Tzar chose to use a simpler weapon; his mag rifle. Despite having salvaged another plasma rifle, Tzar’s weapon had no such magnifying ability; the Mhagris had instead stripped the second rifle for bomb-making parts.
“What do you see?” Tzar asked.
Kraxis took his time before answering, trying to concentrate on what he was seeing.
“Looks like one of the battlesuits is your standard type. The other has some long-range-looking weaponry on both arms. There are five Ghar troopers.. Three outcasts, two battlesuits.” he remarked. He felt suddenly nauseous at the thought that he had eaten one of these mere hours ago. He had to fight to stop his gorge rising at the thought as he saw their twisted, warped forms scurrying about.
He watched as the enemy positioned themselves around their old camp. Two of the little monsters were either side of the door with both battlesuits facing it. The last creature reluctantly seemed to be picked for the most dangerous job. Chattering nervously, it slung its gun on its shoulder before heading toward the door. Kraxis watched as the creature struggled to heave the large door open. All of a sudden it yanked wide and the battlesuits opened fire into the space within. Flashes of green sickly light lit the scene like lightning flashes. His targeter dimmed automatically in response. The wash of noise coming back from the scene was incredibly loud. The creature that had yanked open the door was caught in the line of fire, but the others seemed immune to its suffering as it disintegrated, squealing at the point-blank barrage.
All of a sudden the firing ceased. The silence seemed deafening as the last of the echoing bombardment rolled into the distance like thunder. One of the troopers shifted position to see into the container better. A source of light on the battlesuit’s arm illuminated the inside of the container, penetrating the smoke and gloom. The other trooper waved its crab-like arm to the smaller creatures who jittered nervously, their squeaking voices being heard even at such a distance. They pushed at each other as they went in; one started shooting briefly at some imagined threat as they disappeared inside. There was a high pitched scream, then more commotion, and Kraxis watched as they dragged something out from within; it was the remains of their feast, the Ghar Outcast. They hauled it out to show their armored masters, dropping the smoke-blackened husk in front of a trooper. It bent to examine the body, its claw picking it up by the exposed neck bones and held it in front of its lenses. The sudden explosion made Kraxis's targeter turn everything white before blackening out. He flipped the reticle back away from his eye as it blinded him, and, cursing, looked with his good eye to see a huge bloom of smoke issuing from where the shattered remains of a trooper’s lower torso now stood. Small fires lit the scene alongside the burning bodies of the Ghar, one of which was feebly waving an arm in agony as it lay charred on the ground. All around the flames, debris rained down like glowing hailstones. The remaining trooper wobbled, having been buffeted by the explosion, but remained upright, spinning to search for a threat.
Kraxis’s heart dropped when it stopped to face him.
“We’d better mo...” he began, then realized that Tzar was not there. Cursing, he shifted himself upright on his wounded leg. His body felt sluggish as he began to run. Looking back, he saw the battlesuit raise one of its arms and fired a projectile way above his head. It exploded far above and littered the whole scene with impacts.. The area he had been in moments before was pummeled by this deadly rain, and he half-leapt, half-fell down the other side of the dune to escape. Raising himself up, he spat out the red sand, almost choking on it, cursing himself for losing Tzar. Would it really have killed the barbarian to tap him on the shoulder before up and leaving? Kraxis knew, and grudgingly had to admit, that his chances of surviving were less without his savage companion and, despite that armored machine, he had to find Tzar. He began to circle the dune, weaving in-between the rubble left from centuries of warfare.
Hiding behind one such piece of junk, he caught sight of his attacker. Unfortunately, it also caught sight of him at the same time. With a fluid motion of only a machine, its upper torso spun independently of the lower half to bring its multi-lensed features and guns to face him. Kraxis ducked just in time as fire from the plasma weapon hit the debris and spun it a couple of yan further away. He found himself exposed and in the open as the guns came to bear once more. Then he heard shooting, and, surprised it wasn't focused on him, he looked up to find Tzar was circling behind the machine, firing wild shots into it with his mag gun. They were largely ineffective, striking off its hull, but as the Mhagris got close, he threw his makeshift spear into the thing’s midriff where its torso met its three legs. The spear bounced off the hull with a clang but then exploded as it hit the ground under it.
