The Calypsis Project Boxed Set (Books 1-2 - The Echo-Alpha Duology)

by Brittany M. Willows

  The monarch was frightened now, but she should have known better than to provoke him. She knew what he was capable of.

  A long blade of energy shot from his gauntlet, and as he was about to make a clean cut through the Queen’s chest, the doors burst open behind him and two royal guards entered the room, staves pointing threateningly toward him.

  “Theral, Ume’aht!” the Queen coughed and gasped for air as she addressed the pair. “Remove this traitor from the city immediately!”

  She managed to spit the order out before Levian dropped her and unsheathed his second blade, turning to face the guards. He held his ground as the two charged at him, and when there was little more than a foot between his body and the tip of the guards’ staves, he leaped into the air.

  The guards passed right under the Ship Commander and he landed behind them, spinning on his toes as they skidded to a stop.

  These Khael’hin warriors were slow in their heavy armor, but their physical strength was unsurpassed. A single blow from one of their staves could easily snap Levian’s spine.

  Luckily, there was one thing he had that they could not match: agility.

  Theral, the larger of the two, didn’t turn to face his aggressor. Instead, he bent over backward with his stave pointed up and raised above his head.

  It was a clever move but Levian was all too familiar with it. It was a Leh’kin tactic—one that required far more swiftness than Theral could hope to achieve, making it easy for the blue warrior to avoid the attack. However, the tip of the stave still managed to scratch the side of his helmet, barely missing his eye.

  Theral jumped back on his feet and whipped around, aiming another blow—this time at Levian’s head.

  Levian evaded the attack and grabbed the weapon’s stem, pushed it down to the ground with his foot, and forced the guard to drop it.

  Before Theral could retreat, the Leh’kin Ship Commander thrust his energy blade through the guard’s open mouth and out the back of his skull.

  Theral stood there for a moment, staring at the Ship Commander while blood bubbled in his throat, then his eyes rolled back and he collapsed. Levian withdrew his blade just in time to dodge an attack from the remaining guard, Ume’aht, who finally had a clear line of sight.

  Too slow.

  The stave crashed into the Ship Commander’s shoulder and the blow knocked him to the ground. He landed hard on his back and lay winded momentarily, then inhaled sharply and rolled out of the way as Ume’aht drove his weapon downward—again and again, leaving holes in the floor.

  Levian kicked out, connected with Ume’aht’s abdomen, and hopped back on his feet while the guard was doubled over.

  Ume’aht kept his distance, holding a defensive position.

  Levian rushed at his opponent, grabbed the guard’s harness, and clumsily performed a forward flip over the top of the Khael’hin warrior. When his feet touched the ground, he crouched low and, with all the strength he could gather, threw the guard right over his head.

  Ume’aht hit the wall, armor clattering as he crumpled to the floor. He recovered quickly, drawing in a deep breath as he lunged forth.

  The Ship Commander sidestepped and raised his leg, bringing his heel down in the small of the guard’s back. Ume’aht fell, and before he could attempt to rise again, Levian planted a foot on his harness.

  “Traitor!” the guard snapped.

  “Ending your life so soon brings me no joy, Ume’aht, but it was clear that you would remain loyal to the Queen, and I could not allow that,” Levian said. “She has betrayed the Royal Empire.”

  “No, she has not.” The Khael’hin warrior turned his head to look up at the Ship Commander. “Great changes are coming, Leh’kin, and you . . . you and the rest of your kind will not live long enough to see them take hold.”

  Levian hissed furiously and drove his energy blade into the back of Ume’aht’s helmet, penetrating his skull and killing him instantly. The guard’s deep red blood pooled around his head, spilling from parted jaws. The Ship Commander deactivated his blades and stood in silence over the lifeless corpse for a moment, then looked to where he had left the Queen.

  She was gone.

  She must have fled during the fight and there was no doubting that she had already sounded the alarm. Levian would be overwhelmed by more royal guards than he could handle if he didn’t leave the city immediately. And so, without further delay, he took off toward the lift.

