Shattered Alliance

by Benjamin Wallace

  “Welcome to Project Svalbard,” the voice drawled and surely mispronounced the Nordic name.

  “That is a stupid name,” G’Har said.

  “Project Svalbard is named for Earth’s global seed vault in the Svalbard archipelago,” the voice continued.

  “What is this place?” Priscilla asked the voice.

  “Its purpose is much like the seed vault,” the voice responded. “To store critical elements in case the worst should happen. Inside this station you’ll find some of the meanest sons of bitches to ever deliver a very bad day to any number of planets. So, it’s like the seed vault. But for badasses instead of potatoes.”

  The speakers had been dormant for some time and several began to cut out, which created an effect where the voice leapt around the station. It didn’t help alleviate the haunted feel of the place. “If y’all will just step into the Hall of Armor, I’d be happy to explain further.”

  A door slid open in front of them to reveal a dark corridor. Lights flickered on to reveal an almost museum-like setting in the hallway. The walkway led between two rows of glass display cases.

  The trio moved into the hallway and the voice joined them.

  “Project Svalbard is the resting place of the Hell Drivers! That’s why I suggested we call this place the Vampire’s Nest, but the council thought an almost unpronounceable jumble of Viking letters was better, I guess.”

  Priscilla looked at Cason with a raised eyebrow.

  “You ask him,” Cason said with a shrug.

  “Who are the Hell Drivers?” she asked.

  The glass display case next to them lit up, revealing a monstrous canine that was ten feet tall and half as wide. The face was fierce, with bared fangs and a pitched brow over a snarling snout.

  The sight startled G’Har, who flinched backwards until he fell against the case behind him. This activated the lights inside and revealed a ten-foot-tall bug of indistinguishable genus. G’Har stumbled backwards at the sight of this creature until he was in the middle of the walkway, as far away as he could be from either monster.

  The other cases illuminated, revealing a giant monster in each one.

  “The Hell Drivers,” the voice answered. “The most feared squadron in the history of the Earth Alliance Force.”

  Priscilla moved closer to the case and examined the first monstrosity behind the glass. It was terrifying in appearance, but she soon realized what she was looking at. “It’s power armor.”

  “13 suits. 13 ass-kickers. And a list of hundreds of engagements where the Drivers sowed fear and victory across the galaxy.”

  “Early in the Alliance expansion, things were a little less civilized,” Cason said. “These suits played on the most common fears found in the galaxy. Step out of line and Earth sent your worst nightmares to put you back in your place.”

  “It was the tip of the Alliance’s rule-by-fear strategy,” the voice said proudly. “We got the idea from the media.”

  “How did they get here?” G’Har asked.

  “I can answer that.” The voice leapt to another speaker farther down the hall and the trio followed. “The world got civilized. After time the Hell Drivers’ usefulness was questionable because ‘ethics’ or some nonsense. The faction was publicly disbanded and the program was put on ice.” The voice snickered at this last bit of information.

  “I do not appreciate his laughter. It is suspect.” The Gardwah grew angry. “Reveal your secrets, ghost!”

  A door at the far end of the hall slid open to reveal another chamber.

  Cason, Priscilla and the Gardwah stepped into the larger room. Cason understood why the voice laughed. Thirteen cryo chambers lined the walls of the facility.

  “Secretly,” the voice continued, “they were literally put on ice.”

  Cason moved toward the room’s command center and entered a new access code.

  “Is it a good idea to wake these monsters up?” Priscilla asked.

  “The Alliance has found itself at war. And it has no soldiers,” Cason explained. “We don’t have an army. But we’re going up against one, so every bit helps.”

  “These men. These machines are antiques!” G’Har said. “Playthings.”

  “It was the most advanced weaponry of its day,” Cason argued as he punched the final numbers into the console. “And they’re what we’ve got.”