Kraxis flinched, shutting his eyes. When he opened them, he could see one of the battlesuit’s legs had been blown clean off and it was laying face down trying to frantically right itself again. Kraxis raised himself from the ground, scooping up his plasma gun, and started firing it into the exposed circuitry where the leg had met the body. Six shots later, the thing stopped moving with a spasmodic last twitch. He stood, trying to slow his hammering heart, and was aware how much his leg was screaming for him to sit down. He limped around to see Tzar walking toward him, his face still wrapped up in his cloak; his exposed blue tattooed arms were the only colors showing. Tzar casually slung his gun over his shoulder as he walked toward the vardanari.
“What now?” Kraxis asked him, hoping that there was a plan.
Tzar unwrapped his cape from around his face, revealing his dark bearded face and a bright smile. “Hungry?”
Not much about their predicament was funny. The enemy had found them, plus most of their supplies and salvaged gear of the last few days had been destroyed – including the remaining medical treatments. Tzar had managed to grab only three more injections, but that was nowhere near enough to last them. They both knew Kraxis's leg could soon falter again, and he would then be a bigger liability. It burned his pride to admit it, but the Mhagris would make greater speed and increase his chances of surviving longer if they split up. Tzar would hear none of it though.
Together they fled with no real direction, just aware that they had to escape the pursuing Ghar and be clear of the battle zone. Even if the enemy had not had time to contact others, they were bound to have heard the shooting exchange and the two explosions. It turned out that Tzar had finished his makeshift bomb, one far greater than before, by using the parts he had salvaged earlier. Then, after dragging Kraxis clear, he had planted the bomb in the corpse of the Ghar warrior, hoping they would take the bait and interfere with the body. Kraxis had to give the savage credit; he was resourceful.
They moved through the day and most of the night. Finally, they found a natural cave on a rocky outcrop among the debris to seek shelter. Neither slept well, worrying that something would come for them in the night. Eventually, exhaustion and the adrenaline wearing off caused both men to sleep - neither able to stay awake to stand guard.
* * * *
Kraxis heard Tzar stirring behind him from the mouth of the cave, whilst leaning on his good leg. Kraxis smiled, acknowledging that now he was the one standing guard for a change. It wasn't out of the necessary diligence, or very real fear of the enemy finding them, but because he needed a plan. He wasn't happy to spend the rest of his days being pursued by these stunted freaks and their walking armored suits. The reality was, without medication he knew he would eventually slow down on his damaged leg and then be caught or killed. They had hoped rescue would come, but it hadn't, and with injections running out, so was the sand in Kraxis’s hourglass - or so it felt. As a Freeborn trader, he was not meant to be fighting wars, not unless he was being paid to do so or to protect their own trade routes. But he was also more than aware that the Ghar in this region, having struck so many of their vessels, had likely started a battle they would have to see through, now that they had made the poor decision to make enemies of the Kreeto.
The guild was not to be crossed, and i
f any Vardosi had survived the space battle above, they would no doubt be throwing in their support with the Algoryn to help secure this world and push back the Ghar, even if it was by providing troops or technology at a heavily discounted rate. This was probably on the grounds of some post-war reparations, but trade was trade after all.
“We need to find one of our vessels, largely intact if possible. If we can get the transmat working and find a ship in orbit, we could get off this rock.”
“So, let me get this straight, you want to find one of our downed hulks, which is like finding a lava spider in a volcano, given the sheer amount of wrecks on this planet. Once we find a transmat, fix it, hope it doesn't blow up in our faces, learn to work it, and hope there’s a ship out there that’s friendly… just the two of us?”
