Uprising of the Exiled (Splintered Galaxy Book 2)

by Eddie R. Hicks

  “Kroshka.” a voice said in the Hashmedaian language. The two looked back—it was Y’lin. Her yellow eyes and mature face indicated that she was not in a good mood. “What are you doing with that human? I have been looking all over for you.”

  “I am fine, Mother,” Kroshka said in her native tongue. Jazz didn’t believe her for a second, however, as Kroshka’s wineglass trembled in her grip.

  “Eeladen offered to take you on a lovely stroll, and you do this?” Y’lin said and walked over, grabbing Kroshka’s wrist. Mother and daughter exchanged hateful looks.

  Jazz arose and proceeded to head to the exit. Family drama wasn’t his thing, especially alien families. “I should go,” he said.

  “You should not have been invited, human,” Y’lin said with a hint of loathing in her voice. Y’lin’s glowing eyes scanned Jazz from top to bottom as if he were some kind of riffraff.

  “You have a lovely daughter, Y’lin,” he said to her. “I can see she takes after her father.”

  Y’lin pushed Kroshka aside and charged toward Jazz; she was ready for a fight. Kroshka’s glass fell from her hands during the push, and seconds before it was to hit the ground it stopped in midair, hovering while Kroshka’s had extended down toward it, guiding her psionic powers to the glass. “You will address me as empress and bow before me,” Y’lin demanded.

  Jazz gave Y’lin a smug grin and said, “I don’t bow down to anyone…Y’lin.”

  Y’lin replied with a hiss and displayed her fangs. She then returned to her daughter, dragging her out of the solarium.

  “Fine,” Jazz said. “I’ll stay.”

  Five minutes had passed since Y’lin and Kroshka’s confrontation. Jazz remained in the solarium, looking at the large glass window. He had expected Kroshka to clear things up with her mother and return, but she never did. Whatever, he thought. It was getting late, and he had yet to see the new ship he and Veloshira would be flying back to Morutrin in. Jazz saw a Hashmedai woman walk into the solarium with him from the reflection of the window. She had red glowing eyes, almost as red as her short red hair. Diamond-shaped cybernetics covered parts of her exposed body and arms; she was a psionic.

  Another Hashmedai entered. Jazz couldn’t get a good look from the reflection, as the Hashmedai stood directly behind him. The person stepped closer and closer to Jazz, who acted as if he wasn’t paying attention, as if his guard was lowered. But in reality, his arms became tense, and his hands reached into a hidden pocket within his coat. He wrapped his fingers around the solid and cold feel of a plasma pistol.

  The woman with red hair remained in her spot. Her arms were crossed, and she had the look of a person who was fascinated by something—either the person who was closing in fast behind Jazz or the fact that Jazz was ready and waiting for an ambush.

  The strange person was now close enough to reach out and touch Jazz—or stab him. Your move, he thought as he removed the safety from his pistol. A psionic push made Jazz’s body launch forward through the solarium window, shattering it. His body spiraled out of control, taking a ninety-story plunge to the base of the palace below.

  Well fuck.

  Jazz by now was all too familiar with what a telekinetic push feels like. And there was no doubt in his mind a psionic from behind did just that—launched him out the window with his or her mind. The sight of the ground got bigger and bigger as he neared it; the freezing winds from his fall rippled through his face. Impact was seconds away. He took comfort in the fact that death would be instant as he placed his hands in front of his face, not that it would do much. This must be karma for Jason…

  His body stopped shy of the land below and hovered like the wine Kroshka dropped a few minutes ago. Someone with psionic powers didn’t want me to die tonight. Jazz’s body shifted right side up, and the woman with red hair floated next to him. Her cybernetics was glowing bright white.

  “What took you so long?” Jazz half-jokingly said.

  She replied, “I wanted to make sure you fully understood who’s got the power.”

  Jazz’s body shot up into the sky along the tower, he was traveling faster than the elevator. Ninety stories were climbed in a mere forty-five seconds, a psionic barrier was cast around him, probably to prevent him from passing out from the rush.

  His feet touched back down in the solarium he was pushed out of. The chaotic sounds and sights of people screaming, blood splattering across the walls, bodies dropping, and magnetic rifles bellowing pierced his ears. The palace was under attack. Jazz’s coat hit the ground, and the cloak on his armor activated, rendering him semi invisible. He ran into the fray, armed only with a plasma pistol. What he saw as he peered into the ballroom was a setup of events that didn’t make sense.

