He braced against the rocky surface while he wiped his pained, heavy arm across his brow, and shielded his good eye against the harsh sunlight. The shapes in the distance were not so distant now. They were moving rapidly in his direction. They were not tripod battle armored warriors, but they were tripods of a sort, as if the top armor had been removed from the previous adversaries. One of their number discharged a weapon, the shot narrowly missing Kaig. He was in no mood or condition for further conflict, but neither had the desire to be killed. He summoned his remaining energy and with a furious roar, channeling both his rage and pain, managed to stumble several paces into the shelter of the entrance to the caverns. He slumped against a wall a few yan before the rear of the entrance. As he turned around, the gloom surrounding him was contrasting against the bright background of the daylight outside. He blinked a few times to try and adjust his vision to help him look around nearby. Those figures would be approaching and Kaig was not going to let his life be taken without a fight. With a sinking heart, he could not see or reach anything what could be of use. A discarded empty implosion grenade container was his only companion.
Kaig sat quietly in contemplation. He would give anything to get out of this situation alive, but his body was unable to match his will. He so desperately wanted to see and hold his baby daughter. The tiny Boromite meant the whole universe to him. And he was about to be robbed of that chance by figures unknown. The whole situation was enough to make him spit.
The harsh daylight from the cavern entrance was broken by the arrival of the figures. Silhouetted against the harsh light, Kaig’s blurry vision could not clearly make out what his adversaries were. They looked like scout versions of the tripod warriors he had obliterated earlier; more nimble and frail, and with the pilot exposed. To Kaig’s surprise, they did not shoot him on sight. They appeared to be intrigued by his presence and moved closer to him. The unprotected crew bore a striking resemblance to the wretched creature that had abandoned him outside the cave. They began chittering to each other. Kaig’s hearing had at least began to return to normal, except for a distant bleeping noise. The figures looked about themselves, confused. Kaig realized that the bleeping noise was not caused by his own personal hearing damage. Kaig recognized the bleeping noise and winced.
The explosion echoed around the cavern. Where the tripod riders had stood, only gore and viscera remained. They had been ripped apart by a combination of implosion grenades and rock splinters fractured from the cavern walls. Kaig finally breathed a sigh of relief. The explosion had been focused at around the head height of the figures. His slumped form left him reasonably protected from the blast. A fresh layer of rock dust began to settle on him. He wiped at his good eye and saw there was no movement from his would-be assailants or their machines.
The grotesque pot-bellied creature appeared from a side corridor. Kaig was uncertain if the creature’s movements had been impaired by the grenade blast, or if it was dancing for joy. It was not a form of dance Kaig recognized. He took a moment to appraise the situation. The repulsive pale creature had lured the group of attackers into the cavern by using him as bait. The thing must have seen him use the implosion grenades against the armored brutes previously. Kaig considered for a moment; he did not recall the tripods firing at his previous Freeborn colleagues until the Freeborn had fired at the tripods.
The creature moved its face close to Kaig’s. It chattered incoherently at him before pausing. It held a finger to its chest. “Drallax,” it spoke in a rasping voive. “Drallax,” it repeated.
Kaig tried to reply but was unable to utter a response. His mouth was not just dry but also dusty. The creature saw the effort and scurried around looking for something. It returned moments later with water and inelegantly poured it over Kaig’s face, causing the Boromite to cough, bringing more pain throughout his body.
The creature knelt down beside him again, finger pointing to its own chest. “Drallax,” it repeated.
Kaig paused for a moment. He was as good as dead to everyone he knew. He considered what Rix had said about trying to see his daughter. His wife had been given proof he had died, and judging by the explosion of the tripod, it was unlikely that anyone onboard the transport ship witnessing the detonation would consider him to have survived. Kaig was dead, he thought. He gingerly raised a finger to his own chest. The creature looked on intently. “Papa,” he whispered. “Papa.”
