Resolute Glory (The War for Terra Book 8)

by James Prosser

  As the guard emitted a clicking squeal of death, there was a crash from above. Sterling looked up, seeing a bright silver ship passing overhead, spitting high velocity projectiles.

  “They’re back,” Drachma said over the sound of explosions. “The home guards have returned. My people, rally and take the invaders!”

  Sterling looked back to the crowd and saw the chaos. Dozens had been blasted from existence by the guards, but the people were gaining ground. In some cases, ten or more Vadne had overwhelmed the guards and were pulling pieces of armor away.

  One guard appeared to have been stripped of the armor covering his torso, and Sterling howled in pain, refusing to accept what he was seeing. Gizzeen. Screams from the surrounding citizens matched his own. Growls and the crack of ripping alien meat filled the square as guards went down and were torn to pieces.

  Sterling saw Drachma standing on the chest of the dead guard, blood coating his fur, his claws tearing away at the body.

  “They bleed!” Drachma called to the crowd. “They can die! Rise up and take back what is ours!”

  Another series of bone-rattling explosions from above drew his attention. The sky was now full of Vadne fighters pursuing the banded-armor ships of the Ch’Tauk. Both sides seemed evenly matched, but the Vadne were fighting with abandon. Sterling tore away his gaze and looked around. Two Elites were moving backwards into the cavernous space of the Hall. Each was firing into the crowd but not paying attention to where they were firing.

  “Drachma,” Sterling called. “The Chancellor is getting away! The Hall of Heroes!”

  Both men moved towards the stone edifice. Joined by a dozen Vadne who had taken up whatever weapons they could find, they avoided the blasts and headed towards the open columns. One man held the severed arm of an Elite and was swinging wildly at the Ch’Tauk as he moved. He was cut down as they entered the empty space, but another stepped in to replace him. It was tooth and claw against armor and cannon.

  Sterling caught sight of the Chancellor moving towards the tomb. He shouted at the others and they moved as one. As they drew closer, the Chancellor began to swear. Reaching the tomb, the Emperor and his Camerlingo stopped and looked back. The Elites took up a position and fired.

  Instead of return fire from the riot, there was a boom from outside. Sterling could see the fire of an explosion as he took cover behind a stone column. Chips of marble flew from around him. He looked to the next column where Drachma was hiding. Before either could formulate a plan, blasts of superheated plasma filled the hall.

  The Elites were hit hard and flew apart. Sterling’s hearing was gone and his eyes were showing spots. The plasma stopped and he could breathe again. As he blinked the spots away, he turned to look back at the tomb to see the Elites were melting.

  The Chancellor danced behind the stone alter, trying to put out a flame on the tips of his robes. He could just make out the sound of the man’s howls as the Emperor and Camerlingo stood and looked back at the street. A bright light from a hovering ship shone into the darkened hall.

  “Now!” Drachma called. “They’re undefended.”

  The Vadne lunged from behind their columns and headed towards the boy king and his high priest. Before they could reach the tomb, however, the Emperor held his arms high. A feeling like nausea swept over Sterling and he skidded to a halt. He felt suddenly at peace despite the heat from the floor and the screams outside. He looked around the tomb and saw the others standing still as well. Only Drachma seemed to have been unaffected, still raging at the three traitors in their midst, though he had stopped as the others did, and seemed to understand something was wrong.

  “You and your people are going to die,” said the Emperor. “My troops will destroy this planet and sweep the remains of your race from the universe. Our cousins have come and you will all be destroyed.”

  “My people will die knowing their honor is intact,” Drachma replied. “Your cousins aren’t here to help you now. I will kill you myself.”

