The Treasure of the Mille-Louise

Ben held the model ship close to his chest as he made his way through his grandfather’s home. To him it was magical, full of things he recognized the importance of mixed in with things that seemed outlandish and exotic: Paintings of old starships, alien masks on the walls, trinkets from worlds lightyears away... It was, in actuality, a modestly sized home, but the retired merchant spaceman had used the space well. Ben made his way to the bedroom his grandfather slept in. He knew the old man was awake from the light under and around the door. A polite knock and he entered. 

His grandfather looked up from the aged leather tome he was studying, always preferring physical print to the headache-inducing electronic screens. His hair was white and fleeing, his mustache well-groomed, and he was dressed in his favorite maroon silk robe, made from the threads of a Velusian spider.  

“Can’t sleep, shipmate?” the old man asked.

The young boy shook his blonde hair. Thunder rumbled outside, but both knew it would not be followed by rain. It rarely rained on the desert planet of Caligula: the fierce lightning storms would rage across the planet in such frequency that lightning rod arrays were ran throughout the city to collect power.  

“I’d have thought you were used to the storms by now,” grandfather said. 

“I am, I just... can’t sleep.”

“I see,” the old spaceman said, a grin playing under his mustache. He nodded his head sagely as he noticed the model ship Ben was carrying. “That’s an old freighter. I saw one at the fleet museum when I was your age.” 

“Tell me the story again, grandpa!” Ben shouted as he jumped onto his grandfather’s lap. The old man let out an ‘oof!’ as Ben excitedly continued. “Tell me of the Mille-Louise and the cargo she carried.” 

Grandfather grinned, this time showing white dentures. He dropped into his storytelling voice: an orator’s commanding voice that age had only tempered. 

“It was centuries ago, back in the dark days of the Colonial Civil War: The last conflict humanity waged against itself.” 

Ben nodded. He’d the tale over a dozen times but it was his favorite story, because he knew it was true. Grandfather continued. 

“Caligula was barely a settlement back then, a fierce planet full of storms and sandlampreys that a doomed blockade runner found itself crashing into, his ship loaded with Tangen ore to support the war effort.”

Ben nodded. “That’s so valuable,” he said with a practiced air. “A whole ship loaded with Tangen ore!” 

“Indeed. Aboard the ship, the alarm klaxons were blaring as the starship hurtled through the atmosphere, G-forces slamming crewmen against the bulkheads.” 

Ben listened on, enraptured by the story he had heard so many times before.

“On the bridge,” the old man continued, “the captain gave a sad smile to his first mate. He had failed - the ship was doomed.” He slammed the back of his hand against his palm. “Boom! The ship crashed into the sands of the Badlands.” 

Grandfather’s flair was followed by a crack of thunder from outside, as if the ship had crashed right then and there outside their window. 

Ben’s eyes lit up. “And it’s still out there, grampa? The ship and cargo?” 

The old spacehand nodded. “Aye shipmate. Just waiting for some daring soul to come and claim it. Are you such a man?” 

Ben nodded. “Yes.” 

Grandfather tilted his head. “You sure? The Badlands are fraught with danger. The lightning and sandstorms. The voracious predators. The ruthless bandits.”

“I’m not afraid,” Ben replied puffing his chest out. “I’m going to be the first one to find the treasure of the Mille-Louise.”    

Grandfather smiled, “You just might, my boy. You just might.” 

Years passed, and with the years, Ben grew taller and broader of shoulder. His beloved grandfather grew older and died and with that, the Badlands replaced Ben’s grandfather as his teacher. The planet’s harsh environment showed him such secrets. As he learned how to survive and how to make his way back to civilization, he learned to read the tracks of animals, to judge a storm’s approach, to shoot a gun, and how to find the secret routes. 

Deeper and deeper Ben traveled into the barren wastes of the planet, plying his trade as a guide and tracker. But he never stopped looking for any sign of the ship that haunted his memories—the Mille-Louise and its precious cargo. Sometimes, the discovery of a piece of metal half-buried in the sand would spark his hope, only to be followed by a vague sense of disappointment when it turned out to be just another scrap of wreckage from an old settler ship. Still, he remained hopeful, growing more and more experienced as the Badlands became his second home. In time he fancied himself a regular scout, a true tracker... until he met her.

She was known only as ‘Red’ and to Ben’s mind she was truly the finest tracker on Caligula. Red was a red-furred Daedalian who had fled the Sh’ra invasion of her homeworld. Her reputation was one of skill, ferocity, and survival. Being from a canid race certainly helped—her nose could pick out scents from miles away and her large, jackal-like ears could detect the faintest sound of a lamprey burrowing beneath the sand. Her fighting skills were unmatched as well: whenever they ran into bandits, she swooped in like an avenging angel. If her rifle didn’t drop them from a distance, her blades finished the job up close. 

