Cataclysm: Rystar and the LASSOs Book Three

by Jack Archer

  “Where to, boss?” Kyran asked, standing on his toes to glance around at the commotion. Ji’lan pointed to a small building off to their right.

  “There’s where we are outfitting our soldiers,” he said. “Let us head there, and I will make sure they give you the best.”

  “What should I do?” Makeer asked, and Ji’lan hung back.

  “Stay around here for now,” Ji’lan replied and placed his hand in his mother’s. “I do not think my people will trust you immediately, but I will introduce you formally soon.”

  Makeer nodded and hung back, wings wrapped around her in a protective stance. Ji’lan motioned for them to follow him, and they made their way to the building. Once inside, soldiers and fighters alike made a space for Ji’lan to pass through and Cobalt and Kyran exchanged glances before following him deeper into the chaos.

  “What is your flavor, men?” Ji’lan asked the two as he stopped in front of a large kiosk in the middle of a foyer.

  “The best you got, I suppose,” Kyran said, clapping his hands together and rubbing them, eyeing the stores.

  “Give them Sustri armor, the P-80 rifles, and two helmets,” Ji’lan asked of the Ya’ados behind the counter. He disappeared for a moment before coming back with their respective gear, and Kyran and Cobalt nodded in approval. They moved away to the side of the foyer and began to dress as Ji’lan addressed them again.

  “You will follow me down the center of the bubble to Chure’s main hall,” he explained as Cobalt pulled his armor on. It was light and airy and let his joints breathe, but hard enough to stop bullets and bayonets, provided the Horoth still used them. “We believe the Horoth are holding off sending reinforcements because there are not many of us, but with this new crew arriving, they might change their mind.”

  “So get there quick, got it,” Kyran said, pulling on his helmet and picking up his rifle. Cobalt had never seen him in a full soldier getup before and wondered if this is what Kyran looked like before becoming a pirate.

  “You will be joined by a seasoned Sustri/Ya’ados platoon that you will be in charge of, Cobalt,” Ji’lan said, pointing at him. Cobalt nodded and snapped his helmet on, picking up his rifle and doing a quick assessment of it. Not so different from the rifles and guns he was used to.

  “Why not me?” Kyran huffed, following Ji’lan out of the front doors and around the building where a platoon of around twenty fighters milled about. When Ji’lan approached them, they snapped to attention while Cobalt and Kyran hung back. Factories towered over them, and in the distance, fires burned. Cobalt craned his neck to find the center street that would take them to the capital and could not.

  “Ti’ngundo’i,” Ji’lan addressed them with his wings outstretched. Many of the fighters in front of him had wings that pressed against the backdrop of the outer bubble, its never-ending swirling snow and velvet black sky. “today is the day we take back Chure. For too long, these factories have held our people as slaves, underprivileged workers, led by the Horoth and their greed for Uranium. Today is the day we fight back and take their Capitol, take back our Capitol, and begin to heal.”

  The platoon whooped, throwing their fists in the air, a terrifying battle cry that made the hair on Cobalt’s neck stand up. He hated war, but sometimes, he really loved fighting.

  “Meet Cobalt Torlick, your captain for the day,” Ji’lan swept a hand to present Cobalt and Kyran, who nodded at their fighters. “And his second-in-command, Kyran Skylock. You will follow their orders as they lead you to the Capitol. We will not fail this day.”

  The fighters whooped again, and footsteps hurried up behind them. Cobalt and Kyran turned to face the new arrivals. Ji’lan’s eyes widened, and he scoffed.

  “Absolutely not. Why are you not back near the shuttles?” he asked with a fire in his voice. Minabel huffed and held her helmet under one arm while the other sat on her hip.

  “You cannot stop us from fighting,” she said, gesturing to the platoon behind him. “This is the best you have, led by the best captain. I will join, and you will not stop me. Or Lo’varth.”

  Lo’varth grumbled and snapped his helmet on, shuffling his feet in the dirt. It did not seem as if this was his choice alone, but he followed Minabel to the front of the line and stood with her, wings outstretched.

  “Ti’ngulbonj, I couldn’t stand to lose you,” Ji’lan said in a hushed voice, approaching her and running a hand across her cheek. She raised an eyebrow and smirked.