The Drallax creature pointed to Kaig and repeated “Papa.” It swung itself around and pointed at the grizzled gore and chattered again. “These,” he kicked at the remains as it hissed. “these have discovered my true mission in this battle group.” The creature looked strained as it spoke, as if the language it was speaking was not something it was used to. It kicked again at one of the wrecked tripod mounts. “I need to leave here. You will help me. You make my mission fail, you destroy my armor. If I fail, you fail.” It moved back across to Kaig. “If you fail, Papa, you end like them.” Its eyes drew level with his. “I have to meet with the Fartock rebels. You will help me do this, Papa?” Drallax tilted its head to one side, awaiting a response.
Kaig wheezed. A hunger wormed in his gut. His limbs were weak; but something had caused him to chuckle, bringing with it a great internal discomfort. Trapped on a hostile planet, almost at the point of death, and being chastised by a creature that had previously tried to kill him and his colleagues. Kaig smiled as much as the bruising on his face would allow. “Sure,” the words weak and breathless crept from the Boromite’s cracked mouth. “You look after Papa, Papa will look after you.”
The Hunted
By Nicky P. Gardiner
The wind howled constantly, rising and lowering in pitch. It screamed as if alive and in torment as it ripped through the shattered hulks that littered the landscape. The red sands it kicked up threatened to blot out any trace of the three bright stars that orbited the planet. They could occasionally only be glimpsed by the slightly lighter patches in the constant waves of whipped-up sand that stretched as far as the eye could see. The noise of the sandstorm was accompanied by another less natural sound; it was the heavy clanking of a machine as it labored through the ferocious winds. The Ghar battlesuit slowly pushed its way through the sand that piled up around its legs, lost in the storm. Its cybernetically linked-in pilot sought shelter from the storm in the wreckage-strewn battlefield. All about it, like mountains and monoliths, stood the huge debris of warfare from a variety of races; the remains of drones and parts of spacefaring vessels that had rained down on the planet. All casualties of the ongoing war between the Algoryn and the Ghar.
Finding some small measure of shelter from the storm behind the remains of a starship’s engine assembly, the trooper came to a creaking halt. It hissed wildly as it came to rest, and its upper chassis lowered itself down onto its tripod crab-like feet. After a long pause, there was a series of clanking sounds from within the machine, followed by a hiss, as the top most section of the three-legged battlesuit opened up like the petals of an obscene metal flower. Even though it was sheltered from the worst of the storm, its occupant hissed as its skin was touched by the harsh, biting winds. The creature squirmed in this metallic shell, shrugging off various wires and connections that helped secure it to the war machine. Its movements were at first matched by the battlesuit; its giant clawed arm on its right side raising as if mocking the smaller form within as it freed itself. Once the connection was disengaged, the arm gradually lowered back into a natural resting place at its side.
Nervously, the creature exited the battlesuit; lowering its bent and twisted form gingerly over one side, groaning in displeasure as its feet hit the sandy floor. It skittered about the machine clearing an obstruction to a heating vent as well as sweeping huge collections of sand from around the lenses on the battlesuit’s lowered head. The Ghar creature constantly scanned the towering remnants of war at the slightest sound or perceived flicker of movement. The wind howled through many of the structures, rents torn in them by various fire
arms and internal explosions, making ghostly wailing noises that set the creature’s bulbous head spinning in whatever direction it thought some imaginary threat was coming from. Hurriedly, its task completed, the Ghar pilot scurried back round to the side of his suit and began hauling itself up with its long-fingered yet scrawny hands.
That’s when Tzar made his move, bursting from the sand by the Ghar’s feet, his cape flapping loose and shedding the sand that had helped obscure and bury him. As he rose, his hand flew to the Ghar's shoulder, spinning it around and throwing it away from the battlesuit in one fluid motion. The Ghar at first screamed in terror before its wide yellow eyes narrowed to slits and it bared its tiny fanged teeth, hissing aggressively. Tzar, without hesitating, plunged his makeshift spear into the thing’s guts. It screamed only briefly before Tzar twisted the spear, ending its life. Grunting as he pushed the blade deeper through the Ghar, Tzar smiled. Then, as if in ritual, he leaned down and wiped his fingers in the blood that sprang from the creature’s wound. He marked his face as his people had always done.
