by Chris Lowry
“Not yet,” she whispered.
“Time it.”
“I’m going for Webster,” he said out of the side of his mouth.
“The jets first. Then him..”
“We’re going to die, you know,” he looked at her across the old model Suit holding his right arm.
She winked at him.
“It’s a good day,” she said.
Darwin and Robe were led to the center of the room. The crowd spread into a large, tight closely packed circle, watching quietly, expectant.
“There was once a custom of offering a condemned man a last request,” Webster grinned down at them from the platform.
“But this is a new era we’re ushering in. Ready to die?”
The Troopers abandoned the two shackled men in the center of the floor. A single laser turret descended from the ceiling. It was aimed at them both.
“Ready,” Webster called out.
“Ready,” Nova whispered to Bram.
“Are you sure this is how it’s done?” Bruce asked Pip in the cramped underbelly of a utility passage.
She held her laser torch up to the ceiling.
“Pretty sure,” she said.
“Ready?”
The Templar nodded.
“Fire!” screamed Webster.
Bram fired.
A plasma blast cracked the laser jet.
A second bolt hit Webster on the chest, catapulting him off the platform.
The floor under Darwin and Robe smoldered.
A gaping hole opened up in front of their feet.
“Down here now!” a voice screamed.
Ju shook the pistol out of Bram’s hand. He tightened his grip on them both.
“The penalty for killing a Commander is death,” he said in a flat metallic voice.
He dragged them towards the platform.
The building rocked under an explosion.
Ju stopped, listening to a voice no one else could hear.
“We are under attack by the Mob,” he announced.
The crowd panicked, crashed into each other as they stampeded.
Webster dragged himself back to the edge of the platform.
“Kill them!” he pointed at Nova.
Troops milled about in confusion.
“No guard posted,” grimaced Bram as the building shook again.
“They have breached the perimeter,” announced Ju.
“This is all your fault!” yelled Webster.
He planted both feet on the platform and drew a bead on Nova.
A blurring body flew through the air and kicked him in the chest with both beet.
The Templar landed like a cat.
His rifle seemed to grow out of his hand as he shot Trooper after Trooper, knocking them over easily.
Bram kicked away from Ju and dove for a pistol.
He scooped it up, rolled over and shot at the Templar. The blast rolled off his shoulder.
The Templar somersaulted through the air, kicked Bram in the jaw, knocking him cold.
The Second collapsed in a heap.
“My directive is to destroy you,” said Ju.
He grabbed the Templar by the arm and threw him across the room into a group of Troopers.
They weren’t sure how to react.
Their acting Commander was down, their former Commander was disgraced. The alarms in their helmets were shrieking, the crowd was screaming and the Mob was coming in the building.
“The Mob has control of floors one through three,” Ju said, advancing on the Templar.
“They will arrive in five minutes.”
“Stop them!” Nova ordered the Troops.
Conditioned by training, they moved at once.
“They’re mine to order,” groaned Webster, pressing a pistol to her head.
“You’re finished.”
Robe hit him like a battering ram.
The impact did little damage. Webster’s uniform had Suit components that protected him. Robe had on a thin jumper. They both crashed to the floor, Robe cradling his arm and shoulder.
Webster recovered and rolled on top of him.
His pistol was gone, knocked away by the tackle, but he still had his strength gloves on. He grabbed Robe’s skull between his hands and began squeezing.
Robe screamed in agony.
Pip shoved a rifle barrel into Webster’s open mouth.
“I’ll blow your head off.”
She pushed him over backwards off Robe.
“Do you have him Commander?”
Nova kneeled a few feet away her pistol aimed at Webster.
“Dead to rights.”
Ju tossed the Templar across the room again, still following.
His Suit was ripped, with wires and parts hanging on by little more than slivers.
The Templar was damaging him slowly, every encounter. But his strength was still superior, augmented by the Computer’s study of the Templar.
Bruce kneeled by Robe.
“Are you okay?”
Robe nodded, holding his head with both hands.
Darwin scooted out of the hole in the floor and sat beside his assistant.
“Bruce, what are you doing here?”
“Just a second, Doc. I’m working.”
He set up a laptop computer and tied into a Main Terminal circuit.
“I thought I told you to wait down there,” Pip admonished Bruce as he typed on the keyboard.
“I am a part of this,” Bruce said.
Pip stood guard over them, rifle held ready.
“The Templar had me write a virus program,” he explained.
“I’m dumping it into the memory core.”
Nova guarded Webster close enough to hear.
“You can’t do that. The Mob is attacking. We need the Computer to coordinate the battle.”
“Sorry Commander,” said Bruce, not even looking at her.
“My leader gave me an order.”
She moved her pistol from Webster to Bruce.
“I can’t let you do that.”
Pip pressed her rifle against Nova’s head.
“We will do it, Sir. We’re not on your team anymore.”
