by Yakov Merkin
“Understood, sir.” The captain quickly selected the two groups, and left leading one of them.
“Now, let’s see if anyone is up here. Be alert, but do not fire unless fired upon.”
Dalcon nodded, and followed along with the remaining soldiers. But he began gathering his power, ready to strike at a moment’s notice.
They moved slowly around the living area, knocking on doors, with no success. All they found were locked doors and more gunfire on the walls. When they were halfway around, they received notification from the other two squads that they had secured their objectives, and there was nobody to be found, not even in the control center.
“They must all be down in the library,” Dalcon said, as the left the last room. What happened here? He wondered. He was genuinely baffled. There was an odd and a disturbingly familiar unpleasant smell in the air.
“Agreed,” the supreme commander replied, and began leading them to the elevator. They arrived to find the soldiers sent to secure it standing on alert, though more relaxed than before.
“We won’t fit more than six at a time in the elevator,” the supreme commander said. “The Second Scion will lead the first group. If there is no incident, the rest of us will follow.”
Dalcon breathed a sigh of relief; he wouldn’t have to argue with the supreme commander about going first. While it was unlikely that those few below would be a threat, assuming they were hostiles, the supreme commander could not afford to take such risks with his life. Even if there were no hostiles, the pirates could well have left a trap for rescuers. But what pirates would attack a simple library station? It was out of character. Hopefully there would be more clues below.
“Very well,” Dalcon agreed.
He stepped into the elevator, followed by five of the soldiers. As the elevator began to descend, Dalcon focused his power into his left hand, prepared it like a coiled spring, ready to explode at a moment’s notice. As he did so, his hand began to take on a faint blue-white glow.
The elevator door opened into a hallway, also pockmarked by gunfire, though less so than the upper level. Dalcon elected to remain silent rather than calling out to whoever was here; no sense in letting a potential enemy know of his presence.
They stopped outside the first door they saw; a sign on the door identifying the room as a study hall. An all too familiar smell emanated from within the room. Dalcon glanced at the soldiers, then approached the door. It hissed open as he approached, and he moved into the room, weapon raised. One of the soldiers quickly followed him, but both stopped as soon as they saw the scene inside.
The stench was magnified with the door opened, and Dalcon immediately found its source. Blood. A lot of blood. One entire corner of the room was almost completely covered in the blood of various species. There was no question as to what had happened here: A mass execution. That narrowed down the pool of suspects considerably. Most pirate groups liked leaving victims alive to spread word of them, and they knew that killing more would only make them more likely to be hunted down by law enforcement.
The bloody scrawls on the walls, however, were what gave away the culprit. It was a raid by the Red Reavers, a largely Darvian pirate gang particularly known for their brutality. They had nearly been exterminated through concentrated Scion action in recent years, but some small groups were known to still exist, though Dalcon had no recollection of any particular group being located in this specific region.
Just then, the supreme commander contacted Dalcon over his armor’s multitool. “What have you found?” he asked.
“A lot of blood, but no bodies. Evidence points to the Red Reavers.”
The supreme commander cursed audibly. “I though we’d ended them. Be careful, Second Scion. For all we know, the life signs could be their raiding party.”
“Understood,” Dalcon replied, then ended the communication. He turned to the soldiers and ordered them to follow him from the room.
Slowly, they made their way to the next room, passing by more of the sickle-shaped scrawls on the walls of the hallway. The Red Reavers would pay. This time, Dalcon would not settle for breaking them. He would end them.
When he reached the door, Dalcon checked for any traps, then approached. It hissed open, revealing seven people inside, engaged in what appeared to be completely normal activities; most were reading from computer screens or physical texts, often with a manual notepad beside them, all of whom jumped at the sound of the door. The survivors.
“Don’t worry,” Dalcon assured them. “We’re here to help.” There were seven of them; all of the life signs. Dalcon allowed himself to relax a little. “Are there any booby traps left by the pirates?”
“Pirates?” asked one of the survivors, an extremely old Tehlman. “This was no pirate attack.”
“The marks on the walls are that of the Red Reavers,” Dalcon replied. “It seems clear to me.”
“You’re being misled,” the man said. “Come with me. I’ll tell you what really happened. They left nothing behind, there is nothing to worry about here.”
As Dalcon followed the Tehlman out of the room, he ordered the soldiers to ensure that the other survivors were alright, then contacted the supreme commander. “Sir, it is safe. The life signs were survivors.”
“Thank God,” the supreme commander replied. “I’ll join you shortly.”
“Understood,” Dalcon replied before the supreme commander ended the communication. He waited with the old man until the supreme commander arrived a few minutes later, soldiers in tow.
“Uncle!” he shouted joyfully, and embraced the old man. Dalcon had to smile. At least something good had come of this.
“I didn’t expect to see you here, Garek,” the man said.
“How could I not come in person when I learned that contact had been lost with the station, Uncle?” he replied. “What happened here?”
“Yes, yes. We should find somewhere comfortable. This could take a minute.” The man thought for a moment. “The lounge should be empty now, and clean. Wasn’t any fighting there. Follow me.”