  “You will not, then,” she said and pulled her helmet on. In spite of himself, it seemed, Ji’lan beamed and pulled his fiancee into an embrace.

  Cobalt nodded, twisting to face the platoon and putting on his best war voice, one he hadn’t used in many, many years. “We follow Ji’lan to victory. Move out.”

  Ji’lan pulled a helmet from the ground, his armor already in place, and snapped it on, picking up his own rifle and setting off towards the street. To their left was the main road that led to the Capitol, about two miles down and full of hostile forces.

  As they approached the main road, flanked with old, rusted buildings and shops, Cobalt turned to walk backward and addressed the platoon. “Lo’varth and this side of the platoon will follow me down the left side of the road, Minabel, Kyran, Ji’lan, and the rest of you will head down the right. We advance slowly. We don’t play the hero. Do we want it done fast, or do we want it done right?”

  “Right!” the crew barked, and Cobalt tapped his helmet.

  “Let’s move.”

  The group split up, and while Cobalt hated doing it, at least the road wasn’t too wide and they could easily see the other half of the platoon. Creeping up the sides of the street, they didn’t encounter any issues for the first half a mile. Horoth troops began to appear then, jumping out from behind cars, and Cobalt shouted for them to get to cover.

  He popped out, shooting his rifle and catching a Horoth in the neck, blood spraying out before he fell to the ground. The Horoth’s armor didn’t seem to extend to their necks, and he turned to his platoon. “Advance behind cover. Wait for me to move to the next one.”

  On and on they went, a slow, painful crawl down the street as Cobalt continued to advance up, punching through the Horoth troops with ease. That was Cobalt’s main advantage: over 400 years of active combat, the Horoths just didn’t have. The kids behind him, and he did mean kids, may have been just as green as the Horoths they were fighting.

  Occasionally, he’d glance over to the opposite side of the street where Kyran and his squad moved up. Kyran was normally such a goofball, a stringy mess of drawling and nonchalance. He forgot Kyran had more fighting experience than Cobalt had. He would pop out of cover and pick of several Horoth before dropping back down and waiting for the coast to clear before advancing, and Cobalt sighed in relief at his choice to let Kyran lead.

  They saw the Capitol come into view at long last, and Cobalt held up a hand, indicating for them to stop. There were about ten fighters behind them, each one in cover. As he soon learned, one of them was not in the best cover they could be. A shot rang out around them, and one of his fighters spun around, a brand new hole in their head making them drop to the ground.

  “Sniper, take cover!” Cobalt called out, and his crew dropped to the ground or buried themselves further behind whatever wall they had chosen. He slid down the car he had taken shelter behind and addressed his group.

  “Any snipers?” he asked. One member raised their hand from behind a concrete barrier before pulling it back quickly, the bulky gun on their back giving them away. “What’s your name?”

  “Ma’lik, sir,” she said.

  “Ma’lik, I’d like you to head into that building to our right here and go to the top,” Cobalt asked. “From there, we’ll try and show you where the sniper is.”

  “Copy that,” Ma’lik said and jetted out from her cover and into the building. A shot pinged off a light post but missed, and Cobalt breathed a sigh of relief.

  They waited for several minu
tes until the radio in Cobalt’s helmet chirped on, and Ma’lik addressed the platoon. “I’m here, but no sign of the sniper.”

  Cobalt grunted and hit the ground next to him. He wasn’t using any of his fighters as bait, that was for sure. Kyran piped up in his ear. “What’s the plan, Captain?”

  “I’m going to move from my cover. Hopefully, the sniper will take a shot at me,” he said and steeled himself for a blow. He didn’t know how hard these helmets were, but apparently not too hard, based on what happened to the last fighter who got shot.

  “Cobalt, you can’t,” Kyran pleaded, and Cobalt watched as he danced on his toes from across the street. The radio clicked in his ear, and Kyran spoke to him directly. “I lost Enzo. I can’t lose you, too.”

  “Enzo’s not lost,” Cobalt said. “Have faith. They’ll bring him back. This is important.”

  “I know it is,” Kyran said and shook his head.