Bruce hit the last key and the laptop fed a series of equations into the Main Terminal.
“It’s done.”
“You’ve killed us,” said Nova.
She turned her pistol on Webster. He was gone.
The Templar raised Ju over his head and threw him into the platform. It crumpled under the weight of the Suit and the cowering Council members.
“Templar!” Bruce yelled.
The Templar shook off his battle lust and looked at him.
“Done!”
“Everyone out!” he commanded.
Bruce and Pip helped Robe up, carried him to the hole in the floor. Darwin followed.
Nova stood in front of the Templar, her gown soiled and torn.
“I’m supposed to kill you,” she dropped her pistol to the floor.
He looked at her.
“There is no place for you here,” he said, reaching for her hand.
“Come with me.”
She looked at Bram’s limp body across the room.
“I have a responsibility here,” she said.
Webster jumped from behind the rubble of the platform.
“Not anymore!”
He shot the Templar in the chest, knocked him over.
“I killed him!” he advanced on her, pistol raised.
She shook her head.
“Plasma blast won’t do it,” she said.
He laughed.
“I studied the vids. I know his weakness.”
She stood transfixed as he raised the pistol to her head.
“Now for you,” he smiled.
A plasma blast slammed into his back, sendt him sprawling.
Harry stood at the door, a smoking rifle at his side.
“The Computer’s declared you outlaw,” he said.
“What ab
out the Mob?” she asked.
“We’re holding them. It’s just mop up now. They’re acting different. I don’t know how. Things are crazy, ever since he came.”
He pointed to the inert form of the Templar.
“He wants me to go with him,” she said.
“You have to go. All orders are to kill you on sight. You’re branded traitor.”
“Why didn’t you shoot me?”
The grizzled veteran smiled at her. He scooped Bram up on his shoulder and passed him over to her. She sagged under the weight.
“I knew better,” he said.
Darren ran into the room.
“They’re coming. More Troops! We have to move.”
“You’re coming with me?” she asked.
“Get the other end of this,” he ordered Darren to help pick up the Templar.
“We don’t have much choice. I’m not staying here under him,” he spit at Webster.
“I can’t follow lies,” echoed Darren.
They moved as a Unit to the hole in the floor.
Pip popped up, rifle trained on them.
“We’re coming with you,” Nova said.
“Who shot the Templar?” Pip didn’t lower her rifle.
“Webster got him.”
“He’s alive,” said Harry.
“And heavy,” Darren grunted.
Pip studied them for a moment.
“Come on,” she decided.
They followed her through the labyrinth of pipes and passageways, turning left and right on a seemingly random path. It finally ended at a small opening in the wall.
A hover car with on open canopy floated outside of the hole. It was a micro-bus variety, customized for hauling cargo.
The Troops squeezed in the back with the Templar.
“Is that a Corsair?” Harry hissed as he clambered aboard.
Robe sat by Reanna in the front, holding a rifle over the back of the seat.
“You act under my orders,” he said.
“You will do nothing.”
Harry snickered.
“My Commander is still here,” he nodded to Nova.
“And we are guests,” she said.
“We will do what he says.”
Harry smirked and leaned against the back of the car. Darren squatted beside him. They held their rifles in their laps and watched.
Nova cradled Bram on her shoulder.
“How is the Templar?” Reanna asked as she bolted into the sky.
A surface rocket exploded off to the right.
“The Mob’s got rockets. Take us higher,” he stared out of the window.
Reanna acted wordlessly, diving for the street.
“What are you doing?” Robe screamed.
Pip leaned up between them.
“She knows what she’s doing.”
Reanna concentrated on weaving between the buildings, straining with the tight turns.
“Too low for rockets to arm,” she said out of the side of her mouth.
Robe nodded.
They raced for the harbor.
“So they’re going to come with us?” Bruce said to Reanna and Pip.
“The Commander said Templar offered,” Pip answered.
“We’ll keep them under watch,” Reanna pointed to the Corsairs sitting on the deck, rifles on their knees.
“They’ve got Suits,” said Bruce.
“Doesn’t matter,” Robe walked up.
“They gave their word to behave.”
“And you believe them?”
“They don’t want to be put off,” he said.
“Looks like our group is growing.”
He sat beside Pip and threw his arm across the bulky shoulders of her Suit. Bruce frowned, but said nothing.
“I wish we could have recovered my Suit,” Robe groaned.
“You will learn to fight without it,” said Reanna.
“I will teach you.”
“And Templar,” added Bruce.
Darwin stepped out of the deck cabin and made his way to the group.
“How is he?” asked Robe.
Darwin sat on a crate and sighed.
“He is sleeping.”
The ship chugged West to the Corsair island of Channel.
THE END
Thank you for taking the time to read EPOCH TEMPLAR. If you enjoyed it, please consider telling your friends or posting a short review. Word of mouth is an author’s best friend and much appreciated. Thank you. Chris
Want an awesome bonus? Turn the page!
