by Scott Baron
But he didn’t stop there. A blade now in hand, he flew into action, though fighting with his left rather than his right. The funny thing was, even left-handed he was a far better swordsman than most would ever be with their right.
More Tslavars pushed their way into the corridor, their blades already slick with blood. Someone had paid the highest price this day, and seeing as the entire population was frozen, that left just one option.
“They’re killing the others!” Tim blurted as he tripped over the body of a slain human captive.
“I am aware, Tim,” Bawb grunted as he took on a trio of attackers. “Now, defend yourself!”
The cyborg was not a combat machine, but even so, the instinct toward self-preservation ran strong in him, as it did in all living things, organic or cybernetic. The blade flashing down toward him drew blood as it sliced through the flesh covering his arm, but the sturdy metal endoskeleton within was barely scratched.
The Tslavar’s hands vibrated painfully when the sword rang out against the hard metal, causing a delay before he could pull free and move in for a killing blow. But Tim was a quick study and was on his feet in an instant, his mechanically powered hand snapping his attacker’s arm, nearly wrenching it from his body.
The sword dropped to the deck as it slid from the gash in Tim’s flesh. He looked across the smoky space and counted the numbers, doing the math only a machine could do so quickly.
They were outnumbered, and Bawb was fighting handicapped, his right arm nearly useless with that piece of metal dragging behind him. There was simply no way they’d win this, but he’d be damned if they’d go out without a fight.
Tim reached out and grabbed the Tslavar by the throat, squeezing and pulling as hard as he was able. The man’s eyes bulged as he fought with all of his considerable strength before abruptly going limp as his windpipe was torn from his body with a wet snap.
Bawb, occupied as he was, saw what Tim had accomplished, and had to admire the cyborg’s creativity and determination. They would die this day, but they would do so in the thick of battle, having made an honorable and impressive showing.
Tslavar bodies were piling up at Bawb’s feet, but his weariness from captivity was finally getting the better of him. A glancing blow cut his shoulder. Nothing deep, but he knew it was the beginning of the end. It was only a matter of time before little injuries would sap him of his remaining strength.
And as he accepted his fate, his mind flashed to Hunze, and he couldn’t help wonder if perhaps he’d been mistaken about the lack of an afterlife all this time. Perhaps, he thought, if he was lucky, they’d be together again one day.
A burly Tslavar was lunging toward him, and Bawb knew without a doubt, he would never be able to free his sword from the torso of the man he’d just slain in time to defend himself.
And so it ends, he thought, strangely at peace as his death raced to greet him.
Bright steel struck home and a spray of hot blood showered the Wampeh, dripping from his face and torso.
He looked down. The blood was green.
Tslavar blood.
The sword yanked free from the attacker’s chest, tearing a nice hole as it did so, the man’s body falling in a heap. Rika flashed a little wink at the stunned Wampeh, then spun into action, firing a strange type of rifle that seemed to emit some sort of energy pulse with one hand, while mowing down the enemy with her sword in the other. And on top of that, he could feel her magic as she deftly cast with her konus, mixing magic, firearms, and bladed combat into a singular assault of impressive intensity.
Buoyed by his reprieve, Bawb yanked his sword free and tore into the Tslavar crew with renewed vigor.
“Here!” Rika called out, tossing him a konus. “More of them than us, so even at close range, we’re more likely to hit them than us.”
The konus was nowhere near as powerful as his own, but the feel of magic in his hands once more was, at that moment, the second most viscerally joyful sensation he’d ever known. He slid it onto his wrist, the ferocity of his spells suddenly powered by the stored magic.
“You ready to get the hell out of here?” Rika asked, mowing down two more of their adversaries.
“Lead the way,” he replied with a rejuvenated grin, diving into combat once again, the two of them leaving a wake of death the likes of which the poor cyborg following close behind would never scrub from his mind.
They rushed from the smoldering ship’s hull, out into the fresh air––or semi-fresh, to be precise. The stench of burned Tslavar and newly spilled blood adding a particular tinge to the breeze.
“She’s got him!” Charlie called into their comms. “Everyone, cover Rika and Bob!”
A massive layer of suppressing fire erupted from all sides as the human, Wampeh, and cyborg darted for safety behind the ranks of their comrades.
Tim noted as they ran from their former prison that every last one of the other captives had been slain. Murdered in cold blood before they could reach safety. And as foreign as the emotion was to the metal-hearted man, he suddenly knew what it meant to want revenge.
Chapter Forty-Four
The battle had raged on for some time between the camouflaged Tslavar craft, their troops, and the rag-tag Earth forces, and had it not been for the shift in weaponry, the Tslavar gambit to take down their greatest threat might just have succeeded.
Fortunately, Ara was quick to recover, and the surprising new tech-magic wielded––albeit clumsily––by the flesh and metal forces opposing the invaders had been enough of a disruption to allow her to fly clear of the magical crossfire and recover. Had that not been the case, even the great and mighty Zomoki could very well have fallen to the three-pronged attack of so powerful and clever an enemy.