  From behind him, a fighter scrambled out and joined Cobalt next to him at the car, and Cobalt saw it was Lo’varth. “What are you doing?”

  “I’ll show you where the sniper is,” he said and took a deep breath.

  “Wait, stop—” Cobalt said, trying to drag Lo’varth back down, but he was too late. The bullet ripped through Lo’varth’s chest, and he dropped to the ground like a stone. From up on the building, another shot rang out, followed by a loud whoop.

  “I got him, sir!” Ma’lik cried, but Cobalt was busy tearing the helmet from Lo’varth’s face and pulling him into his lap.

  “What’s going on over there?” Ji’lan cried, rushing over and skidding to sit next to Cobalt and the dying Lo’varth. “What did you do, Lo’varth?”

  “Ti ndom,” he said, a spittle of blood running down his lips. “Ji’lan, mbu dinyu.”

  “For what, my friend?” Ji’lan asked, his wings shuddering.

  Before he could say what he was sorry for, the light in Lo’varth’s eyes disappeared, leaving a crying Ji’lan in their wake.

  Chapter Eleven

  Rystar Umara: Outside Tahi, Nanyifmil System

  Rystar’s eyes locked onto the blinking light as it approached them, and the comms receiver buzzed again.

  “Ocelot Buzzkill, come in, Ocelot Buzzkill,” the comms came in again, and Rystar blanched at the harsh voice. They all exchanged glances as Rystar hit the comms button.

  “Identify yourself immediately,” she snapped, urging the ship forward.

  “Looks like someone got a fancy new ship,” they said, their voice like steel wool ripping through the receiver. “Too bad you don’t know how to use it. I’ll tear through this one the same as I did with that piece of garbage you used to fly.”

  Rystar’s chest tightened and her stomach dropped, a bead of sweat breaking out on her forehead, making her face clammy. “Who the hell are you?”

  “Bet you didn’t think the FDDS was this smart enough to catch up with you?” the voice said. “Don’t worry, you don’t know me. But I know all about you and Shea and that damn hybrid. And that shifty Sustri crew that took you all in.”

  Whatever ship their pursuer was in, and Rystar assumed it was another Ocelot, it could catch up to them as soon as she accelerated. There was no getting out of this unless they fought, and Rystar had no idea what she was doing in this thing.

  “My name is Captain Marsters,” he went on, and Rystar gasped. Enzo furrowed his brow at her, and she lowered her voice.

  “Marsters captured Na’gya and his people before we rescued him,” she said with a dawning realization. “He probably killed Ju’sif back on Yarev.”

  “How did he find us?” Enzo asked as Rystar glanced over the weapons systems.

  “I, uh,” she started, clearing her throat. “I put in my real name when transferring ownership over to me in this ship.”

  Enzo’s eyes widened in horror. “Have I taught you nothing?”

  She shrugged and winced at him. “Well, at least we have the chance now to kill the crap out of this guy and be done with it.”

  “Always looking on the bright side,” Enzo chuckled and held on to the back of her seat. He lowered his voice and bent to speak in her ear. “Keep him talking.”

  She turned around to see him buried in his tablet again. “What are you doing?”

  “Getting the calvary,” he whispered back with a smirk. She nodded and hit the comms button again.

  “Oh, sorry, was I supposed to know you?” she asked, swerving to avoid a large Mach V while passing it. The blip on her radar behind her veered as well, keeping its pace.

  “You’d do well to, Umara,” Marsters sneered through the line. “I’m the one who captured that hybrid trash, and you’re the idiot who let him go.”

  “Why do you want Na’gya so bad?” she asked, her eyes darting around for any sign of Lupe.

  “Locking up hybrids isn’t enough for you?” he asked with a sigh. “Na’gya’s dangerous. He has the power to create a hell of revolution, one we can’t have.”

  “What’s your issue with the Ya’ados anyway?” Rystar asked, genuinely curious this time.

  “They don’t belong here,” he said, a true venom lacing his voice. “Humans and Horoths were never meant to mix, and they’ve created horrifying creatures that have no business existing.”

  “This man is disgusting,” Terrond spat, clawed hands flying over the weapons system. “I know the basics of combat, turn us around and we will annihilate him.”

