by Andy Kasch
Flash Move
The Torian Reclamation
Book 2
Andy Kasch
© 2014 Andy Kasch
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, religious bodies, corporate or governmental entities, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons (living or dead), events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means, including scanning, photocopying, or otherwise without the express prior written consent of the author.
Contents
Title Page
Milura Star System, Torian Year 5351
Sinlo Mountains C3 Amulen
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Three Months Later, Earth Colony Amulen
Epilogue
About the Author
Milura Star System, Torian Year 5351
“Have you changed your minds then, after we brought you all this way?” Inquisitor Errshlin failed to conceal his frustration.
Minister Borrkar bowed before answering, his shining head momentarily vanishing beneath the hood of his dark cloak. The other six Arcs remained motionless behind him.
“Begging your tolerance, Inquisitor, the Arcs have all been transported to the planet surface.”
“All but you seven,” Errshlin shot back. “Why do you stay behind?”
“Inquisitor,” Borrkar said, “the salvage operation is your primary objective, is it not? If we have inconvenienced you in any way, I apologize. It is not our intent to interfere.” He assumed that look of bewilderment Errshlin hated, knowing it was pure theatrics. Errshlin had little tolerance for the antics of these round-boned half-breeds. Back home, he was forced to endure them—but out here, five thousand light years across the galaxy, he was the end of the law.
Errshlin felt himself began to sneer, but managed to change it to a polite smile before responding. Borrkar would not get the better of him this time.
“From my view, Minister, the salvage job is the sole reason we’re here. You Arcs simply hitched a ride, having seized an opportunity to abandon your home and go live among aliens for some inexplicable reason. Now, that is not my affair, other than the portion of my task which directs me to accommodate you. To be perfectly honest, it is of little interest to me—except where there are loose ends to tie up. We’ve made significant progress on these vessels and are ready to commence with the operation. I’ve complied with your every request, and even allowed you to come aboard here to see the project firsthand. But it was my understanding you would all be on the ground by this time. I’m afraid you are now in the way.”
“We thank you for your accommodation, Inquisitor.” Borrkar bowed again. “I assure you we will shortly be the least of your concerns.”
“How shortly?”
“Very. As to the ‘inexplicable reason’ we have chosen to relocate here, I think you know it is because of the infection.”
“The game, you mean.”
“Yes, the game. And now you can see what the infection has done with your own eyes, throughout the halls of these vast wreckages. This is what we wish to escape. So we choose to come live among our law-observing half-brothers, rather than witness our home suffer the same fate.”
“The damage on these Azaarian warships was from a battle,” Errshlin said, “not the result of playing a table game.”
Borrkar cocked his head. “Do you refuse to acknowledge the ominous sign before you? Consider what you see here, Inquisitor, everywhere you look. The imperious skeletons proudly adorned in plush robes sitting on either side of the games, many of which are still propped up and reaching an arm out towards the instrument of their destruction. Even in death they attempt to continue playing. It was not the battle that killed them; it was the infection that made them incapable of fighting a battle.”
“Our government does not recognize the game as a threat,” Errshlin replied, “and my job is to salvage whatever can be found of value.”
“Does that include the games, Inquisitor?”
Errshlin felt a pulse of conviction, but shook it off and tried to give a logical-sounding answer.
“They are considered items of value by Latian authorities, so if we have room for them—”
Errshlin’s transmitter mercifully buzzed. He brought the small rectangular object before his face.
“Yes, Murrkal?”
“Sir, you better get back here.”
“What’s the trouble?”
“Several new transport ships have arrived and are gradually approaching us.”
“That can’t be,” Errshlin said. “The rest of the fleet is in training exercises, and would never make this far of a trip.”
“They’re not ours, Inquisitor.”
“On our way.” Errshlin belted his transmitter and began jogging towards the hangar. “Stay here for now,” he shouted at the Arcs, though they appeared to have no intention of moving. He turned and waved at the ensign standing before the hangar corridor.
“Ensign, we need to get back to Pointship. Fast! Let’s go!”
Within minutes, Inquisitor Errshlin was on his private shuttle crossing the short space between the first salvage vessel and the Latian mission command ship. Two other shuttles transporting most of the project administrators were close behind.
“I see them, there.” Errshlin pointed off the starboard bow. “Five. Whoever they are, that’s not a large enough convoy to give us much trouble.”
The ensign nodded and radioed Pointship their approach confirmation. A short while later, Errshlin was back on his command bridge.
“Status, Captain Murrkal?”
“Two communications from them so far, both audio. The last one came through as you were docking. They’ve identified themselves as Dirgs, and asked about our business with the Azaarian warships. I told them we were assessing the status of the wreckage. They have since requested permission to send a delegation over.”
“Good work, Captain. Dirg, you say? That’s an ancient coalition member world, and not one that’s ever made an attempt to establish relations with us.”