The invaders had been gauging the planet’s defenses, holding back two of their craft and likely hundreds of men in reserve, letting their adversaries reveal their strengths and weaknesses as they pursued the decoy ship. And it had almost worked. The metal projectiles were easily stopped, now that their casters had the opportunity to adjust their spells accordingly. That is, with the exception of the larger rounds.
Despite their magic, the Tslavars realized quickly that the fixed auto cannons mounted at strategic positions in the cities possessed a degree of firepower that could still inconvenience them, if not cause catastrophic damage. For that reason, they opted to avoid routes that might intersect those defenses.
Today, however, the trap was set, and the Zomoki had flown right into it, but the strange new energy weapons wielded by the harassing ships and the men and women with metal skeletons beneath their flesh were punching right through the Tslavar defenses.
Their carefully adjusted spells could stop bullets, but this new attack was something different. Something that would force them to forego their planned eradication of the dragon, instead fleeing to regroup and address the beast at a later time.
She had taken the brunt of the magical attack, but it seemed the caster with her had been able to deflect much of the spells’ damaging powers, leaving the dragon free to strike back. And strike she did, weaving powerful magic into her flames, spraying them across the shielded ships.
The two new additions to the fight were ready for her, however, and they had a huge amount of magic poured into their defenses for just such an eventuality. The previously damaged decoy ship, though, was simply not up to the challenge. The others saw as it fell, driven to the ground, broken, never to submerge again.
Captain Sindall had done well, though, and despite the loss of that ship, as well as the escape of all of its prisoners, his mission had been a success of sorts.
The tide having turned with the barrage of energy pulse weaponry, the remaining Tslavar ships sounded the retreat, quickly gathering their surviving troops and fleeing to the safety of the planet’s deep oceans.
“Let them go,” Ara called out as the ground forces attempted to pursue the escaping enemy. “Tell them to stand down, Charlie,” she sent to her friend. “I
landed solid hits on their ships, and despite the magic protecting them from damage, my power is solidly on them. Tracking them will not be a problem.”
“What if they go deep again?”
“I took that into consideration and modified my spell. From what I learned the last time, I believe there will be little chance of losing them this time.”
Charlie relayed the message over his comms, the circling ships breaking off their pursuit and returning to retrieve their contingents of ground forces. The cyborgs, for their part, had performed admirably, making a good showing despite their lack of military training.
Some, however, had fallen to the Tslavar onslaught. The spells had been modified to address the unusual physiology the cybernetic people presented. No longer were they simply aimed at killing the flesh––which the metal-framed people could still function without. Instead, great blows, designed to shatter and incapacitate, had been woven into their magical attacks.
More than a few cyborgs had their limbs rent from their bodies, while still others had been crushed beneath debris utilized as makeshift projectiles. And then there were the humans and Chithiid who had fled the downed ship.
Bodies lay strewn near the wrecked craft, which had finally collapsed in on itself, though Charlie was pretty sure it was a scuttle spell that had finished it off, not their attack. Knowing the Tslavars, their captain had likely deemed it better to utterly destroy his own ship rather than let any intel fall into the hands of the enemy.
And that was likely also why they had slaughtered the escaping prisoners. Of all of them, only Bawb and his bleeding cyborg companion had survived. The Wampeh would heal. He always did. And the cyborg’s injuries appeared to only be to his flesh covering, which, likewise, was easy to repair.
Leila rushed to their friend and wrapped him in a tight embrace, whether the exhausted Wampeh wanted one or not, stoicism be damned.
“I’m so glad you’re okay!” she said, eyes wet with emotion. “We thought, well, we didn’t know what they’d done to you. If you were even still alive.”
Charlie clasped his friend’s hand. “Yeah, man. It’s good to have you back with us.”
“Thank you. Thank you all,” he said, then turned to his blood-soaked savior. “And especially you, Rika.”
“Hey, just glad to help out,” she said, slightly uncomfortable at the attention.
“I am in your debt,” the pale assassin said, the weight of his words heavy in the air.
Charlie noted his friend’s tone, but held his tongue. There was plenty of time to discuss what had happened in there later, and he was sure it would be quite a tale. Bawb simply did not utter things of that nature lightly. And to have the deadliest assassin in thirty systems owe you his life? Well, it was a debt that held far more weight than your average ‘I owe you one’ scenario.
“You’d have done the same for me,” Rika replied.
Bawb, given his nagging distrust of the woman who had so recently engaged them on the other side of the field of battle, couldn’t help but wonder if he would have.
“That was amazing, what you did back there,” the bloody cyborg said. “I didn’t get a chance to thank you, what with all of the fighting and whatnot. But now that we’re free, thank you. Thank you so much for saving us.”
“Don’t mention it.”
“I’ve never seen someone fight like that. Not even in old entertainment videos from the archives,” Tim continued to gush.
Bawb could not help but agree. “He is correct in his assessment. Your wielding of magic and martial skills with both blade and this unusual tech-weapon was impressive indeed.”
“Praise from the Geist? Wow, now that must’ve been one hell of a fight,” Leila joked, patting Rika on the shoulder.
“I’ll say,” Charlie added. “Now, come on. Let’s get you guys cleaned up and back to command. I know Cal and the others will want a full debrief. There’s a lot you need to be brought up to speed on, and I’m sure you have a lot to tell us as well.”