Ben couldn’t help but admire her. He quickly realized that, for all the years he had spent in the Badlands, he still had much to learn. Red didn’t just survive out there - she thrived.

But what surprised Ben more than her formidable skills was Red’s demeanor toward him. Where others might have treated him like a rival or dismissed him as a dumb kid trying to prove himself, Red showed him respect. She never patronized him or questioned his abilities. In fact, she gave him advice - real advice, not the kind people usually gave to placate someone younger.

It was during one of their long treks across the desert when Ben began to feel a connection growing between them. He remembered the first time he misjudged a storm, thinking it was farther off than it was. Red had seen the signs he missed. An unusual gust of wind, a subtle shift in the sky and she yanked him to safety just before the lightning struck too close for comfort and turned the sands into dirty glass.

“You’ve got good instincts, Ben,” she said, her voice calm as always. “But instincts aren’t everything. You’ve got to learn to listen. The desert talks.”

Ben remembered looking up at her in that moment, covered in sand, his heart still pounding. She hadn’t scolded him for his mistake, just reminded him that the planet always had something to say if he paid attention. He had smiled, despite himself, grateful for the lesson and the way she handled the situation.

As time went on, he found himself growing more comfortable in her presence. She reminded him of his grandfather in a strange way. Both had an air of quiet wisdom, an ability to teach without making him feel small. But unlike his grandfather, who had always felt a bit distant, Red was more... present. She didn’t just give him stories, she gave him skills: She showed him things in real time, whether it was tracking an animal, navigating a tricky ravine, or slowing one’s breath when firing a rifle to steady one’s aim.

At first, he had thought of her as just a partner - someone to learn from. But as days turned to weeks and their encounters with bandits, storms, and predators piled up, he realized he was beginning to see her as something more. She was always looking out for him in a way that felt... familial. 

Once after a close call with a Razorglider swarm, Ben had slumped against a rock - bruised but alive. Red stood over him, offering him a water flask. As he took it, his hand brushing against hers, a thought occurred to him.

“Thanks, sis,” he muttered, barely realizing he had said it out loud.

Red tilted her head, her ears twitching. “What’d you just say?”

Ben flushed, shaking his head quickly. “Nothing.”

But Red’s emerald eyes softened for a moment, and her usual stoic expression turned into something warmer. She didn’t say anything, but from then on, there was an unspoken understanding between them. She wasn’t just a mentor or a guide. 

She was family.

Ben knew Red had a rough past—fleeing the Sh’ra invasion and building a life on Caligula couldn’t have been easy. But whatever walls she had built around herself, Ben felt like she’d let him slip through. In her own way, she was as protective of him as he was of her. Even if they came from different worlds, different species, there was something more that bound them together—something stronger than blood.

As they journeyed through the unforgiving Badlands side-by-side, Ben realized that Red wasn’t just a companion. She was the older sister he never knew he needed. Maybe whenever he found the Mille-Louise he’d give her a generous cut of the treasure. If there was anyone he wanted to share with it would be her. It was the least he could do for her.  

Still he was beginning to think his lifelong dream would remain a dream, like the mirages he frequently saw on the horizon, until one day when he found a lead. 

It was among the many ramshackle buildings of the city of Chohe’s more rundown district, and on a planet like Caligula that was saying something. The buildings were still the old pioneer style; made from ship hulls. Ben had visited many times, mainly to see the junk shops. They were hidden treasure troves and the young human had made some unique finds there on more than one occasion. He pushed past the beaded curtain that served as the shop’s door, his boots thumping against the dusty metal floor. There was  a squeaky fan in the corner that served as the only airflow in the building as a radio played a song in a language Ben had never heard before. 

The shop had the distinct must of aged items and the shelves were crammed full of all manner of knickknacks: Mostly old electronics like long-obsolete computers and pieces of equipment. The proprietor sat behind the counter, his skin like old leather, and his smile far too white. 

“Welcome my friend! See something you like? I’ll get you a good deal.” 

Ben nodded, he already knew the proprietor would try to charge him more than the stuff was worth. He frowned with discretion as nothing was currently catching his eye - that’s when he stopped at a bin full haphazardly-placed components. After a few digging motions his eyes widened. 

A ship's navigational beacon. 

It was an old model that much Ben could discern, but what really stood out about it was the hawk insignia engraved upon the device. 

“Can’t be,” Ben whispered his fingers tracing the emblem. 