“Not many have,” Murrkal said.
The five Dirg transport ships came into better view on the screen. They were unique in appearance, with their distortion field generators attached to the points of their star-shaped hulls. As they drew close, they spread out evenly to the starboard side of the Latian fleet, positioning themselves imposingly in the route the Latian landing craft were using to travel to and from the middle continents of Milura. The two Dirg ships at the end of the line were now out in front of the salvage vessels. It was a somewhat threatening formation. Errshlin was glad there were only five of them.
As if reading Errshlin’s thoughts, Murrkal said, “They can’t have too many fighters with them. Especially with transport ships of that shape and size. Should I scramble our squadrons, sir?”
Errshlin slowly shook his head. “No. Not yet. But pull the patrols in closer. Answer the Dirg’s last message and welcome their delegation over. Tell them our fighters will give them a proper military escort.”
“Yes, sir.”
One hour later, Pointship’s hangar received a solitary alien landing craft. It was half-star shaped, flat on the bottom, similar in design to their transport ships. The Dirg party was escorted to a conference room where Errshlin and Murrkal stood waiting.
There were three of them that came aboard. The Dirgs’ appearance was instantly revolting to Errshlin, but his diplomatic training kept him from showing any reaction. They came to stand across the table, their gelatinous skin expanding and contracting in obvious breathing motions.
“Welcome aboard. I am Inquisitor Errshlin of Latia and this is my second in command, Captain Murrkal.” Errshlin and Murrkal bowed.
“What we have heard of Latians is true,” the Dirg in the middle said. “You are thinner than what our biologists deemed possible. When you turn sideways you practically vanish from sight. How is such a skeletal structure possible for a humanoid species?”
Not only were the Dirgs disgusting to look at, but they were also rude. Their speech translated unpleasantly and carried a slight hissing sound. Nevertheless, Errshlin answered respectfully.
“Our bones are flat, so the rest of our biological structure is accordingly built around them—at least, for us natives. Truth be told, we find round-boned species to be something of an oddity. But then, we have had little contact with other races, our world being remotely located at the far edge of the sphere. Also, it is not our nature to be particularly socially inclined.”
“Hmph,” the middle one said. “You may refer to me as Commander Jojob. My full name would be long and difficult for you even after translation. These are my immediate subordinates.”
The two on either side of him performed what Errshlin took for a Dirg bow. Their flesh contorted itself in a unique way, rippling from their shoulder area down the upper torso. No wonder Latians didn’t go looking for alien friends. These beings were downright hideous in every aspect. Yes, they were humanoids with a head, torso, two arms, legs, eyes, and ears. They had noses and mouths with teeth—lots of sharp teeth, obvious carnivores. But their skin was a constantly changing pattern of green and yellow splotches, bulging and retracting. At first impression they appeared to consist of nothing more than pulsating jelly. Their bodies were generally round, so they probably had round bones down in there somewhere.
“What brings you to Milura?” Errshlin asked. “We never expected to run into anyone here.” He wanted to get right to business, and suspected the Dirgs had the same desire. Everyone was still standing.
“You have video available?” Jojob asked.
“Yes,” Murrkal spoke before Errshlin could answer. He moved to the far side of the room, opened a panel, and pressed a few buttons. The wall came to life with a live feed showing the five Dirg ships in front of the Latian fleet. Two of the Dirg vessels were now launching additional landing craft to the planet surface. Four or five small shuttles were already on their way, and more were coming out of the hangars.
“Exiling the traitor race from among us,” Jojob said. “We are leaving them here.”
Errshlin stiffened as he realized how disturbing the situation was becoming.
“You mean your Erob half-breeds?”
“You believe in Erob?” Jojob asked.
Errshlin shrugged. “We are uncertain.”
The Dirg commander walked over to the screen and pointed at the landing craft coming out of his ships.
“We do not,” he said. “The notion that vastly superior beings from the center of the galaxy fathered a race of spiritually-powered half-breeds 2,000 years ago is, frankly, absurd to us.”
“How do you explain the existence of the half-breed races among us, then?”
When Jojob only hissed in response, Errshlin realized he may have just insulted him.
“I feel no need to explain the inferior race,” Jojob finally said. “Only a need to rid ourselves of them. A side-benefit of the salvage operation we have primarily come for.”
Murrkal quickly came back to Errshlin’s side.
“Salvage operation?” Errshlin asked.
“Yes, the Azaarian warships. The one you have just come from, plus the other. These are ours and we will now take possession of them, if you will be so kind as to clear out and move your fleet’s orbit.”
Errshlin held up a hand, instantly drawing the attention of all three Dirgs to it.
“No,” he said. “We claim salvage rights on these vessels, Commander. We were here first, long before you. We’ve spent the last several weeks constructing working hangars, sealing off damaged sections, and reinstating life support systems—which has been a tremendous effort. I’m afraid we beat you to it. These wreckages are ours.”