  “You have no right!” called the Chancellor. “You have no right to talk to the Emperor in this manner. He is the—”

  A savage roar from Drachma was the last thing the Chancellor heard. The former governor slammed into his chest. It took seconds to tear away the robes and stain the floor in guts. The Chancellor’s body shuddered as the former governor tore away flesh from bone and head and body. The horror seemed at odds with the peaceful feeling sweeping over Sterling. He couldn’t imagine why his friend was so angry. He decided not to alert his friend as the Camerlingo’s staff came down on his head. Drachma fell with a sound like a ripe melon, slipping into the gore of the Chancellor’s body.

  “We have no need of either of you anymore,” the high priest said as he brought the staff down on Drachma again. “There is no need for a leader if there are no people.”

  The Camerlingo stepped over the bodies of the two leaders of the Vadne people, closer to Sterling. He raised his staff again and Sterling tried to understand what was happening. The Emperor was still holding his hands high as the sensation of peace intensified. In a dark corner of his mind, Sterling understood he was about to die, but the rage he should have been feeling was gone. He took a deep breath and waited for the flash of pain he knew was coming. As the Camerlingo held the staff above his head, Sterling heard a roar and suddenly the high priest was gone.

  “Father!” called Farthing as he tore the staff from the priest’s hands. “I’ll get the Emperor. You take this one.”

  With a great leap, Farthing pushed away from the Camerlingo and towards the Emperor. The boy dropped his hands and began to run even as the angry captain jumped over the tomb and landed behind him. Sterling’s rage returned and he moved. The Camerlingo tried to get up but Sterling landed hard on his back. The two men roared as each tried to throw the other. Sterling grabbed the Camerlingo’s armored head, but the Camerlingo twisted and dislodged the Vadne. Regaining his feet, the Camerlingo squared his shoulders and raised his four-fingered hands. Sterling crouched, readying for a leap. At once, both lunged towards the other and met in between. The Camerlingo was a large Ch’Tauk, and powerful, but the Vadne was angry and had felt the bloodlust of his people’s heritage.

  Paws on stone were met with armored feet as they moved back and forth. Sterling could taste the fear and pushed. The Camerlingo stumbled back and Sterling swiped at his armored thorax beneath. The Camerlingo responded by bringing his own sharp fingers down into Sterling’s back. The Vadne pushed upwards through the pain and lifted the priest. As he hurled the alien’s body down to the stone floor, he heard the crack of armor against stone and the sound of a wet eruption from the Camerlingo’s back. Slamming his claws into the chest cavity of the alien priest, the Camerlingo let out a shriek as his vocoder was destroyed and his lungs deflated. With his last ounce of strength, the priest reached up to grasp Sterling’s neck, and shuddered. As he died, the priest spat his life blood in Sterling’s face, and then lay back to the floor.

  With a start, Sterling realized the battle was over, and looked around for his son. The Emperor was holding his arms high as Farthing crouched for a leap. Despite his injuries and the rage he still felt, Sterling felt another wave of peace. He began to realize the Emperor was emitting some kind of pheromone which lulled his senses. Only the pain and bloodlust kept his senses sharp now. His son was growling deep in his chest, but the growls were slowing. As the deep rumbles slowed to a stop, Farthing stood and looked back at his father, a sense of peace and tranquility on his face. Vadne families were complicated when compared to Terran, but both seemed at peace with each other. Farthing’s crest fell and his head dipped as he relaxed and he stared at the floor.

  “You and your whole race are pathetic,” the boy emperor said as he advanced on the captain. “I can subdue your people and have my cousins decimate your planet and you will stand and watch. You don’t even realize we are already here. I am to be the Harbinger, the leader of a new race with my Elite Gizzeen at the forefront of a wave
of fire that will conquer the galaxy. First this planet and next the Terrans. The Gizzeen are already preparing to open a new bridge … but you won’t be there to see it. I am going to kill you myself and you will accept it.”

  Sterling felt an urge to kneel. He tried to resist but the compulsion was too strong. He saw his son imitate the gesture, putting his knee to the floor. The Emperor stepped close and picked up the discarded staff of the Camerlingo. The rod of metal looked ludicrous in the boy’s hands, but he raised it high. His armor had turned even whiter and taken on a luminous glow. Farthing raised his head and looked at the staff. His gaze traveled from the blunt instrument to the boy holding it.