He was a Mhagris of the Kreeto Trading Guild. He’d been recruited from what other Freeborn considered a feral world. That always made Tzar smile; ‘feral’ simply meant ‘strong’ to his people. He unslung his mag gun from behind his back as he searched the Ghar craft. There was a fluid drip inside which he tentatively tasted; it was bitter, but he forced himself to take the precious fluid from it. Other than that, there was little to salvage from the battlesuit, and knowing it was no use to him, he reached into his webbing and pulled out a makeshift, small explosive. He set the small timer on its side and forced it down deep into the belly of the craft, pushing past the various tubes and connections within its guts. No doubt this Ghar had allies and had gotten split off from the rest of its pack. Best to be well clear before he announced his presence to them.
* * * *
Kraxis bolted upright, rubbing the sleep and fatigue from his face, as he heard the sliding door open. Despite knowing it was probably the savage returning, he didn't want Tzar to know he had fallen asleep when he should have been alert and on watch. Kraxis had once been a noble bodyguard; a vardanari within Kreeto’s Trading Guild. In all likelihood he had failed in that task. The thought that he had failed his Vard filled him with more than just shame. If Kreeto, the head of the vardos of the Kreeto Trading Guild had fallen, the vardos itself could be destroyed. There were always other rival vardos awaiting such weakness and opportunities to move in on their trading territories. The fleet had been attacked by the Ghar above this dust ball of a planet the Algoryn called Diyu. Their Vard was meant to be meeting to negotiate trade with the Algoryn, but instead it had been the Ghar waiting for them. Kraxis had watched the Vard’s flagship, with the head of their vardos onboard, get hit multiple times in quick succession before his own had been forced to crash land. How many days had it been…? He could not remember. It seemed a lifetime ago.
Tzar stepped into their newfound living space, a large yellow cargo container, pulling the door shut behind him, his muscular arms making easy work of the warped metal door. He beamed at his prince, his white teeth prominent against the backdrop of his black beard and blood-stained features, and in stark contrast to the clean area around his eyes from the salvaged goggles he'd been wearing. They were now pushed on top of his head, hidden in his shaggy long hair. Kraxis wondered if the Mhagris could somehow guess he had fallen asleep, and he bristled at the savage’s silent criticism of him.
“I hope you found something to eat this time, Mhagris, I’m wasting away here whilst you go for walks.”
Tzar’s response was only a further smile before reaching behind him where he had something wrapped in a cloth. He swung it around, plonking it on the floor between the two men. It bounced and the cloth fell away slightly to reveal the dead Ghar pilot, its head gently striking Kraxis's leg.
“Dammit!” The Vardosi cursed as he recoiled the limb. “Watch where you throw that thing. You know my leg was busted in the crash!”
Tzar just shrugged and began unslinging his rifle that he then carefully placed against a wall. He also had a few other salvaged components that he placed on the floor.
“What are you doing?” Kraxis peered over as best as he could, trying not to lift his body to agitate his injury.
“Making another bomb.” He replied, looking up and winking at Kraxis, a grin splitting his bearded face.
Kraxis was going to ask what had happened to the previous bomb, but, glancing at the dead Ghar at Tzar’s feet, he felt that was probably explanation enough. He could see the crude connection sockets on the Ghar’s flesh that would have linked him to his battlesuit.
Kraxis pulled out the knife that was strapped to his leg, an antique weapon of extreme beauty gifted to him by his parents, and used it to pry open the creatures jaw, looking at its small pointed teeth.
“So… we’re actually going to eat this thing?” He said more in disbelief than as a question, as its purple tongue lolled out.
Tzar looked at him as if he had suggested something absurd. “It’s gutted, just needs cooking up. Unless you prefer raw?”
“Its body is probably full of radiation. You know they are tainted things, these Ghar,” Kraxis argued. But even he knew there was little other food on this planet, and they hadn't eaten in at least two days. He also wondered, if things got desperate, whether Tzar would consider eating him. He was wounded after all… But no, hopefully he knew his place. Kraxis was a man of breeding. This savage knew who was of higher rank and station out of the two of them. The Mhagris had accepted his orders so far with little complaint, just the odd defiant mocking glare.