  Levian was no longer safe in Drocain space, and with such a large target on his back, he was sure the Queen would go out of her way to track him down and have him slaughtered. She might even go after his family. And after what Ume’aht had said, he was worried about what was going to happen to the rest of the Leh’kin.

  His kind, being the most technologically advanced, had always served as the backbone of the Royal Empire, the right hand of the Queen—but now it seemed Ahlaie Yhehiel was favoring the Khael’hin; perhaps for their strength and eternal loyalty to her own species.

  Suro Katspara, Levian thought with an inward sigh as he remembered what the Queen had said about only one warrior returning from the mission on Calypsis.

  Suro always had been somewhat of an outcast, but now it seemed he had finally found his place in the Empire—working as a pawn under the direct orders of Her Majesty the Queen.

  The lift came to a stop on the upper level of catwalks that clung to the interior walls of the repair bay. Levian emerged from the shadows of the cylindrical shaft, alarms wailing in his ears. He stepped up to the barrier that ran along the length of the catwalk and leaned over it, looking down into the bay below.

  Hovering above the floor in the center of the bay was the assault carrier Legacy of Night—his ship of three years. The vessel’s exterior repairs appeared to be near completion, the majority of the openings in the hull had been sealed—save for the massive tear by the bridge—and its skeleton molded back together again.

  . . . But would it fly?

  Levian climbed up onto the barrier and crouched, poised to jump. He calculated the distance between himself and the carrier and came to the conclusion that it was, at the least, a twenty-four meter drop. It was an awfully long way down, and if he failed to land correctly, he would not survive the fall.

  There were no other options.

  The Ship Commander pushed off strongly from the barrier and plunged downward into the bay, drawing the attention of the armed guards below, who opened fire. The crytal rounds and energy bolts tore holes in Levian’s cloak and hammered his shields, causing them to flicker and flash, but they held out until he landed atop the Legacy’s bow. He tumbled forward, then scrambled to his feet, ignoring the sharp pain that shot up his injured leg as he darted toward the bridge.

  Levian stopped on the cracked metal above the hole and used the grooves in the hull to climb down to the jagged rim around the opening. He leaped inside to avoid being spotted when a repair bot floated by, somersaulted across the floor, and hurried to his throne. Waving a hand over the command console’s surface, he brought the ship’s operating systems online.

  Panels and switches lit up across the board, holographic screens flickered into existence—streaming with data and status reports—and the ship’s engines came to life with that familiar ghostly wail that Levian so enjoyed. It was the sound that instilled fear in his enemies; the sound that humans had grown used to hearing just moments before their cities were burned to the ground.

  Levian looked over his shoulder and saw the last ray of light from outside disappear as the repair bot sealed up the opening. Satisfied, the warrior turned back to the console, and with a few brisk hand movements, he brought up the Legacy of Night’s system report.

  Hull repairs were ninety-seven percent complete, engines fully functional, and the shields active but only able to hold at sixty percent strength. Power supplies would be low, but they would have to do.

  Levian activated the weapons systems, armed the main crytal cannon, and brought it to aim at the genera
tors powering the energy shield doors. “Begin charging sequence,” he ordered the ship’s AI.

  As the charge reached seventy-six percent, a voice came over the bay speakers: “Repair Bay Seven has been breached! Requesting reinforcements immediately! I repeat, Repair Bay Seven has been breached! Levian ‘Nher has commandeered the Legacy of Night! Do not allow him to leave the city!”

  At the ping announcing that the cannon had reached full charge, Levian commanded the system to fire, and a shudder rattled the carrier’s framework as the Legacy of Night loosed its fury.

  The first of the generators exploded . . . the shield doors wavered; the second generator went up in flames, and the shields disappeared. A deafening sound filled the bay. Anything that wasn’t secured was sucked out into space.

  The Legacy of Night pushed forward, accelerating toward the outer limits of Oreva Alkastoran. Levian didn’t even manage to clear the city’s outer sector before a unit of twenty starfighters caught onto his trail.