Bawb scanned the debris field of ships downed in the initial wave of the assault.
“I do not see Eddie. Were he and Ripley––?”
“No, they’re fine,” Leila said. “Held up getting Eddie’s weapons systems modded. They missed the battle.”
Bawb seemed to relax slightly at the news. Annoying as she was, the teen had welcomed them to her world with open, and enthusiastic, arms, making him and Hunze feel at home in their new abode. And despite her often-exhausting exuberance, he had quickly grown fond of her.
“Hunze? I was taken at our home. I must get to her,” he said, his intent clear.
“She’s fine,” Charlie told him. “Relax. The booby traps you set up were more than adequate to keep her safe. And once we saw that you’d been taken, we had additional measures put in place, including round-the-clock guards camped out on the perimeter. Though I think with your spells still active, she’s far safer in there than the armed men outside will ever be.”
The Wampeh followed them into the belly of a waiting ship for the short flight back to LA. Ara would join them shortly, but for the time being, she was flying high in the sky, tracking the fleeing Tslavar ships beneath the waves.
“As I anticipated, the craft are far easier to locate this time.”
“Good news,” Charlie replied. “We’re taking Bob and his cyborg buddy back to Cal for a debrief. Once we’re done, we can regroup and plan our next move.”
“I’ll see you Downtown shortly,” she said, gliding in the sun’s healing light.
“Okay, guys. Let’s get back to Cal and go over all of this madness,” Charlie said as the ship’s door slid shut behind him.
“Yes,” Bawb said coolly. “I will postpone my visit home for now. We shall first assess our status with the AI minds and determine our next course of action.”
“That’s the plan,” Charlie said.
“But then,” Bawb continued. “Then, I shall return home and gather my weapons.”
Charlie knew that look in his eye, and heaven help those who had drawn his wrath. Retribution was coming, and it would be swift and fierce.
Chapter Forty-Five
Bawb had sucked down a half dozen electrolyte pouches on the flight to Los Angeles, the revitalizing liquid doing him a great deal of good, calming his nerves, while replenishing his depleted blood sugar. Apparently, he was more dehydrated than he’d anticipated. But then, going on a non-stop killing rampage against dozens of highly trained alien mercenaries could really take it out of you.
The flight was short, and the others left him to his thoughts as he processed the events of the past few days. Soon enough he would be recounting them for Cal and the other AIs. No sense making him do it twice.
“Here,” Leila said, handing a towel to Rika. “You’ve, uh, got something...”
Rika accepted the offering, the white cloth quickly turning green as she wiped the sticky Tslavar blood from herself. “I seriously need a shower,” she griped. “You sure we can’t postpone this debrief long enough for a quick rinse?”
“You know better, Rika,” Charlie said.
“I know. Just fuckin’ with ya,” she said with a chuckle.
Judging by the amount of blood and gore Rika and the two survivors were wearing, the fight must have been something to behold. Charlie had seen Bawb in all-out combat before, and had fought against Rika before her mind was freed from Malalia’s spells.
Both were formidable––Bawb much more so, naturally––and the two of them would have been a formidable team in any circumstances. And with Bawb’s anger piqued? No wonder it had been a seemingly literal bloodbath.
Of course, they would all be able to watch the play-by-play once they reached Cal’s command center. Tim, the rescued cyborg, possessed a talent that meat people often took for granted. Namely, his electronic brain recorded and stored everything he saw or heard. With the equipment at Cal’s disposal, it would be no problem tapping into those data stores and retrieving the information
.
The hope was that perhaps he had seen or heard something that, while seemingly innocuous at the time, might actually prove useful in combatting the invaders.
Judging by their seeming confusion at cybernetic physiology and how it was not affected the way entirely flesh beings were, there was a good chance they’d gotten sloppy in the presence of their captive. Time would tell.
“We’re touching down in two minutes,” the gruff AI piloting the small ship notified his passengers. Charlie had learned that this particular craft had been a cargo hauler, a task best suited for the less-than-charming AI. However, when fighting broke out, he had been one of the first to arrive to be outfitted with new pulse cannons.
The ship landed with hardly a jolt, testament to their artificially intelligent pilot’s skill. It made sense, of course. An AI tasked with transporting valuable materials would learn early on how to best keep his cargo from jostling unnecessarily.
“All right, let’s get in there and see what Cal and his buddies have to say,” Charlie said as they stepped out into the sunlight before heading beneath the city to Cal’s command center in the city’s transit hub.
Deep underground, the thick cement and steel of the loop tube stations insulated them from any sound that might have been generated above. In the old days, before the war, the constant bustle of people and machines had made it almost as busy sounding as the surface. But now, with a fraction of a fraction of the population inhabiting the city, the loop tube station system was a ghost town.
“I’m glad you made it back so soon,” Cal greeted them as they mounted the stairs to his command center. “We have much to discuss.”
Cal had the foresight to have had tasteful, yet easily washed, covers placed on the furniture before the team’s arrival, knowing full well more than one of them would likely be sporting a sizable quantity of blood, and likely not their own.