  Hashmedai armed with Radiance rifles, speaking English, gunning down anyone who moved. None of the dead looked like anyone Jazz recognized, though some people’s heads were literally blown apart by multiple bullets passing through them. Jazz counted five attackers, and they began to fan out after running out of Hashmedai to kill. Like a ninja, Jazz made no sound as he tiptoed past shredded bodies and pools of blood. Stepping into blood would blow his cover, as he would be leaving bloody footsteps behind his translucent body.

  Jazz’s careful stalk placed him behind a rifle-wielding Hashmedai who had entered the garden he and Kroshka were in earlier. Excellent, Jazz thought and moved in. A young Hashmedai couple was huddled behind some trees in the distance; the weapon-wielding Hashmedai took aim at them, while Jazz put multiple plasma rounds into his head, evaporating it. His cloak shut down as the power spike in his suit’s battery couldn’t handle maintaining the cloak and fighting his pistol. No worries, the Hashmedai couple were glad to see him, and Jazz was glad to gain access to a stronger weapon, the rifle the now headless Hashmedai was using.

  To Jazz’s surprise the targeting screen displayed text written in English. In fact, everything on this rifle had English and Chinese text and numbers on it. Even the design of the rifle was…different from what he remembered from Radiance magnetic rifles. Redesigned to be user-friendly to a human, this rifle was Earth-made, 100 percent.

  Jazz returned to the hallway sans his cloak. If these rifles were like their Radiance counterparts, the electromagnetic waves from them will short out his cloak each time it’s fired because of the close proximity of the rifle and the cloaking device in his suit. This was unfortunate, as he ran into another rifle-wielding Hashmedai—probably heard the sound of his pistol vaporizing his friend. Jazz won the quick-draw match between them; the Hashmedai was now breathing through a few extra bloody holes in his face.

  “This way!” one of them shouted in English.

  Three sets of armor-clad boots stomped toward where Jazz downed his second Hashmedai while he ran back into the ballroom. He threw his rifle into the corner and then reapplied his cloak, vanishing into the darkened corners. The three rifle-wielding Hashmedai emerged from the darkness into the carnage-drenched ballroom. Their eyes moved from left to right in hopes of seeing Jazz as he scurried across the dark areas of the room. Whoever these Hashmedai were, they didn’t have good eyesight; they should have spotted a hint of Jazz’s distortion field from his cloak, even in the dark.

  Jazz looked up and around for something that could give him an edge, anything. He found it. Some of the appetizers from the evening had meat skewered on metal picks, makeshift daggers. I’ll take it, he thought and moved over to the table to grab them. Two metal sticks were now firmly in his fists. He held them down as low as possible so that nobody would notice the sight of floating sticks hovering in the air by a target in stealth. The three rifle-wielding Hashmedai continued their rounds of the ballroom, certain that they’d spot Jazz. Not one of them stopped to spray bullets in random directions. Must be amateur night, he thought and leaped into the air, thrusting his makeshift daggers through the eyes of one of the Hashmedai.

  The Hashmedai yelped in pain while his partners turned to face the blurry silhouette of Jazz running behind him.
A flurry of bullets raced forward as Jazz used the now blinded Hashmedai as a body shield. A few bullets ripped through the Hashmedai’s armored body and hit Jazz. Thankfully the effectiveness of those rounds wasn’t as strong, allowing Jazz’s body armor to deflect the hits, while blood from his Hashmedaian shield splashed across Jazz’s abs and chest. The cloak was pointless now.

  One of the two remaining Hashmedai fell forward, his head riddled with holes. Onatiasha stood behind him with a rifle in her hands, quite possibly the same one Jazz had tossed in the corner earlier. Thank god, he thought as Onatiasha’s reflexes killed the last Hashmedai with a ferocity of bullets that shredded his neck to pieces, beheading him.

  “Thanks,” Jazz said while he disabled his cloak.

  “We’re not out of this yet.” Onatiasha tossed the rifle she had into Zhinbryo’s hands as he stepped out from where he took cover. “Comm chatter states that there’s a second group laying waste to the guards up above.”