The supreme commander was silent for a moment, probably quietly ordering the soldiers to stand down. But Dalcon’s mind quickly returned to the old man. He itched to order the man to tell them, not to waste time. If it was not the obvious, then what was it? But he doubted that would do much good. Instead, he followed as asked, and when they reached the small lounge—which fortunately did not smell of blood and death, settled himself in one of the large, cushioned chairs next to the supreme commander, who dismissed the two soldiers.
“Where would you like me to begin?” the old man asked.
“What happened? Who did this?” the supreme commander asked.
“I don’t know,” the old man said. “I barely got a few glimpses of them. Any more, and I’d be dead like the others.”
“Who did this?” Dalcon asked again as his hands tightened on the chair’s armrests. . “Why did they attack this place?”
“Like I said, I don’t know who they were. I only saw a few of them coming down the hallway pretty soon after the attack, before me and a few others hid. They were not pirates, however, I know that much. They were way too professional, all uniformed, with precise movements. Didn’t recognize the species, but I never got a good look at their faces—my gut tells me they were not from Alliance space. I can’t be sure what they were after, either. They took a bunch of valuable manuscripts, and I found one of the research terminals active when they left. They might have been after information.”
“Then how do you account for the marks of the Red Reavers? The mass execution, the bloody markings, the poor marksmanship?” the supreme commander asked, running a hand along his eye crest.
“All a show,” the man replied. “During my brief glimpse of the assault, they were killing the security personnel. I don’t think a single shot missed. They want you to think it was the pirates.”
Dalcon wondered why that would be, but there was a more pressing question. “How
did you and the others survive? If these attackers didn’t want witnesses, they would have searched for and killed you.”
“When I saw an armed force attacking, I knew there was only one chance. I gathered whoever was nearby and took them to the reactor room, into the reactor chamber.”
The supreme commander coughed and sat up. “You did what? You know what that kind of radiation can do to you!”
“I know full well. But we were only there for a couple of hours, and none of us seem to have any lingering effects. But it was the only safe place. Scanners wouldn’t pick us up while we were inside, and they left the station largely intact as part of their ruse. When we came out, all we saw was blood and bodies. They killed the security and maintenance staff outright, then herded their captives into two rooms. One you found down here. The other was upstairs.”
Dalcon felt his hand tightening further on the chair’s arm, to the point where he was almost worried he’d break it. An atrocity. And no culprit. “Can you tell us anything about the attackers?”
“Like I said, I only caught a few glimpses of them. They erased all security footage when they utterly destroyed the communications equipment—which is why we sent no distress signal. They looked like soldiers. Black, scale-pattern armor, bipedal, tall, tails, large four-fingered hands with claws. Like nothing I’ve seen before. They came and were gone in less than two hours. The security forces never stood a chance. These aliens had a goal, accomplished it, and left, after marking it up like the Red Reavers.”
It was clear to Dalcon what had happened. It was basic military strategy: Gather information on your enemy before you attack, ideally make your attack look like the work of someone else while doing all you can to delay the authorities being alerted. Another question, however, was who this was. The only possibility that came to mind was the neighobring Revittan Empire, but they had made it quite clear they wanted zero contact with the Alliance, and the border with them was on the opposite end of Alliance space. This was something else entirely, and Ronner had likely come to the same conclusion already.
“You’re sure they didn’t just seem to be unknown aliens? Pirates might have been trying to fool you,” the supreme commander said. Of course he wouldn’t want to believe a war was imminent.
“I’m just telling you what I saw and what I know, Garek,” the old man replied. “What you do with it is up to you. For my part I intend to stay here, despite everything. These aliens won’t be back. We preserved the bodies, if you want to look. We stored them in an extra freezer. They should get proper burials; they were good people. But you won’t learn much from them. Just a lot of bloody wounds and plasma burns.”
“I think you’ve been through enough already, Uncle,” the supreme commander said, rising and laying a comforting hand on the old man’s shoulder. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”
The old man nodded. “I should get back to the others, see if any of them want to leave with you.”
Once the man had left, Dalcon rose to speak to the supreme commander.
“How likely do you think it is that the Assembly will approve a full mobilization?” he asked.
“You think this was a prelude to an invasion?” the supreme commander asked.
“I do. It all fits. If it wasn’t the Red Reavers, it was an expeditionary force. It’s been four weeks. An attack could come any day now!”
The supreme commander thought for a moment. “I probably could force a mobilization, but the process would be long. Even if it’s eventually approved, it’ll take months to get governmental approval, let alone implement. And frankly, I’m having a hard time believing this. It warrants investigation, sure, but where could such an army be? How would it avoid detection long enough to attack? And how could any one army hope to fight the entire navy plus the militaries of the systems that have their own defense forces once they’re mobilized?”
“Then we must find the proof necessary to convince the Assembly and the chairman. Station patrols in this sector, scour the edges of Alliance space. If you find nothing then so be it, perhaps this was just pirate activity. But if there is a threat out there, we need to know it’s coming, if we are to prepare.” Dalcon harbored no high hopes that the politicians back on Dorandor would pay proper heed to this, but they had to prepare. Every instinct he had was screaming for him to prepare for war.
