Scythian Dawn: Book One of a Barbarian Space Opera

by P. K. Lentz

  The deep, rapid cracking of a heavy gun sounded. Arixa looked over to see a freshly risen Zhi blasting away.

  She gunned down the last few Jir as they tried to flee.

  Finishing off Jir wounded as they passed, Ivar, Dak, Vaspa, and the two remaining living Scythians made their way to the jammed iris.

  Ivar paused and knelt by the threshold, setting a hand on one of the more than twenty inert Scythians on the floor.

  “Dead,” he announced grimly. “All except us.”

  Arixa understood: the Jir weapon deployed against the Dawn had been meant to kill, not merely incapacitate. Against all but the augmented, it had succeeded.

  Of all the wounds Arixa had sustained in attacking this ship, this blow hurt the most. Marching on red with rage, she barely heard Zhi’s plea not to damage the bridge or Ivar ordering Dak to guard the door.

  “We submit!” called a throaty Jir voice in Nexus. It came from ahead, where judging by the wash of dim light, the walls opened up into a wider space. “Hold your fire! We submit!”

  Her comrades and Zhi right behind, Arixa strode into the chamber with vazer raised.

  What they entered was a room similar to the pilot’s chambers of the skyboats but on a grander scale. Banks of controls lined every surface and colored symbols hung in the air.

  About twenty Jir occupied the room. None were armored or appeared to be armed. Most stood unmoving, facing the invaders.

  Zhi cried out, “Stop! Move away!”

  A beat later, she fired her cannon. A Jir who had been sitting in a chair manipulating controls died in a burst of blue-black blood. Arixa had no idea what he might have been attempting to do, but Zhi must have, and that was good enough.

  Arixa had entered the bridge hoping to open fire and kill all she saw, but that would be to let rage drive her. Wisdom—rather than mercy, of which she felt none—dictated a different course.

  “Line up here!” Arixa shouted at the surrendered crew. “Move!”

  As she spoke, her eyes identified the Jir whose uniform markings appeared to distinguish them as officers.

  “Any who don’t comply instantly or whose hands are not visible will be killed without warning!”

  When all twenty or so Jir reached the area in front of the Dawn, Arixa ordered them to their knees.

  “Which of you is Captain?”

  While all the rest sank to their knees, a Jir with a silver stripe on his uniform remained defiantly standing.

  “You?” Arixa asked, approaching it with vazer aimed.

  “I am Captain,” Silver Stripe confirmed in its harsh, charred tone.

  “Who is second?” Arixa asked.

  Another ugly specimen stood. Perhaps it was male, perhaps female. It didn’t matter.

  With the second-in-command identified, Arixa lowered her vazer and stepped closer to Silver Stripe. Drawing back her war-pick, she slammed it into the Captain’s head, cleanly piercing its skull. The corpse sank down, stuck to the weapon’s head until Arixa yanked its spike free. When it was on the floor, she proceeded to deliver blow after blow, smashing the gray skull to pieces in explosions of black gore that spattered the faces and uniforms of the aliens kneeling nearby.

  The Second cringed, and many Jir close to Arixa tried to remove themselves. One got to its feet and made to run, but Ivar’s vazer put a black hole in its back before it took two steps.

  Arixa pounded and pounded until the Captain’s head was blue-black pulp. When she stood, she aimed her war-pick, alien brains dripping from its iron head, at the Second. She put the spike close enough to his face that he could surely smell the gore.

  “You will make your voice heard throughout this ship and on all your crew’s comms,” she commanded him. “You will tell then that their Captain is dead and that they must cease all resistance immediately. Address them in Nexus. A word in any other tongue, and everyone aboard dies in the manner you just saw, starting with those in this room. Is that understood?”

  The officer stood stunned, emitting a warbling tone from its throat.

  After several seconds of that, Arixa asked loudly of the hostages, “Who is third in command?”

  “I-I will do it!” the Second said belatedly, getting the hint. “But you have sealed your fate, and that of—”

  It shrieked as Arixa sank the spike of her war-pick into its upper arm. Twisting it free, she swung it at the nearest kneeling Jir, piercing it just under the crown of bony protrusions that topped its brow.