  “Shit!”

  “They’re closing on Y’lin, Kroshka, and Hasiv fast,” she added.

  Both she and Jazz yanked rifles from the hands of their dead attackers, arming themselves with them. “Any idea what the fuck is going on?” Jazz asked.

  Onatiasha lowered herself down toward one of the bodies of the rifle-wielding Hashmedai. She moved a fake set of fangs from his mouth, and her fingers smudged off what seemed to be face paint on his head. “The Whisper,” she said, “galactic intelligence agency of the Radiance Union.”

  Jazz lifted his arm to speak into his wrist-mounted communicator. “Veloshira, please come in. I got a major situation here.”

  Chapter 10

  ►► Port Shala, Morutrin Prime

  ► Morutrin System

  Phylarlie sat in the shaded area of the Vuanel Gi Talsyk. She wasn’t completely fond of the restaurant; the strange electronic music played there irritated her eardrums with every screech and thumping beat. As usual, her search for Noylarlie’s last-known location turned up few results. She needed a drink or two to wash away the disappointment for the evening, and perhaps a nice juicy cut of meat; the stolen credit chit she had should be enough to cover the bill.

  “The usual?” Kalis asked as she offered

  Phylarlie a menu.

  Phylarlie’s knowledge of the Rabuabin language was limited; she only learned it to introduce Kalis to human female cosmetics and hairstyling. That and Jazz came here a lot, thus making her a regular since the two came together at times.

  “Yes,” she replied.

  Kalis took her order down on her data pad and returned several minutes later with a colorless alcoholic beverage and a plate with poached Talsyk hawk legs, smothered in a light brown gravy. Jazz always insisted this meal looked and tasted like poached chicken legs. Whatever chickens were.

  “You think Jazz is enjoying himself on Paryo?” Kalis asked while placing Phylarlie’s order before her.

  “What?”

  “Didn’t he tell you? He was invited to attend the festival and headed out there.”

  Phylarlie’s heart sank while the rage in her now flustered face began to burn. “No…he did not say he was going to attend the events...”

  “Aw, he told me,” Kalis said with a smile, the opposite of what Phylarlie had on her face. “I think he likes me, though from what I heard, the princess has had her eyes on him for a while now. But, I think I got what it takes to make him look at me rather than Kroshka. Well, I hope so; he’s so handsome. What do you think? Do you think I got what it takes to compete against the princess of the Hashmedai Empire?”

  Phylarlie downed her drink in one gigantic gulp. “Another drink…please.”

  … … …

  ►► Dorcallo, Paryo

  ► Uemaesce System

  Chilly waves of water splashed across Veloshira’s skin, it was a wonderful and almost forgotten feeling. Bathing with your mate, an opportunity few partners had the privilege of experiencing when one of them worked in space. Taking on assignments in Morutrin was the sole reason Veloshira had this chance. Paryo had a space bridge that could take her to Morutrin in a few hours, and the journey from Morutrin Prime to the hidden space bridge outside the system was at the most, two weeks. Seeing her partner, Neilus, and her son, Peiun, only required passage on a ship heading to Paryo or Morutrin. And now with her own ship, she could be here whenever she was free.

  Speaking of Neilus, what had become of him? Neilus promised to bathe with her after they finished an hour-long session of copulation. At last he arrived; Neilus’s nude body entered the bathing chamber. It was pitch black. The only source of light was one that was built into the bottom of the bathtub, which resulted in faint ripples of light painting the ceiling above, on the sides of the tub, and on Veloshira’s body. Neilus sat next to her, submerging his body into the cold refreshing bathwater, and the two lovers began to embrace while their tongues began a sensual journey, gliding across the surface of each other’s neck. His cold, firm hands cupped her wet breasts, as she shut her eyes, waiting in anticipating for his next move. She wanted her senses to be completely surprised. She felt the water between them gently roll toward her as he got closer, and then the surprise came.

  Her communication implant beeped.

  An incoming message was being transmitted. Not the surprise she was expecting. She heard Jazz’s voice. “Veloshira, please come in. I got a major situation here.” She ignored it, and hoped that would be the end of it, because Neilus’s hands now slid down her body and on top of her hips, while his tongue slid down between her breasts.

  Jazz transmitted again. “Veloshira, come in, please.”