  They were fools if they believed they could stop him with a group as small as this. What a pathetic attempt. It took only a single swipe of his hand to wipe out half of the unit with the Legacy’s turrets. The remaining ten were quick to retreat once they realized they had no chance against an assault carrier.

  But there was no doubt in Levian’s mind that he would soon be pursued by a much larger attack force, which, for all he knew, could be upon him in minutes—and he had yet to clear the High City’s defense fleet.

  Time was of the essence.

  I must find the girl.

  Chapter

  ———ELEVEN———

  2040 Hours, December 02, 2438 (Earth Calendar) / Transportation network below Viro, planet Calypsis

  Claws clicked on stone as the two Drocain warriors walked the transportation tunnels, heading toward the heart of this network where they would plant an explosive—one powerful enough to take down the entire city above.

  The cavern was littered with floodlights and tools, reels of wire, and bags of concrete mix. It appeared the humans had been working down here recently, trying to transform these tunnels into something similar to the underground railroads the young warrior had first seen on Anahk.

  Kenon walked close behind his irritable squadmate, Suro, who had been unusually quiet for the duration of the journey thus far. The Digred hadn’t spoken a word to him since they met up outside, nor had he even bothered to cast a glance in the Drahkori’s direction. It was unlike him to be so quiet.

  Loose pebbles clattered into the dark chasm beside the young warrior. He slipped on a wet patch of stone, quickly regained his balance and pulled away from the edge, feeling the cold air rising from the depths.

  There was no surviving a fall that far. It was a terrifyingly long way down, too deep and dark to see the bottom.

  “So, Drahkori,” Suro broke the silence at last, and for once there was no trace of resentment in his words—only curiosity. “How was your meeting with the Queen?” he asked.

  “It was . . . fine,” Kenon told him, but that was a lie. The meeting had been terribly awkward and uncomfortable, not at all what he had expected. He had left the throne room confused and worried for his ship commander, who had been asked to stay within the High City.

  Suro laughed. “You must be lying to spare me the jealousy. She is the Queen, the ruler of the Drocain Royal Empire. The meeting must have been more than fine, surely . . . Or perhaps you were blinded by her magnificence the moment you laid eyes upon her—too captivated by her majesty to concentrate on the meeting itself.”

  Not at all, Kenon thought. When he’d first set his gaze upon the Queen, he had only been taken aback by just how human she appeared with that flat, rounded face of hers.

  And what was all that drivel about magnificence and majesty? Ahlaie Yhehiel was a self-righteous leader, blinded by her own supposed magnificence.

  Rather than lie again, Kenon chose to leave his squadmate’s question unanswered, and after several more minutes of silence, he asked Suro how much farther they had to travel until they reached their destination.

  “It’s not far now,” the dark warrior said. “Be patient, and be cautious. This mission cannot fail.”

  Kenon caught sight of enemy movement on his motion sensor—a flicker of red by a mound of boulders two meters away. A shadowy figure rose to the top of the pile, poised itself to spring, then leapt for the Digred.

  “Suro!” the young warrior shouted in alarm.

  Suro turned, but not fast enough to dodge his attacker. The soldier catapulted into the unsuspecting Major, knocked him off his feet, and the two slid frighteningly close to the edge of the chasm.

  The human pulled a knife from the holster on his sash and thrust it straight down, aiming to drive it into the Digred’s throat, but Suro put his hand up and the blade slipped right through his palm. Blood splashed across the reddish stone and dripped onto his helmet.

  Kenon drew his splinter rifle and opened fire on the human soldier, who then rolled off the dark warrior and darted back behind the rock pile.

  Suro jumped up and yanked the blade from his palm with a growl. He reached to his thigh guard, grabbed a grenade and lobbed it over the boulders. It bounced off the far wall and detonated, sending a shiver through the ground. Cracks appeared in the ridge and small pieces of stone broke away.

  Was he crazy? That explosion could have caused the ledge they were standing on to collapse!