  “Congratulations!” It was the same voice as before coming over the speakers, but it had adopted a much more theatrical tone. “You have just been granted access to the meanest mothers to ever stomp a mudhole in any place that one needed stomping. If you wish to proceed, please confirm with a ‘Hell yeah!”

  “Hell, yeah,” Cason said.

  “Hell yeah!” The voice echoed with much more enthusiasm.

  The lights in the station went dark and all was still.

  “What did you do, Maze?” Priscilla asked.

  Guitar rock started playing through the half-busted speaker system and soon filled the entire station. The central cryopod exploded with a host of lights. Lasers danced. Strobes popped. Smoke began to pour out of the pod. Steam hissed. The voice started counting down as the music and the light show built. “Ten. Nine.”

  G’Har drew his sidearm. “I do not like this.”

  “Easy there, big fellow,” Cason said.

  “Eight. Seven.”

  “I will let no harm come to Oncilla,” the Gardwah said.

  “Six. Five.”

  “Whatever comes out of there better be friendly.”

  “Four. Three. Two.”

  The trio took a collective breath without noticing.

  “One.”

  The music hit its peak and the cryopod cracked open. The lights died. The smoke drifted off to fill unknown corners of the stations and nothing else happened.

  It wasn’t until the Gardwah laughed that they realized the music had stopped. The giant alien walked over to the cryopod and looked around. “Well, that was very anticlimactic.”

  G’Har bent down and pulled the cryopod door open.

  From the still dissipating smoke a hand reached out, grabbed the giant alien by the throat and brought the Gardwah’s face crashing through the pod’s glass canopy. A man inside that pod sat straight up, ripped a shard of broken glass from the pod and shoved it through G’Har’s eye.

  The giant first mate stumbled back several steps, stopped and then collapsed on the floor, very much dead.

  “G’Har!” Priscilla shouted and rushed to her first mate’s side.

  “Oh, man. That is trippy,” the man in the pod said as he pulled himself free. It was the same voice that played over the station’s comms.

  “He’s dead,” Priscilla said to Cason. She then turned to the man from the pod. “You killed him!”

  “Why?” the man asked. “What did he do?”

  “He didn’t do anything!”

  “I’m sure he did something. No one is completely innocent.”

  “Why did you shove a piece of glass through his eye?” Priscilla screamed.

  The man shrugged. “It must be part of the unfreezing process. But that’s not really important right now. If you’re here and I’m no longer a popsicle, that means something is going down. Who is it? The Southern Bloc? The Eastern Bloc? Don’t tell me the damn commies are back again.”

  “It’s not the commies,” Cason said with an eye on Priscilla.

  The man started toward the command console but stumbled.

  “Oh no, you’re not hurt are you?” Priscilla mocked him.

  The man from the pod waved away the concern. “I’m fine. My legs are still asleep. Pins and needles like you wouldn’t believe.” He forced himself to stand upright and saluted Cason and Priscilla. “Commander Vides. Leader of the Hell Drivers. What’s the mission? And how long have I been asleep because my legs are tingling something fierce?”

  “You’ve been under for nearly a century, Commander. And it’s a rescue mission.”

  “You woke us up for a res
cue mission? The Hell Drivers?”

  “A previously unknown force has revealed itself. We no longer have the military means to engage. I’m sorry to say that things have changed, Commander. A lot.”

  “I told them,” Vides said, and slapped his leg. He looked at it briefly and then tried to rub some feeling back into it. “I told them. They said a civilized galaxy didn’t need a military and if we just disarmed, everything would be fine. I said what if someone who isn’t so civilized disagrees and they said that wouldn’t happen and that I was just being a hawk.

  “And it looks like they were wrong. But, lucky for you, we were counting on that.” Commander Vides started entering commands on the console. “We tapped into our black ops fund and had this facility built for exactly such an occasion. The men and women of the Drivers gave their lives in perpetuity, or at least once more, by freezing their asses off in this here facility for a hundred years. Thirteen badasses ready to rock, roll and take some probably very hard to spell alien names.”