AWESOME BONUS
Enjoy a Sample Chapter from MOON MEN available on Amazon
MOON MEN
The Milky Way is an exceptional phenomenon. Millions of people have stared up at the night sky throughout history and felt small, insignificant. Stories were created to explain the stars, traditions created to remind people of their place in the cosmos.
People slowly moved from the wild places and gathered in cities. At first they used torches to hold back the dark and stars began to slowly fade. Time passed and the city light grew brighter, glittered in an incandescent hum that pushed back the night and blacked out the sky.
Now only the occasional wild soul looked up at the heavens and wondered.
“Are we alone?”
Rob Crow knew the answer.
He sat in a rolling chair in front of a computer monitor connected to a high powered telescope and took meticulous handwritten notes in a notebook.
Despite the light pollution that assaulted the observatory perched on a mountain at the edge of Los Angeles, the high powered optical scope and computer program gave observers a pristine view of the galaxy.
Tonight it was aimed at the Crab Nebula, measuring the light waves reaching the earth from a group of stars that Rob suspected no longer existed.
At some point in the future, a young astronomer would be sitting where Rob sat and the light would cease to exist. Star death.
For now though, he documented his observations and set up an automated program to monitor the coordinates even as the earth rotated past.
He whistled to himself as he tidied up the already neat office and exited to unlock his mountain bike from a fence.
The parking lot was empty this late at night, the popular park closed at sunset and the museum section of the observatory closed at six pm unless there was a special event. Rob didn’t pay attention to the two dark gray sedans that parked across from the entrance as he pedaled past.
“Is that him?”
Anson Branch was a former college football player, but too many nights in the sedan left his middle spreading and his cheeky jowls pursed in a permanent scowl.
His partner, Jodi Adams sat behind the wheel and watched as the bike turned a corner.
“I feel like we should duck or something.”
“We’ve been here before and he didn’t notice then. You know those egghead types. All up in their head and pay no attention to the world.”
“Looks like he’s heading home.”
Anson held his cuff to his lips and spoke into a microphone clipped there.
“He’s heading home boys. Let’s roll.”
Rob rolled up the quiet street in the small neighborhood of Los Feliz and chained his bike to the side of the stairwell. He had a top floor apartment in an old Victorian converted into four units with a rent he could barely afford. He liked the street though, because it felt safe, and his bike hadn’t been stolen yet. His apartment wasn’t much, just a second floor unit, but there was a spiral staircase he had installed that led to a skylight and a rooftop deck he built piece by piece. It was unpermitted and the landlord hadn’t found it yet, but Rob liked to spend some of his nights up there watching the sky.
He planned to go up there tonight, after he grabbed a beer and checked his email.
He didn’t turn on the lights after he unlocked the front door and moved across the apartment. He slammed into the coffee table with a small crash.
“Damn it Jim,” he mut
tered.
The computer monitor lit up at the sound of his voice. His UFO screensaver moved back and forth across the screen.
He flipped on a lamp and massaged his bruised shin.
The walls were covered with alien posters and pictures of UFO’s. The rest of the decor was simple, spartan even. There was a couch, a small television, and the assaulting coffee table. The primary focus of the room was the computer set up resting on a giant desk that dominated an entire wall.
Rob walked over and nudged the mouse.
While the computer opened up to his Gmail program and loaded his correspondence, Rob walked to the fridge set against one wall. He opened it and pulled out a Corona Light from a six pack that was the only occupant in the refrigerator.
He settled into the stuffed executive chair in front of the computer and opened up one of two new pieces of email.
“Star changes course. Western quadrant, Cassiopeia’s armpit. Notice? Tell me true. Capt. Sam Michaels.”
“No way,” he breathed and sucked down two quick swallows.
He moved the mouse to the second email and clicked it open.
“The heaven’s move! Can you see it? Selkirk, ICP.”
Rob nodded and hopped out of the chair. He stumbled over to a nook under the spiral staircase and fumbled a telescope case up the stairs.
Rob gazed through the eyepiece at the prescribed coordinates. A star was indeed moving slowly across the indigo sky. A comet would have a different glow, the light signature a shade hotter than this cool blue white blob of energy. A meteor or shooting star would be a white hot streak of energy skipping along the atmosphere. This light was different. Steadfast and relentless.
Without meaning to, Rob shivered.
“Son of a fudge…” he whispered with an edge of awe in his voice.
He backed away from the telescope, his body shaking, trembling. One leg kicked out, his foot spastically twisting and twitching. He leaned all of his weight forward onto it, and his booty started shaking. He was dancing, and awkward gyrating mess of rhythmic imbalance. Perhaps it couldn’t even be called dancing, more movement with intent. No matter though, because Rob was celebrating. Years of ridicule, countless hours being taunted and accused of being a crackpot, or worse, insane were released in five minutes of vindicating dance.