  She flicked her wrist, casting the newly-made corpse to the floor.

  “Choose your next words carefully.”

  Clutching its torn arm, the Second made some swift motions with its fingers and spoke as Arixa demanded. Its words echoed through the bridge and presumably in the myriad of chambers and passageways of the god-ship. The Captain was dead, the announcement informed. Resistance to the human boarders was to cease.

  “Does this vessel have a name?” Arixa asked when the Second was done.

  “Draugan.”

  “Now you will make my voice heard,” she demanded.

  The Second moved its gray fingers again. It did not sit well with Arixa to trust any of these creatures this much. Who knew what commands it might be issuing?

  “It is done,” the Second said.

  Arixa began speaking and heard her own voice echo in the air.

  “Crew of the Jirmaken vessel Draugan, I am Arixa of Scythia. I killed your Captain. Your ship is mine. If you lay down all weapons and accept confinement, you will have a chance of seeing your homes again. If there is any further resistance, my warriors will slaughter everyone aboard.” She switched from Nexus-G to Scythian to address her people elsewhere in the ship, whichever of them survived: “My Dawn, if the Jir comply, take their arms and spare their lives.”

  The Second took Arixa’s cue to cease broadcasting her voice.

  “The shuttles you use to capture humans,” she asked next. “Have they returned?”

  It answered swiftly, probably due to the correct understanding that hesitation might earn it a new hole in its skull.

  “They are on standby, awaiting docking.”

  “Are their crews aware of the attack?”

  “Of course.”

  “Tell the pilots that the danger has passed and they are free to dock.”

  “You cannot possibly hope to—”

  Arixa set the point of her war-pick to the Jir’s gray cheek. “Tell me what we can’t hope to do. Have we not already done the impossible?”

  The Second fell silent. From its expression, Arixa began to gain a sense of what fear looked like on the hideous Jir faces.

  “Do as I said. Tell the pilots,” she commanded. “Use your native speech, aware that my companion understands it.”

  The Jir activated his comms and spoke alien words. Zhi confirmed their meaning.

  Arixa shifted her war-pick to the Second’s shoulder and applied downward pressure until he joined his comrades in kneeling.

  “I want to kill you all,” Arixa addressed them. “I should. You deserved it even before you killed twenty of my people outside this room. But I’ll spare you. So long as every Jir aboard cooperates, you may return home. My companions and I will disappear among the stars and never trouble the Jir again.”

  This last statement caused Ivar’s brow to furrow briefly.

  “If a single Jir raises a hand against us, my attitude will change,” Arixa resumed. “All of you will die. Is that understood?”

  The Second answered quietly, “Understood, chigit.”

  “Zhi!” Arixa called out. “Kindly put me in control of my ship. If you need any assistance, I’m sure these maggots will be glad to lend it.”

  Twenty-Eight

  Zhi handed off her heavy gun to Vaspa and went to work, moving swiftly between consoles with intense focus and urgency.

  “You’re lying about sparing them, right?” Ivar asked Arixa in Scythian.

  “Am I not known for being calm and reasonable?”
Arixa said with a smile.

  “Ask the Shath,” Ivar added.

  “Shuttles are aboard, crews sealed inside the hangars,” Zhi reported. “But something odd is happening with the Shift drive.”

  A faint sound came from the direction of the prisoners, who by now had been ordered to lie face-down. Walking over, Arixa determined the source of the sound to be the Second.

  “Is that a laugh?” she asked.

  When it didn’t immediately answer, Arixa dragged the Second upright.

  “You’re laughing,” she said with assurance. “Why?” She pressed the muzzle of her vazer to its chin. “Tell me!”

  “You cannot win this day,” the Second answered. “Before his death, Captain Tanza ensured it.”

  Arixa demanded, “What did he do?”

  It was Zhi who explained, grimly, from her station. “The cruiser’s Shift drive is set to enter terminal meltdown unless the Captain aborts it.”

  Arixa growled. “Translation?”

  “Half of this ship will implode and then the rest will explode. We’ll all die.”