* * * *
Later that evening, Kraxis leaned back against the metal of the cargo container they called home and wiped grease from his mouth. He hadn't realized how hungry he had become. The sight of the Ghar with its warped body and big bulbous head had turned his stomach, but, once cooked, the smell of it had driven his appetite and he had found he was salivating at the mere thought of the creature. He now licked his lips and relished the taste. Despite the satisfaction, he couldn't bring himself to look at the small pile of child-sized bones that they had picked clean, and he didn't want to lose the sustenance of this last meal. So, instead, he focused on Tzar, who was still toying with the components of his bomb. Kraxis sighed, suddenly depressed. This planet was now littered with the dead of both Ghar and Algoryn. The vardanari had the distinct impression that the battlefront had now moved, shifting beyond this planet, leaving it in possession of the Ghar; in response, the Ghar must have panicked and opened fire straight away, no doubt caught off guard by the sudden emergence of so many ships so close to their new prize.
“I guess this is it. The great and noble Kraxis destined to be stuck on this barren planet, with a mere savage for company.” He said aloud.
Tzar looked up. “We won’t be stuck here for long.”
“Oh?” Kraxis uttered, his hopes rising suddenly. Maybe the savage had found a means of escape.
“No, the Ghar’s numbers increase every cycle. Before long they are bound to find us and kill us.”
“Very funny,” muttered Kraxis, unamused as Tzar chuckled to himself while he worked.
“At least they taste good,” Tzar added, burping, to which they both laughed. Kraxis reached for the nearby medical kit, took a large tubular device, and injected it into his shattered leg. He’d done so in the days since they had crashed to speed up the healing process. The kits contained nanotech he didn't quite understand, but they seemed to be helping to knit the bones back together. With the stab of pain from the injection came sleepiness. Kraxis decided to work out how long they had been on the planet and started counting the disposed injectors that lay in a heap to one side of where he now rested; he fell asleep around twenty, darkness closing in on him.
* * * *
Kraxis awoke with a start, his protests muffled as a dirty, smelly hand was held over his mouth. He found himself staring into the wild eyes of Tzar
. He thought that the desert had finally driven the savage mad, that this would be his moment of death – until the painfully bright light forced him to realize they were somehow outside. He was still in his tarpaulin blanket with the Mhagris lying on top of him, pinning him down. He began to ask what in Antares he was doing out here when Tzar put a finger to his own lips. Kraxis nodded his understanding. Tzar moved his weight off him with a grunt, keeping his eyes fixed on the horizon. He then released Kraxis's mouth, much to his relief. The vardanari rolled on to his front to match the posture of Tzar to his left. He could see he had been dragged up a nearby sand dune, and they now looked down upon the dented yellow cargo container sixty yan away. One side was nearly buried by the sand that had been whipped up against it during the storm. The wind had now died down but was still blowing enough that Tzar’s tracks and his drag marks had all but been obscured.
Outside the container sat two Ghar battlesuits and several of the hunched aliens with rifles. They shifted uncomfortably, moving around the three-legged machines as if they were some giant parent able to offer greater protection.
“Why didn't you wake me?” Kraxis's whisper was filled with annoyance.
“You don’t think I tried? You were out for the count.”
Kraxis shook his head. “How did they find us? Now what in all the gates are we going to do?” He asked, to which Tzar just shrugged, then he lifted the cloth that formed a small camouflaged cape up to help cover his mouth. Whether to block the blowing sand or to better obscure himself, Kraxis was uncertain, but he copied the gesture. He then hefted his plasma rifle into a firing position to cover the enemy. Reaching back behind his head, Kraxis pulled down a slim targeting interface that covered his left eye, instantly magnifying the image of what his gun could see. He looked to one corner of the lens and blinked three times in quick succession, magnifying the image by that many times.
Beyond Antares Dimensional Gates Page 20