his feel extending over the edge by a good foot. He did not care though, he only wished for rest.
Three days. Three days to find him. With that, Nyl went to sleep.

…

         John Durnst woke that morning, sore and cleaner than he had any right to be. After extracting the bug juice, he spent the rest of the night feverishly scrubbing himself down with water, soap, and sand to avoid absorbing any of that stuff through his skin. Donning a red shirt and his long brown coat, Durnst left his bedroom door. Directly across the hall another door opened, and through it stooped the tall frame of an Andromedean, clad in black with a large brimmed hat. Durnst stopped just short of running into the tall individual. Standing head and shoulders over him, the Andromedean tipped his hat in pardon. Durnst gestured for them to go first down the hall, returning the pardon. He was more than happy to treat respect with respect, especially when it made his business on Arthel II run smoother.
         He followed the Andromedean down the stairs, who sat at a bar area and ordered a drink. This had been John’s third day, and he could go for a drink himself. He took the next seat over from the Andromedean, and ordered a drink. The bartender was a woman who had just reached adulthood. In a younger time Durnst would have tried to make eyes at her, but he learned the hard way just how well an angered bartender can strike, and how much a toadman charged for damages. He deigned to order a drink instead.
         The primary drink on Arthel II was made from the roots of an Arthelite cactus. Blue in color, very poisonous, with deep growing roots. They hardly resembled Terran cacti aside from the spines. Though the main plant was unsafe to eat, the roots could be harvested and used as a source of food or fermented and used in drinks. The drink itself bore an aquamarine color, and tasted as sour as it smelled. It served its purpose though, which was more than any one this planet could ask for.
         “I don’t think I caught your name stranger.” The tall figure a seat away.
         “Harris,” John replied, “Harris Jones.” An alias Durnst had used many times in his smuggling business. He didn’t have a bounty on his head last he checked, but it was common practice amongst smugglers to not leave a paper trail that lead to them. “And you are?”
         “Nyl Hel’Dren, nice to meet you. Good to see at least one softer face on this wad of sand. You from around here?”
         “Yep. been here for a couple years now.” Durnst could’ve told the truth, but that could have raised more uncomfortable questions. For all he knew, this Nyl could be a Federation Ranger. Durrnst moved to change the subject on to Nyl, “What brings an Andromedean to a place like this anyways? I didn’t think your kind came out this far into the Twelve Stars. Especially not to a rough and tumble place like this.” Even if not in his current situation, one of Nyl’s kind being anywhere near here still piqued Durnst’s interest. The species most known for their peaceful and spiritual ways rarely leave the Andromeda galaxy, let alone to this part of Nebulaea galaxy.
         “I’m looking for someone.” Nyl flatly responded.
         “A friend of yours?”
         “Yeah, something like that.” There was a touch of cold hunger in those large, black eyes that Durnst never thought possible for that species.
         “Well, I hope you find him. Here’s to a happy reunion.” He then finished his glass and made his way for the door, he could almost feel Nyl watching him. Yet the warm buzz of alcohol washed over his mind, and he soon forgot the tense moment.

...

         He’s hiding something. This was Nyl’s thought of Harris Jones as he watched him leave. He sat at the bar and stared into his blue drink, contemplating on the conversation that just took place. He felt something was off about that man, that much he knew, another ability of the Andromedean people. The ability to sense emotion and, to a lesser extent, motive. He was not certain that Harris was in fact the man he was looking for, but he did know for a fact that he was lying. Normally, Nyl would have just let it go. He did not judge someone for making a living, but finding Durnst was now his only way off this planet. He would keep an eye on Mr. Jones.
         He finished his drink. The sour taste made him wince. Andromedeans as a rule swore off vices such as this, but Nyl did not live by this rule. He was an outcast, an unruly member of a rule-bound species. Not that this bothered him, at least not too much. Once this job was finished he would be one step closer to finding another place to belong. Placing his glass back down, Nyl ordered another.
         Leaving the building, Nyl almost stumbled over the threshold. The drinks he had made his head swim in a sickly pleasant way. His first task was to figure out what Durnst was doing here. Nyl knew of Arthel II, and some of the dealings that went on. The Arthelites were notorious throughout much of the Twelve Stars for their potent pheromone based drugs. If Durnst was the outlaw that Kyben made him out to be, he would definitely be involved in that business. The question was how to get to the Arthelites. This was answered when a pair of humans clad in loose robes entered a small hut. Then another, and a few more after that. Nyl went to investigate. As he thought, there was no way that many people could fit in there. In the room before him sat a white circular platform on the floor. A lift if he ever saw one.
         Despite the sound of the platform softly grinding against the walls, the ride down was rather smooth. The cool humidity was a welcome feeling to Nyl, his people being adapted for such a climate. After dealing with the dry heat topside Nyl found this new sensation invigorating. The platform slid to a halt, and the door at the bottom opened. Nyl had made it to the world of the Arthelites.