Loud hissing sounds came from all three Dirgs before Jojob responded.
“We have come directly from Azaar, Inquisitor, and have been granted the official rights to these ships. They are not yours, and never have been. Now we ask you to vacate them. If you refuse to comply, we will take what is ours by force.”
Murrkal inched towards the security alert button on the wall, but Errshlin stopped him with one hand while he replied to the Dirg threat.
“With all due respect, Commander, I see only five Dirg transport ships. We have twenty-five here, all of which are loaded with fighters, many more than you see on patrol out there presently. And our transport ships have mounted weapons as well— ”
“Inquisitor,” Murrkal interrupted. He pointed to the video screen. A multitude of large objects could now be seen on the horizon above Milura. They approached quickly and came in behind the small Dirg fleet. Within a few moments, they dwarfed it. At least forty additional Dirg transport ships now reinforced them, and were posed menacingly on the screen.
Errshlin looked back at the three Dirgs. They seemed to have stopped pulsating, and no further hissing sounds could be heard. That must be how Dirgs act smug.
“We wish no unnecessary quarrel,” Jojob said. “Clear your people out of our salvage. We appreciate the repair work. Perhaps we can thank you properly when we reach the Tora system. Assuming you are heading to Tora from here?”
Errshlin felt powerless and dejected. He didn’t come to Milura to fight a war. He would have protected his salvage goods from these vile creatures if it was reasonably within his power to do so—but he was now outnumbered, and suddenly in a weak negotiating position.
“Tora?” Errshlin said. “Why would we be going to that particular system? As I’ve stated, we maintain few relations with other races.”
“I see,” Jojob said. “Sorry to hear that, actually. It appears our business is concluded…” Something on the video screen drew Jojob’s attention. “One of your craft comes back to the Azaarian ship from the planet?” he asked.
Errshlin looked back to the screen. A saucer-ship was approaching the first salvage vessel. Latians didn’t use saucer ships, but of course the Dirgs didn’t know that. They watched as the hangar doors opened and received it. Other than a handful of small specialty construction crews scattered in various areas, the only Latians still on board there were those last seven Arcs. If the saucer wasn’t from the Dirgs, it could only have come from Milura. The Azaarians used saucer-shaped landing craft, but if there was an Azaarian population still on Milura, how would they know that repairs had now been affected on their old wrecked warships? Whoever that was couldn’t possess the frequencies to operate the new hangar doors, so the Arcs must be manually receiving them. Why?
“Yes, one of ours,” Errshlin found himself saying without knowing why. Murrkal eyed him curiously. The lie didn’t figure to help their situation—but then again, neither did the truth.
“We’ll give you a reasonable amount of time to clear the salvage area, Inquisitor. Please don’t force a confrontation. You are hopelessly outnumbered and cannot win.”
Errshlin remained still and kept his eyes on the screen. Suddenly, a strange white light began to glow from the salvage vessel. It came from all the cracks and windows of the massive war
ship, and kept getting brighter. Soon, nothing could be seen of the first salvage ship except an intense ball of white light in its place. It was like looking into a star and Errshlin found he had to shield his eyes from the screen.
“What in Erob is happening?” Murrkal asked.
Commander Jojob was less enthralled. “Whatever trick this is will not work, Inquisitor. If we cannot have access to our legitimate claim, we will ensure that you cannot have it, either. Look. We do not waste time.”
Sure enough, several squadrons of fighters scrambled from the Dirg transport fleet. They quickly moved on the great white light. The Dirg fighters had half-star shaped hulls similar to their shuttles.
Errshlin got on the intercom to the bridge. “This is the Inquisitor. Tell our fighters to clear out. I repeat, do not engage! Clear out!”
Jojob said, “That was a wise decision, but if we lose our salvage goods we will have some settling to do with you on this matter.”
The Dirg fighters came at the mini-star that was formerly the salvage ship and fired several lasers into it. It didn’t appear to be a full-fledged attack to Errshlin. More like they were probing it, attempting to feel the situation out. Errshlin was curious as to the results of that probe himself.
A great surge of light then shot outward from the former salvage vessel in reaction, as if the ball of light reached out with an arm, and consumed the entire line of oncoming Dirg fighters. They all detonated in a near-instant chain reaction. The arm of white light then extended into the Dirg transport fleet. Their transport ships began exploding as well, spectacularly. The video screen became a fireworks show, with great white fireballs clearing momentarily here and there to reveal the decreasing size of the Dirg fleet.
“Get us out of here!” Errshlin shouted on the ship’s intercom. Pointship immediately began moving backwards and the scene on the video screen grew distant.
“We’re all safely away, sir,” a voice crackled back on the intercom. “No damage to any of our ships or fighters.”