  Even if Zhi’s simplified explanation still wasn’t entirely clear, Arixa understood the part about dying.

  “How long?”

  “Nearly an hour.”

  Arixa said with certainty to the Second, “You can stop it.”

  “I cannot.”

  “You lie. Otherwise, why tell us now, when we have time to escape?”

  Arixa could hardly read its glossy, alien eyes, but something in them seemed to confirm she was right.

  “You still wish to live,” she concluded. “And you must believe it’s possible. Otherwise you would never have agreed to recall your shuttle crews. Cancel it.”

  The Second gave a look that might have been a sneer. “I shall not!”

  Arixa forced the butt of her war-pick into the Jir’s mouth while she addressed the other prisoners. “Who else here is capable of aborting the meltdown and wants to save the lives of every Jir on this ship?”

  None responded.

  Arixa lowered her war-pick and thought. These Jir had already seen the consequences of defying her. Another bloody example didn’t seem likely to persuade them. Besides, she might kill the only ones capable of helping.

  Some words were worth a try.

  “I know nothing about your race,” Arixa addressed the prone prisoners. “I don’t know if you have families or friends. But if you do, think of them now before you die. One by one. Painfully. By iron. I will not smash your heads, though, as I foolishly did your captain’s. No, my people the Scythians have an ancient tradition, abandoned by more recent generations who see it as belonging to a more savage time. I speak of the practice of drinking from the skulls of our enemies. Be aware as you die that we will try to keep your skulls intact for this purpose. When my warriors and I abandon this ship and return home to our families, many of your heads will come with us. They will sit on shelves, gilded and inlaid, and our children will play with them as they hear the tale of this day.

  “Or... if just one among you has enough sense and the capability, he can halt the destruction and be the Jir responsible for saving all who remain. We’ll grant you as many shuttles as you need to leave this ship. Instead of us, you’ll be the ones to return to your homes. You’ll hear news of how your mighty Pentarchy reclaimed this ship and captured us. You can tell this story to your offspring and gloat while watching us punished for what we’ve done today.”

  As any time she addressed an enemy, her words were a mix of truth and lies. Whatever suited.

  “Whether you Jir live or die today,” she lied, “we Scythians are probably doomed. So why choose to die?”

  “Um... Arixa?” This from Ivar, whose confusion was understandable.

  She raised a hand, silencing him.

  “Don’t sacrifice yourselves for nothing. If you let this ship be destroyed, all Jir aboard will die too, but we humans will just escape. Instead, save this ship, save yourselves. Live on to serve your empire again. Are there any takers? Be quick about it. Or be dead.”

  “Do not give the Gorosians—!” the Second started. He got no further before Arixa swatted him across the jaw with her vazer butt and shoved him to the floor.

  “How do we know you will spare us?” one of the other Jir captives asked.

  “All I can give is my word. The moment you give my companion what she needs, my warriors will attend to your evacuation from the Draugan.”

  “She lies!” the Second shouted.

  “I will do it,” came a faint, hesitant voice from among the Jir face down on the deck. A moment after, the speaker slowly stood.

  “Ivar, take it to Zhi,” Arixa said.

  The Second emitted an inhuman growling sound. Arixa regarded it down the muzzle of her vazer.

  “Ozni!” the Second said. “You will not—”

  Arixa discharged her vazer into the alien’s face. Its body folded onto to the deck.

  The Jir volunteer in Ivar’s custody halted, staring in what seemed likely to be horror, though Arixa could hardly read its expression.

  “Ozni, is it?” Arixa said to the volunteer. “Move along.”

  After a few seconds spent mustering courage, the Jir demanded, “Take all crew except me to the hangar. Then I will help.”

  “None of my people will leave this room until destruction is averted,” Arixa countered. “Nor will yours. Do it.”

  “Don’t, Ozni!” some Jir called out.

  Dak pointed out the speaker to Arixa, who gave him a nod the meaning of which was clear. Stepping forward, Dak brought his blade down on the prone Jir’s skull, cleaving it in two. Other Jir emitted alien sounds of fear.

  Arixa frowned. “I said try to keep the skulls intact.”