  “Do not pull a move like that again!” Kenon snapped at his comrade. With a flick of his wrists, he activated his energy blades and scrambled to the top of the rocks, only to find that the human was no longer there.

  Where could he have gone?

  A sharp pain shot up the back of the Drahkori’s leg and he twisted around. The human was crouching behind him with a hand firmly gripping the hilt of a second blade he’d buried into the back of the young warrior’s leg.

  The soldier withdrew his combat knife from Kenon’s flesh and was about to arm an assault rifle when Kenon kicked him hard in the chest. The blow sent the human tumbling down the mound of stones, and he rolled to a stop at Suro’s feet.

  Kenon deactivated his blades and jumped down from the pile, watching as his squadmate wrapped his fingers around the soldier’s neck and lifted him off the ground.

  The human struggled helplessly, kicked his legs out in a frantic attempt to make his boots meet with the Digred’s abdomen. He even went as far as to try and claw at the tough skin of the dark warrior’s hand, but his nails were too small and blunt to have any real effect.

  Suro smiled with satisfaction, teeth glinting in the darkness when he drew his lips back. Without taking his eyes off his victim, he said to Kenon, “Carry on, Valinquint. Plant the bomb. I will deal with this pest.”

  Kenon nodded and headed onward, touching his hand to the disc-shaped bomb fastened to the back of his belt as if to check that it was still there.

  “If you’re going to kill me,” the man said, “then get it over with already. I’m sure you have more important things to get back to, right? Like your Calypsis Project?”

  Kenon stopped and turned back to the scene in time to see a look of dismay flash across his squadmate’s face. Did the Major know about the project already? Kenon whispered his name inquiringly. “Suro?”

  Suro threw an edgy glance at the Drahkori, then gritted his teeth and tightened his grip on the human’s neck. “That is a rumor,” he growled. “Nothing more.”

  The soldier managed to force out a few more words, but Kenon was oblivious to what he said as he watched the man reach for one of his pistols, his small fingers wrapping around the handgrip. And in one swift movement he raised his sidearm and fired rapidly, broke the Digred’s shield and put a bullet through his throat.

  Suro dropped the man and staggered backward toward the edge of the ridge, lifting his hand to his throat, stunned. The stone began to crack under his weight, weakened by the earlier explosion, and in his last moment’s of consciousnes
s the Digred lashed out and caught the soldier’s collar.

  The ledge crumbled away, Suro plunged into the shadows along with the human.

  Kenon was certain that both of them had perished—then he heard the soldier’s quick, panicked breaths and saw his tiny fingers clinging to the remains of the ridge. With an exasperated hiss, he hurried over and kneeled on the ledge, staring down at the soldier momentarily before holding out his hand.

  The human glared up at him, understandably uneasy about taking the hand of his enemy. But when his fingers began to slip, he reached up and grabbed a firm hold on the warrior’s wrist.

  Once pulled to safety, he brushed dirt from his uniform and muttered spitefully, “And we meet again.” He bent down and picked his pistol up from the ground, aimed it at the stone beneath the Drahkori’s feet, then asked, “Why did you save me?”

  Knoble, he remembered the soldier from the underground railroad. “I heard you mention the Calypsis Project,” Kenon told him, feeling oddly calm. How strange considering he’d just witness the death of his squadmate. In fact . . . he almost felt relieved now that the Digred was gone. “Where did you gain knowledge of it?” he asked.

  “What’s it to you?” the soldier questioned, then shook his head with agitation. “No, never mind. I don’t have time for this. You can either step aside or you can fight me.”

  Kenon stared at him for a second longer before taking a step back, holding his arm outstretched in the direction the human wanted to go—toward the center of these tunnels. “Continue if you wish, but if you are headed for the city you will find that the way is blocked.”

  “What do you mean it’s blocked?”

  “The warriors who were in here before me barred the access way to Viro to keep human forces from entering. This was done so that my squadmate and I could plant an explosive beneath the city without interruption.”