  He hit a key and the light show started again. This time Vides did the commentating live as the cryopods presented themselves from storage tubes around the room. The hologram of a man’s head filled the room in front of them and spun slowly. The head wore a hard face with sharp creases that held grim stories and dark memories.

  “Corporal Stain. AKA Canine. The man is a dog on either side of the enemy lines. Pilot of the Canis Armor.”

  A second pod emerged and more smoke filled the room as the thawing process began. The hologram changed to another man.

  “Sargent Wills. Call sign Crazy Legs. The more he drank, the more he danced. Pilot of the Insectoid Armor.”

  The introductions came faster and the pods followed in kind.

  The image of a large man filled the room. “Private Cowling. We call him Gentle Ben. Big. Dumb. Kind. And could crush you even without the use of the Ursine Armor.”

  The image turned to a diminutive man.

  “Private Whitton. Drives the Needle bot. Call sign Little Prick. I won’t elaborate, I’ll just say the name fits.”

  “The Twins, Hobin and Hobin. Driving Thing 1 and Thing 2 respectively.” The hologram showed two identical women. “I can’t remember which one is which. They kept to themselves. It was creepy.”

  “Wait,” Priscilla said, and Vides paused the music. “People are afraid of twins?”

  “Sure,” Vides said. “Downright terrifying.”

  “Who’s afraid of twins?” she pressed.

  “Anyone who has ever had twins, I guess.” Vides turned the music back on. A bald man’s image replaced the twins. “Corporal Mold. Code name, Mr. Clean. Chemical warfare specialist. Pilot of Pestilence.”

  A beautiful woman appeared before them. “Sgt. Paris,” Vides paused. “Reaper. Death has never been more graceful than when driven by her.”

  The rest of the team was introduced quickly. Private Armitage was nicknamed Baby Doll and piloted power armor designed to look like a baby doll with one eye stuck shut. Private Kirwan drove the Nightmare Armor which was being chased, losing teeth and showing up naked and unprepared everywhere it went all at the same time. Private Cano, Bad Boy, drove armor that represented all the traits in a man you wouldn’t want your daughter to date. And Private Barfield’s suit was called Oedipus. It was disgusting.

  The room was filled with smoke, lasers and rock music as all twelve cryopods vented frozen air into the station. The music rose to a crescendo and Vides took on the air of PT Barnum. “Ladies and Gentlemen, without further ado, I give you the Hell Drivers!”

  The music stopped and the cryopods opened. No one stirred.

  Vides looked confused. He called out, “Guys? Hey guys?”

  There was still no motion from the pods. Vides pulled a lever on the console that brought the lights up. A fan started somewhere in the walls and evacuated the mist from the room. The cryopods stood on end. Every one of them was empty.

  “I can’t believe it,” Vides said as he leaned back against the console. “Those bastards ditched me.”

  13

  Jondak, son of Jondal, King of Shandor, was concentrating on a kardjack board before him and mulling over his next move when the doors to the royal kardjack room were thrown open by the Rox Tolgath Malbourne. Jondak’s guards drew their arms and the other attendants gasped at the interruption, but the king did not look up from the board. He remained focused only on the carved stone pieces.

  Malbourne and his silent friend moved into the room and stood behind the king’s kardjack opponent.

  “My dear Rox Tolgath,” Jondak yawned without taking his gaze from the board. He waved his hand and the guards holstered their weapons. “What is it that you could possibly want from me now?”

  “My men tell me you have moved back the signing ceremony once again,” the Rox Tolgath said as he eyed the royal guards.

  This again, Jondak thought. They disturbed him for this. A deep breath purged the disruption from his head and he decided on his move. He lifted the stone game piece and held it before his eyes. He turned it over in his fingers, thinking of what it represented. The trickster had the capability to be cunning or foolish. In kardjack, its true purpose was never revealed until the end of the game. This thought made the king smile and he set the piece down in its new position. “My mystics thought it was best to move the ceremony.”