  Dak shook dark blood off his ax. “Sorry, Captain.”

  The volunteer, Ozni, glared at Arixa with its large eyes. Arixa glared back, though the Jir presumably were no more adept than humans were at reading other species’ facial expressions.

  “Ivar, cut its hand off,” Arixa ordered without breaking the gaze.

  “With pleasure,” Ivar answered with a grin.

  Sadly, he was to be disappointed, and his face showed it as Ozni yielded and resumed the march to Zhi’s side. There, it quietly manipulated several of the myriad of floating symbols.

  “Is it done?” Arixa asked Zhi.

  Zhi examined her displays and concluded, “All clear.”

  It was all Arixa needed to hear. Carefully taking aim at Ozmi, she discharged her vazer. A blue-black hole opened up in the alien. As the corpse slumped at Zhi’s feet, Arixa instructed her warriors, “Kill them all.”

  Ivar grinned, his blue eyes beaming. Gore-coated Dak hefted his sagaris. The other Scythians leveled vazers and immediately began firing.

  The prone Jir prisoners flew into a panic, shrieking and scrambling to their feet. Axes and war-picks fell on their backs and necks, wetting blades already coated in alien blood from the day’s work. Vazer beams opened holes in torsos. The few who made it to their feet ran for the door only to be gunned down by Vaspa. One grappled with Ivar, wrapping hands around the haft of the Norther’s ax, but its resistance was short lived. Throwing the Jir to the floor, Ivar vazered a hole in its chest.

  The frenzy of slaughter, lasting all of a minute, left the floor littered with alien dead.

  With a satisfied look, Ivar cleaned his ax blade on the uniform of a dead Jir. “I’m sorry I doubted you there for a moment,” he said. “That talk of flying off to the stars, getting punished and such.”

  “You should know better.”

  If only he knew. Lying to enemies was one thing. But to her darlings...

  Zhi stared blankly at the aftermath of the mass execution on the bridge.

  “Do you not approve?” Arixa asked her.

  Saying nothing, Zhi returned her attention to the controls. She reported quietly, “Our shuttle from Earth is arriving,”

  “Dock it as close as you can to our lo
cation,” Arixa instructed. “Not only is this ship vast, every corridor looks like every other. We’ll need to learn our way around it.”

  Ivar gave a puzzled look. “Hmm? Why?”

  Regretting the slip, Arixa moved on. “We need to locate the rest of the Dawn.

  Whatever was left of it. The toll, when counted, was bound to be steep.

  “I could program some service drones,” Zhi began.

  She was interrupted by Vaspa, who emerged at the top of the short ramp leading down to the bridge’s entrance, which he had been guarding. “Look who’s here!” he announced.

  Behind Vaspa walked the small, white, tentacled, horse-faced creature who had helped them. At least, Arixa assumed it was the same Slintt. It could be another, for she could tell aliens apart.

  Hoot! it said.

  “She might agree to guide you,” Zhi suggested. “Likely there are more Slintt aboard who could help.”

  Arixa nodded acceptance of the idea. “For all we know, there are battles still underway,” she said. “I lost contact long ago with Olkavas’s group.”

  Zhi delivered information from her displays. “The full contingent aboard of this ship numbered four hundred and sixty-two. Seventy-eight crewed the capture-ships and now are sealed in the hangars, minus the crew we killed. Of the remaining three hundred and eighty-four, we—”

  “Enough numbers,” Arixa interrupted. “What is the fastest way to consolidate our hold on this vessel?”

  “I was about to say that nearly two hundred Jir appear still to be located on decks which I do not believe saw fighting. I already have them confined there, although there’s a chance one or more of them has the ability to override the seals.”

  Zhi hesitated.

  “Go on,” Arixa coaxed. “Tell me your idea.”

  “If I were to take the Draugan out of the atmosphere, I could...” She finished reluctantly, “vent those decks.”

  “This would kill them?”

  “Most likely.”

  “Are we certain that none of the Dawn are present there?” Arixa asked. “Or human captives?”

  “Fairly certain...” Zhi swallowed and amended, “Yes. Certain.”