Kraxis raised his eyebrows and was about to agree it was madness, when Tzar cut him off: “Alright then. Beats eating more Ghar for breakfast.”
* * * *
They spent the next day scavenging and keeping on the move from the Ghar. Luckily, the enemy either lacked stealth or felt little need for it, and the duo were able to stay one step ahead of them. Kraxis had to use another needle to keep mobile - it was move or die to avoid the sweeping search patterns. It seemed the increase in security meant the lost squad did not go unnoticed. As they traveled, Kraxis searched for any type of ship that looked likely to hold a transmat aboard its ruined state. The guild's signal was unique, and that meant it was easy for them to track and find their own vessels, if the beacon was still working. Eventually they found the hulk of the crashed Vardosi vessel; Temptress. The initially joyful sight of the second largest in the fleet weighed heavy on his heart once he saw the state it was in. Her prow was now missing, along with a quarter of her hull, and her individual decks were exposed to the elements. The fact that she was still largely recognizable made him hope they could find both a working transmat and personal supplies. The captain of this vessel had managed to crash land her, and Kraxis wanted to kiss him if he still lived. But halfway down the dune, he sighted the still figures. He instinctively dropped prone, lest he be spotted.
“They’re dead,” he heard next to him. Kraxis turned to see that Tzar had silently followed him like a phantom and was sniffing loudly as if he could smell them and the decay from their position.
Kraxis swung his targeter into focus over his eye and zoomed in on the figures. Sure enough he recognized the armor of Vardos Kreeto which was the color of old blood, but these figures were not standing. They had been staked out on spikes by the Ghar. The duo watched for a while, taking in the horrific scene. No doubt some had survived the crash and this was their fate. They watched for a while; wary in case those responsible were waiting to ambush them, but the only movement was the fluttering of the dead Vardosi capes in the breeze. He was more than aware that it could have easily been their fate.
Eventually they headed down the rest of the steep dune; it was a strain on Kraxis's bad leg to hold himself back as he descended and not pitch himself headlong into a run which would no doubt end with him falling in the shifting sands. The ship had seemed large from up high, but now that he was on a level footing with it, it looked like a giant building looming over them. Kraxis could see further into the shredded decks which hung out from where the prow had been torn; like strange balconies they lolled out from the hull. Debris littered the whole area where its innards had spilled out as it had come down to an abrupt halt. Looking to his left and right he could see the crucified figures of the crew surrounding him. They were numerous. Perhaps sixty had died and been displayed in this gruesome fashion, and there were countless others laying prone on the sand. Unlike those crucified, it was unclear if they had died in battle or during the crash.
“This one’s alive,” Tzar announced from behind him. Turning, he saw that the Mhagris was inspecting the wounds of what looked like a female Vardosi, impaled, but still breathing, on a spike. As Kraxis approached, he could see the woman was part of Vardos Kreeto’s domari. Her reflex armor was heavily damaged and blackened around her stomach. She’d been stabbed through one shoulder with the iron rod that was embedded in the ground, then left there to die. Slowly, Tzar met Kraxis's eyes as he made his way over. “It’s bad,” he said, gesturing to her.
Kraxis lifted the impaled woman’s head carefully so that he could make eye contact. She tried to smile as their eyes met, but she was obviously in agony.
“What’s your name?” He asked her as he gestured to Tzar that they were going to take the woman down. Tzar seemed reluctant but did as he was asked.
“Lexi,” she said through cracked, dry lips. Her face creased in pain as Tzar took the woman’s weight from behind and lifted her from the spike. Kraxis gripped the vicious piece of metal to hold it in place firmly in the ground. As the wound was freed, fresh blood began to leak from the hole in her shoulder. Tzar’s hands moved deftly as he settled her on the ground, lowering her head slowly down. She wore her hair longer on top, dyed red, and combed to one side. Both sides were closely shaven to show her neural implants. Tzar then set about applying pressure to her wound and packing it to stem the blood flow.
“Her wounds are bad, she looks like she was shot in the gut before they did this to her,” Tzar said.