  “My lord…” the captain said. “Before I die, I am honor bound to act as your new Camerlingo and teach you something you don’t know.”

  “There is nothing you know I need,” replied the boy. “Speak if you must, as it will be your last word.”

  “Thank you, Emperor Ch’Tauk,” Farthing said, looking into the boy’s eyes. “It is my honor to tell you … I have no sense of smell.”

  Farthing thrust his arm deep into the boy’s chest. There was a look of shock on the white armored face as the staff dropped from his fingers. Farthing stood, lifting the Ch’Tauk Emperor from his feet. He held his arm high and drove the boy down onto the stone tomb. The Emperor screeched as his shell cracked. Wrenching his arm from the Emperor’s body, he brought it down on his face, slamming the Emperor into the stone over and over again.

  Sterling stood and moved closer to his son, placing a hand on the captain’s shoulder to stop him. Farthing stared at the wreckage of the Emperor, blood leaking to the floor from the stone. For a long moment, neither man moved, then Farthing wobbled and collapsed. Sterling knelt to his son’s side as he drew a long breath. He turned as the explosions from outside began to quiet. He could hear cheers from Vadne throats. It seemed they were winning.

  “So the Elites were Gizzeen,” Sterling said to his son. “They suddenly do not seem so terrifying.”

  There was a faint sound from Farthing’s arm. He raised his wrist comm to his face and stared. After the battle and subsequent deaths of his friends, matters beyond the Hall of Heroes seemed unimportant. Another buzz in his ear and he was forced to take a breath. He wiped green blood from the device and activated the comm.

  “Farthing,” he said, looking back at his father.

  “Report!” demanded the marshal. “Are you secure?”

  “Yes. I have my father safe. The battle is over. The Ch’Tauk Emperor is dead.”

  “Confirm your last report?” replied the female above. “Did you just say the Emperor is dead?”

  “Yes,” Farthing replied with a sigh. “I can also confirm the deaths of the Camerlingo and former Governor Drachma. It’s over.”

  “Understood. Orbital operations are proceeding,” she replied. “Captain Farthing, there are some people up here who wish to speak with you.”

  “I am indisposed for the moment,” replied the Captain. “Who is it?”

  “The Alliance fleet has arrived,” the marshal replied curtly. “It seems you are absent without leave.”

  Farthing coughed a laugh and lifted himself from the floor. He stopped and looked at the altar stone where the Emperor had died. He reached and brushed blood and viscera from the stone where a name had been inscribed.

  Everett Benjamin Pearce

  Hero of the Alliance

  Friend to Both worlds

  “It’s not over, Father,” Farthing said. “We still have a duty to perform if our world and our honor are to be saved.”

  As he thought about the battle and the implications of a victory, Sterling knew what his son was planning. Honor was important to the Vadne, and the choice was obvious, but it didn’t make the next move any easier. As he looked to his son again, he felt a new respect for the young captain’s face. Beyond the blood and pain, there was honor, and a resolve he had not thought existed.

  “I agree,” Sterling said, a chuff escaping his throat. “It’s time to restore what has been broken.”

  28

  Battleship Resolute

  The work pod was never meant to carry seven passengers. Built nearly a century before as part of the ship’s complement of repair pods and work drones, the pod had stayed docked in its cradle for the life of the ship. Even with multiple refits and structural changes having been done to the ship, the work pod had stayed nestled in an alcove charging its batteries and waiting to perform routine maintenance on its mother battleship.

  Had the pod possessed a soul, it might have been proud of its first mission, but confused as to why it was disguised as debris floating in the strange space around an unknown red star. As it moved further away from its cradle, the ship might have wondered at the properties of the region of space it now inhabited and the odd configuration of the debris that shrouded it from sight. However, the ship did not have a soul, nor a mind to wonder about such things.