  In the background of Jazz’s last transmission, she heard the voice of a woman say, “Looks like he’s dead too.”

  Veloshira couldn’t ignore him any longer, something had happened, and by the sounds of it, more than one person ended up dead. And Jazz was supposed to be at the imperial palace. A major situation indeed, she thought.

  “Neilus.” Veloshira whispered to him, while trying to find the right words to use. “I got to go,” was all she could think of. Veloshira was a woman of few words in critical situations.

  … … …

  ►► Imperial Palace, Paryo

  ► Uemaesce System

  Jazz, Onatiasha, and Zhinbryo rode an elevator to the upper levels of the imperial palace. All three of them armed with weapons they weren’t familiar with; all three of them were not fully equipped for the battle that lay ahead. Jazz was the only one in armor, but lacked his mines. Onatiasha and Zhinbryo and were still wearing their dress uniforms. The walls of the elevator were soaked in blood, the result of three patrons at the party who tried to make their escape.

  Jazz spoke into his wrist communicator once more to Veloshira after he gave her an update on what happened. “So have you had the chance to take our new ship out for a test flight?”

  “No,” Veloshira replied in a straightforward tone of voice. Jazz noticed she seemed quite moody after he contacted him.

  “Well,” he said as the elevator doors swung open, “tonight’s your chance!”

  He ended the communication and exited the elevator along with his two Hashmedai friends. All three rifles were extended forward as they ran into the unknown, chasing an unknown enemy. Jazz took point at first, only for Onatiasha to shove him aside to lead. Of course she would. This was her chance to redeem herself in the eyes of the empress—by becoming the tip of the spear in this search-and-rescue operation.

  Onatiasha led the two across the hallway littered with the bodies of dead Hashmedai warriors and guardians, all of them shot to death by the same weapons used down below. “I do not like this,” Zhinbryo said with an uncomfortable look on his face.

  “Neither do I,” said Jazz. “Didn’t Radiance try something like this fifty years ago today?” Their trek through the halls led them into an observation lobby, an oval-shaped room lined with tables and sofas, with access to extra elevators. There was a large window in which a few
small patches of clouds could be seen below them, and the stars and blackness of space above. We’re pretty fucking high up.

  “I mean this weapon…I feel like a coward,” Zhinbryo corrected himself.

  Jazz grunted then said, “I hope you know how to use it, because—”

  Before Jazz could finish, four Hashmedai like the ones down in the ballroom sprang up from their hiding spot behind overturned tables in the observation lobby. Bullets sprayed in their direction as they leaped away behind a sofa—a sofa that wasn’t going to do much to protect them in the long run. Bullets from magnetic rifles were more than powerful enough to kill targets from behind a sofa. Jazz’s mind tried to think of a way out, but couldn’t. His old arch nemesis, PTSD, returned to share war stories he’d rather not deal with in a time like this. Jazz’s senses flashed back and forth from reality, to being in Afghanistan surrounded and outnumbered in a Taliban ambush.

  Come on, Jake, focus! Jazz thought, over and over as he applied different breathing techniques to get back into present. Finally, he was good. Afghanistan was pushed away and a plan was conjured. Jazz was the only one with armor and medical systems active and therefore the only one who could take a few hits without falling over dead…provided it wasn’t in the head.

  Jazz’s body leaped over the sofa and into the firefight. As expected, all four enemy rifles aimed at him and none at Onatiasha and Zhinbryo. He dived toward the ground, shooting what rounds he could in the process. He felt the impact of six or seven bullets hitting his chest and was certain at least one of them pierced flesh. He hit the ground and hoped for the best; he was out of ideas at this point. The four Hashmedai launched backward with bloody holes in their bodies, Onatiasha and Zhinbryo clued in on Jazz’s plan.

  … … …

  ►► Assassins’ Guild Pyramid, Paryo

  ► Uemaesce System

  Veloshira entered the fourth hangar bay of the Assassins’ Guild pyramid. Her glowing eyes were locked on Jazz’s and her ship, the Silver Raven. A young mechanic named Eiur stood next to it with a holographic window beside him as he performed a few system checks on the exterior of the ship’s hull. The checks would have to wait for another time, as Veloshira ran toward the main entrance and interacted with the access panel.