Kraxis leaned down next to Lexi. “Does my brother live?”
Lexi shook her head. “I doubt it, my prince,”
Kraxis shut his eyes, overcome with anger as he ignored the questioning looks from Tzar. “My older brother, Naki, commanded her.” He explained to the Mhagris.
“I’m sorry, I don't believe anyone else survived our last stand,” Lexi whispered, before taking a drink offered to her and collapsing back. “My apologies. As for her, we should leave her,” stated Tzar, emotionless.
“We take her,” Kraxis shot back.
“She’s a liability, a drain on resources, and, frankly, half dead…my prince.” Tzar added the words a little late, and too reluctantly, Kraxis felt, but decided to let it slide this once.
“It’s an order. And hopefully we don’t have too far to go,” Kraxis said, gesturing to the crashed ship.
“Fine. We should move, then.” Tzar grunted, his eyes darting around the open landscape.
Kraxis nodded his agreement before rubbing his weary eyes with his gloved finger and thumb. He looked around at the rows of staked out dead bodies. Was his brother out there – somewhere – among the other corpses staked in the ground? It pained him, but there was no time to look for him. He would grieve later.
“Bring her inside,” he instructed Tzar, before heading into the cool shadows cast by the towering hulk of the ship. He shuddered at the transition from heat and glaring suns to dark and cold as he passed into the remains of the vessel. He told himself that was the only reason for the shivers as he passed the piles of the dead.
Tzar dragged the woman along on a sheet of cloth he had salvaged from the debris into the lowest deck of the vessel, as the armored floor plating vanished. The ascension was mostly covered in the coarse desert grains, causing their footing to be uneven. Worried that the mismatched steps had jostled her wounds, Kraxis had Tzar stop to check on her. Satisfied, they turned their attention to the powerless darkness of their surroundings. Kraxis continued on until he came to a particular door that interested him. It would not open easily and he was forced to pry it; the grinding noises were louder than he would have preferred, causing him to wince.
Finding nothing suitable in the first room, Kraxis proceeded to the next stuck door, trying to force it with more caution. He had found more bodies, but thankfully the large ship had kept them reasonably cool, so the smell wasn't as bad as outside. He had not found the body of his sibling, and after the first ten or twenty, he stopped looking. Many were badly burnt beyond identification anyway and he needed to get to the ship’s core to see if he could get the systems up and running. No doubt his older brother had powered it down moments before impact to stop it rupturing and potentially causing a massive explosion. It
was a shame that those of the crew he saved only met a worse fate to be butchered at the hands of the Ghar. He hoped that the Vardosi had at least taken some Ghar with them.
He made as direct a route as possible for the core. Having lived on ships of this kind his entire life, the estimated path was straightforward enough, although the doors and buckled bulkheads caused him to occasionally change his route. His Vardosi implants provided his eyes the only illumination in this otherwise dark and eerie place; the reminder of death around every corner further pressing on his thoughts. Vardosi vessels of this caliber were usually decorated with the finest of items; she had not been called Temptress for nothing. It was terrible seeing her so broken by war.
* * * *
At last, he arrived at the core. It took him far longer than he would have liked and twice as long again to clear the dead from the consoles and move debris. He was under one such console rewiring some loose connections when Tzar came into the room, looking wide-eyed in the dark. Illuminated by his optical pickups, Kraxis could see the smaller figure of Lexi cradled in his massive arms.
“Are you in here?” Tzar asked of the dark.
Lights blinked spasmodically and eventually flickered to life. “Does that answer your question?” Kraxis said, clambering out from under the console and brushing the dirt from his hands. The room was rounded, and in its center hummed the core. Some gas was escaping from nearby and the room, like all the others, was in disarray. Most of its contents had slid to one side against a wall, including several heaped bodies. These brave men and woman had stayed at their post to disconnect the core prior to impact. It was the last thing they had done.
Beyond Antares Dimensional Gates Page 21