  “Not yet. We’re no match against him,” Rystar said, shaking her head. She hit the comms button again. “So, you’re a purist. Kind of like those folks back on Earth a couple centuries ago.”

  “And were they wrong?” Marsters asked.

  “Yes, absolutely, that’s why they lost the war and were ultimately vilified by the rest of the population,” Rystar huffed, rolling her eyes at the fact these people still existed. “Who sent you?”

  “An old friend of yours,” Marsters said. “And he sure is pissed off at you.”

  Rystar furrowed her eyebrows before they shot up into her hairline and a knife shot through her heart.

  It couldn’t be…

  “Rystar, everything okay?” Enzo asked, placing a hand on her shoulder. Her hands had gone clammy, and the color had drained from her as the terrifying realization smacked her across the face.

  “He couldn’t have ordered you to kill me,” she breathed, holding the comms button down. “He wouldn’t do that.”

  “Jorge has done a lot more than you think,” Marsters spat. “Don’t think for a second he was ever on your side.”

  Rystar had run several bounties with Jorge before his forced retirement in 2114. She had little knowledge of what he did before he ran bounties and the extent of his job and reach in the FDDS, but from his kill orders, it was clear he was much higher up than she initially thought.

  “Did he order Ju’sif killed?” Rystar asked, taking a deep breath.

  “Yes, and I enjoyed putting a bullet through his brain, too,” came the reply, and if it were possible, Rystar’s hands went even colder.

  “He’s here,” Enzo said, squeezing her shoulder again. “End this conversation. You don’t need to hear it.”

  “It’s been fun catching up, Marsters, but I’m going to have to hand you off to my friends here,” Rystar said, wiping at her nose and smiling at the large blip coming up behind Marsters’ Ocelot.

  “What are you talking about?” Marsters hissed before cursing as Rystar assumed he noticed the enormous Firehawk behind him.

  “They’re not as talkative as I am,” Rystar assured him, slowing down some to allow the Firehawk to catch up to them.

  “That’s fine, Umara,” Marsters said in a deadly voice, hissing like a snake through the airwaves to her. She shuddered in spite of herself. “I’ll find you wherever you go.”

  Rystar’s hand shook for a moment before she snapped out of it and the blip on her radar disappeared, replaced with the comforting shape of the Firehawk coming up next to them and then acc
elerating to present its hangar to them.

  It opened, and Rystar pushed forward, landing with care in its designated spot and powering down. She let out a sigh that deflated her chest and let her head fall back in the chair as Enzo slid his hands on her shoulders and rubbed.

  “I’m sorry you had to go through that,” he said slowly as the two Horoths rose from their chairs and made to exit.

  “It’s fine. We just have to plan accordingly now,” Rystar said, her head much clearer than she expected it to be. “I need to talk with Shea.”

  She placed a hand on Enzo’s and squeezed for a moment before getting up from her chair and following him to the door. Descending the ladder, she jumped the last few steps to the floor and looked up to see Shea rushing towards her. “Rystar, what the hell happened?”

  “We got Enzo, but some dickhead caught up to us,” she explained.

  “Who?” Shea asked and beckoned for them to follow her up to the bridge. They entered the elevator, and it shuddered as it sent them up.

  “Guy named Marsters,” she said, “but it’s not him that scares me. It’s who sent him.”

  “Who sent him?” Shea asked, his voice shaky as they exited onto the bridge and approached the center console.

  “Jorge,” Rystar said, her voice a stone at the bottom of the ocean. She strapped herself in as the two Horoths, Enzo, and Shea did the same. Shea went pale.

  “He wouldn’t order you killed,” he breathed.

  “He did,” she said, nodding her head. “He ordered Ju’sif killed and the Gloriosum destroyed.”

  “I can’t believe it,” Shea whispered, turning to face the front of the Firehawk as Lupe turned them around to head back to the border gate.

  “I kind of can,” Rystar said with a shrug, the initial shock wearing off and replacing itself with anger. “We don’t have any idea who that man was before he ran the bounty hunter department.”

  “I guess you’re right,” Shea said, still reeling from the news.

  “Chure ground team to Firehawk, come in Firehawk,” the comms blasted out, and Lupe slapped the receiver.