  “I beg your pardon,” Malbourne said through clenched teeth.

  It was fun to watch off-worlders squirm. Jondak picked up a mug of kordblat and took a sip before answering. “The Dolgrath carcass from the feast revealed disturbing signs upon examination.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I don’t either, quite frankly. Something in the liver, I believe. I’m not a monarch that sweats the details. That’s what my mystics are for after all. But they tell me we should hold off for another week.”

  The Rox Tolgath digested the information and shook his head in disbelief. “You can’t be serious. Delay because of a beast’s liver? I thought you did not believe in such nonsense.”

  Jondak sighed and finally looked at the alien commander. “I am but a servant to the traditions of my people, my new friend.” He held up his hands as if they were bound at the wrists to illustrate his predicament. “My hands are tied in the matter. Surely you understand.”

  “I thought the festival was a sacred tradition and its plans could not be altered. Not even by a king.”

  His opponent picked up one of his harbingers and set the piece in front of Jondak’s diviner. The king coughed to let his opponent know that it was a good move. Too good. The young Shandoran kardjack player understood, pulled the move back and then made a terrible move that delighted the king. The king removed his opponent’s diviner from the board.

  “Shandoran festivals are complicated things,” he continued. “They are dictated by the ancient tapestries. But to be honest, they weren’t kept the cleanest. You see, many of them were used as actual rugs. And after hundreds of years of people trampling all over them, the muddied result leaves a little room for interpretation. Learn from my people, Rox Tolgath—keep your sacred texts and your doormats separate to avoid confusion.”

  “You decreed that…”

  “I decreed because I am the king!” Jondak snapped. He was tiring of this man’s insolence. “And, sacred carpet or no, I will do whatever I want.”

  “Your highness,” the Rox Tolgath smiled. “I don’t give a shit if you’re king. You don’t mean a thing to me. You are insignificant. I owe my allegiance to the Emperor, not some lowly king of a ball of dust. You don’t serve at the behest of some ancient carpet or your people. You are king for one reason only. Because I allow it to be so.”

  Jondak’s rage boiled. It wasn’t just anger. He felt that often. It was a mixture of fury and shame. It wasn’t an unfamiliar feeling, but the only person to ever inspire this emotion before had been his father. The prior—and now very dead—king had been the only person who dared speak to Jondak in this manne
r. Now this outsider had the gall to address him as such. Jondak was beside himself with rage.

  And the bastard Rox Tolgath could tell. The gray face smirked and pointed to a nearby Shandoran to finish his thought. “For all I care, this man could be king.”

  The alien approached his water bearer, who was appropriately terrified. The lid of the clay urn rattled in place as the servant cast wide eyes between the alien and his own liege.

  Malbourne looked the water bearer in the eye and asked quietly, “What do you say? Would you like to be king?”

  Jondak suddenly realized he had been trembling and blind with anger as he desperately tried to imagine painful lessons to teach the outsider. But at Malbourne’s suggestion, Jondak’s seething hate washed away and he exploded with laughter. “This man? King? He is my water bearer. He’s not even fit to look at me.” The king snapped his fingers at the man to assure his attention. “Stop looking at me.”

  The water bearer averted his eyes and gladly backed away from the confrontation. Jondak laughed again. The Rox Tolgath’s suggestion was nothing but laughable. “You see? He is nothing. His bloodline isn’t even in the line of ascension. And that’s what it all comes down to.”

  The king stripped the humor from his voice. He stepped forward and allowed the alien to look him in the eye. He wanted his guest to make no mistake about the serious nature of his words. “And that’s something that not even you can understand. You wield power, Rox Tolgath. Men follow you but it is only in the service of another. Another that bears the blood of kings and rulers. Nothing but servitude flows through the veins of the common man. Like you. You are a common man, my new friend. It would serve you well to remember that when you address anyone born above your station.”

  The king snapped for the water bearer to step forward and the alien did so. “Look at this man. There is nothing special about him. Destiny does not flow through his veins.”