The Captain of the Mille-Louise had used the hawk insignia as his own personal coat of arms. It had to be fake. But then again maybe it wasn’t? He had to know. 

“I’ll take this,” Ben said, putting it on the wooden shelf that the proprietor called a front desk. Ben didn’t even try to haggle much to the proprietor's surprise. Ben rushed out of the shop. He had to know. Was it real? He just needed to take it back to base to authenticate the beacon.

Ben had studied enough on antiquated ships to know what to look for to tell a fraud from an authentic piece. Small details like placement of bolts, materials used, pitting in the metal. 

Everything Ben checked told him it was authentic. All he really needed was to hook it up to something with enough power and see if he could trace the ships last known telemetry. It would tell him exactly where the ship went down. Ben took in a breath. 

This was it. 

A dream within his grasp, and the wealth that would come with it, but first... He just had to know where that junk dealer had found it, he didn’t seem to know what he had. 

Tucking the beacon in his satchel the young human set out back to the shop, brimming with questions. Upon stepping through the garage door, though, Ben froze. A scent he knew too well filled his nostrils. He may not have had Red’s senses but he knew the stench of slagged metal and burned flesh when he smelled it. The junk shop had been shot to pieces - very recently, as parts were still glowing orange from the heat of blaster bolts. 

Ben’s hand strayed to his own sidearm. His instincts were screaming at him to flee, and when he saw the men decked out in unmarked military gear he knew it was more than time for that: Ben knew mercenaries when he saw them. 

He ran for it as he snapped a shot off over his shoulder, he knew it wouldn’t hit any of them but it might get them to back off and give him a head start. 

They were gaining on him. Ben could hear their heavy footfalls behind him as he ran down the labyrinthian back alleys of the warehouse district of Chohe. Though Ben was armed, he dared not fight back with his antiquated and obsolete slugthrower or his blaster. Neither weapon was a match for what he faced.

A dozen men in full combat gear and military grade weapons pursued him. A blaster bolt passed centimeters from his face impacted the wall ahead of him in a shower of sparks. Panicked, Ben ran to his right, going down a second alleyway.

“Fool!” A synthesized voice behind him said. “Stun force only! We don’t want to risk damaging what he’s got!”

Ben ran on into the shadows of the growing dusk. He made an immediate left between two buildings, then a right, and another left. There was no sign of anyone else except for the voices of his pursuers. Thoughts kept running through the young man’s head. How had he ended up in this situation?

Ben exited an alley and found himself at the back of a ship’s storage container and a few vagrants that stared at him oddly. Ben didn’t say anything to them as he ran past them. His chest was heaving and sweat was running into his eyes. He ducked behind a decommissioned forklift and huddled into the sand covered pavement.

The men chasing him burst into the area, the vagrants scattered and Ben resumed his flight.

“Damnit! Where is that kid?” One of the pursuers asked.

“Break out the motion trackers! Find him!”

Good luck with that. Ben thought. With all the bums scattering and the various small animals that roamed the streets they wouldn’t know where he went. He kept running, moving down a final alleyway before he found himself on a bustling street. Levitating skimmers and wheeled vehicles drove down the dusty streets while pedestrians plodded along the sidewalks. Darkness was growing as the heavy storm clouds of Caligula gathered overhead. 

Ben fell in with a group at the crosswalk, none of them paid him any mind. This was the frontier, someone being armed wasn’t an unusual sight; nor was someone out of breath from running.

The young human didn’t know what to do next. He’d escaped out of pure luck. He still had what they wanted, and, if his foes were as good as they seemed, they’d be waiting for him at his home.

Ben was in way over his head. There was only one person he trusted enough that could help him now.

During the excitement, blocks away, Red was going over her ledger. Her long canine ears twitched as she looked over her day’s earnings. The Daedalian made her living as a hunting and touring guide: on that day she had been giving a scenic tour of the outskirts to some curious offworld tourists.

A furious knocking sounded at her door. Red flattened her ears in annoyance and a snarl issued from her muzzle. She had just closed shop five minutes ago, there was a sign that said as much on her door. Despite the obvious sign, the knocking continued. Furiously the red furred Daedalian stalked towards the door her tail swishing behind her.

Red threw open the door and gasped at what she saw. 

“Ben?!” Red exclaimed.

“Red! Thank the spaceways you’re here.”

She stood aside to let him in before promptly shutting and locking the door. 

“What are you doing here?”

Ben faced her. “It’s terrible. I- well-”

Red could hear his rapid heartbeat and smell his perspiration. His body language was that of someone highly agitated.

“You’re in trouble, aren’t you?”

Ben nodded. “Yeah, yeah, I am.”

“Come upstairs and tell me everything.”