  As the Gizzeen command ship sliced through the debris field surrounding the red sun, particles slammed into the armored hull. The living creature, capable of navigating trans-dimensional space, paid no attention to the damage. Healing as fast as it was damaged, the armored hull contained no nerve endings. It served the sole purpose of keeping the creature within safe, and the Gizzeen warriors contained within its belly alive. The work pod, enclosed inside a curled piece of Gizzeen armor, moved closer to the command vessel.

  Baron had moved the pod as close as he could without turning on more than the most basic power cell. Life support had been closed down and the passengers were all wearing light pressure suits. Helmets glowed blue in the darkened space inside the repair ship, and the people held tight to anything attached. Gravity inside the pod was detectable by the Gizzeen, as was life support, so both systems had been turned off. At its closest point to contact, the debris shell moved subtly towards the big ship.

  “Get ready,” Baron said over suit comms. “I’m rotating for contact and preparing to move.”

  The pod twisted inside the debris, re-orienting itself so the service hatch was facing the Gizzeen vessel. Baron held tight to the controls as he pressed the orientation thruster for less than a second. The pod slipped from within the shell and towards the Gizzeen hull, the debris moving away as the pod fell towards the armor. Everyone in the pod braced for the impact of hatch on hull. When it came, no one made a noise. Only Doctor Demsiri moved as the ship secured itself to the Gizzeen vessel. He was holding a thick metal ring in one gloved hand and a rail in the other.

  “Pod secured,” Baron called back to the passengers in the back. “Operation Deer Tick is a go. Doctor, you’re up.”

  “And this is why Lee never let you name the operations,” Alice said over the comm. “Does this mean we’re some kind of disease or something?”

  “Keep the comm line clear,” Gregor said, pushing away from the bulkhead and grabbing a weapon from the opposite side. “We don’t know how much they can hear, so stay quiet.”

  The three other security guards each took a weapon from their leader. Alice moved away from the hatch as Demsiri pushed closer. The metal ring began to glow as he pressed the control buttons along one edge. Alice tapped the hatch controls and the small round doorway opened. There was a change in pressure as the exposed section of armored hull showed through the hole. Demsiri secured the device to the armor and floated back. He pulled a small remote device from a sleeve and pressed the control, rotating his movements on the pad. The lights on the ring began to rotate as well, keeping time with the movements of the doctor’s hands. There was no smoke as the powerful surgical laser cut the armor, and no noise, but Alice could swear she heard the hiss of melting metal.

  “This thing was designed to save lives, not cut holes in ships,” Demsiri said. “I hope I was right when I said it couldn’t feel anything.”

  “If this thing tries to knock us loose, we’ll be floating free in space before we can worry about its feelings,” Gregor said. “Now keep
the line clear…”

  “I talk during surgery,” the doctor replied, reaching for a long tube from where he had been floating. “Sue me. I think I’m almost thought the hull. I’ll start cutting into flesh soon. Administering an aesthetic.”

  Demsiri placed the tube through the ring and shoved. The armor gave way and sank into the flesh below. The tube pressed into the flesh and the doctor held it tight as he pressed an automatic pressure device into place. It had taken the entire ship’s store of anesthetic to fill the tube, and there was no guarantee it would work, but it was their only chance to get inside. They waited as the chemical concoction took hold and the ring continued to cut. Alice saw a slight puckering of the flesh around the hole, but there was no other reaction.

  “Aright,” Demsiri said, “if my readings are true, we’ll be through in a few seconds.”

  The doctor had scanned one of the passing Gizzeen ships as carefully as he could to determine the depth of armor and flesh to get into the ship. The Engineer had provided a rudimentary anatomical portrait of the interior, determining the location of the crew and prisoner based on a millennia old memory. Chang had decided on the plan only after Alice had threatened to push him from an airlock and let him drift into the beast. There were no other options they could determine.

  “Alright, almost through,” the doctor said. “Hold on. There’s likely going to be a pressure…”