“You give good counsel, Scion. I will station patrols in the area. And leave protection for the station, in case these attackers return.”
They got what they wanted, they won’t be coming back, Dalcon wanted to say, but he understood that the supreme commander wanted to hope that the situation would be easily resolved, just like most people. He also doubted that the supreme commander would push particularly hard for mobilization, despite his words. He would suggest it, of course, but not push the issue. After all, nobody wanted a war, or even to entertain the possibility of one.
“With your permission, Supreme Commander, I would leave. The First Scion must be informed.” And maybe his influence can help convince the Assembly that we should prepare for something big.
“Of course.” The supreme commander took Dalcon’s hand. “It was an honor to see you again, and I hope that when we next meet it will be under more pleasant circumstances.”
Dalcon shook his hand and nodded respectfully before taking his leave. The next time the chairman’s advisory council met, he would have to make sure that the supreme commander had done as he’d promised.
#
A few minutes later, Dalcon arrived at the small personal transport he’d used to join up with the task force. He unclipped his cape, folded it, and placed it in a storage compartment on the side of the ship, then entered the cramped cockpit. Fortunately, the ship’s cockpit had been modified to accommodate his horns. He powered up the ship and ran through preflight checks, then sent a request to the docking bay operators on the Lightspear to open the door for him. As he waited for the hangar door to open, he felt something strange for a moment. It felt almost like he was about to faint, but at the same time his mind was clear. The closest thing it felt like was the time First Scion Gendae had demonstrated his empathic abilities, limited as they were. This felt similar, but instead of a mere presence in his mind, it felt like he was being encouraged to do… something. Dalcon shook his head, and the feeling cleared. He had let himself get too stressed out these last few hours. He took a drink from his canteen as a reply came through from docking bay control, giving him clearance to leave.
As soon as the door slid open and the force field was lowered, Dalcon left the Lightspear and immediately set the ship’s autopilot to take him to the Scionate, so he could present the evidence in person. With an opportunity to relax, Dalcon went over his plans in his mind. Hopefully the First Scion would be able to prevail on the Assembly to mobilize, or at least convince Chairman Gasno of the danger. Of course Dalcon had no truly concrete proof that danger was imminent, but the last time he had felt so concerned was many years ago, a few months before the Daeris Uprising, and that had been without such suspicious circumstances. He had not thought anything of it then, and hundreds had died in the conflict that had ensued. As the ship jumped to hyperspace, Dalcon swore to himself that whatever happened, he would ensure that the he and the Scions would be ready for any threat that arose, and prevent the next disaster.
* * *
Executor Darkclaw brought the Tyrannodon Armada out of hyperspace just inside the Cytan system, where battle had already commenced. The ruins of a handful of geometrically shaped Cytan ships floated in space; victims of Darkclaw’s advance force of stealth craft.
“All craft not already engaged, hold position,” Darkclaw ordered.
A quick check revealed that the stealth ships had effectively prevented the enemy from getting word out, either by ship or by long-range communications, which they were jamming. The Cytan fleet was still protectively massed near the Cytan homeworld, the more significant of the two inhabited worlds in the system, as they attempted to
determine just what was happening.
Without a word, Darkclaw rose from his seat, using his tail to push the command chair back along its track, and converted the command deck to its fleet command configuration. The command deck’s lights dimmed slightly, and the large central area around where he had been sitting rose one meter higher. The floor hummed, and a large image was projected in front of him, floating in the air, with small, deactivated holographic displays to the side. The display showed the entire fleet, arrayed in perfect formation, as well as the stealth interdictors that had advanced ahead of the main fleet to ensure that nothing left the system. Darkclaw stood, donned his helmet and attached a small console to his right arm, connecting to the battle network. Slowly, methodically, Darkclaw flexed each of the four clawed fingers on both of his hands, ensuring that the system was properly picking up his motions.
Once he was satisfied that all was in order, Darkclaw quickly and silently ordered the smaller half of the fleet, commanded by one of his two direct subordinates, Praetor Keeneye, to take up positions over Critar, the less defended planet. The rest of the fleet then moved toward Cytan, where the system’s defense fleet was arrayed in formation between the Tyrannodons and the planet, apart from the handful of smaller vessels pursuing the stealth craft. According to the display, there were three hundred enemy vessels; no match for Darkclaw’s fleet in either numbers or quality, but it was still an obstacle. Not only did he know little about the capabilities of their ships or tactics, but should the fleet break and attempt to flee the system, it would be impossible to stop them all. Fortunately, emotional beings often took their feelings into account before logic, and would likely not attempt to flee—not yet, at least.
Darkclaw quickly began to select groups of his ships on the display and array them into a suitable formation to break the enemy force, utilizing both the advantage of superior ships and numbers. He arrayed the majority of his forces in an arc as they neared weapons range to enable the maximum number of his ships to open fire on the enemy without becoming blocked by friendly forces, and also allow his ships to protect one another from the inferior enemy fire. The rest, primarily the smallest, most maneuverable ships, he ordered to approached the Cytan fleet from below, to catch them in a crossfire, if needed. As his blue triangles approached the white Cytan ovals, Darkclaw brought up a countdown to weapons range on the display: two minutes.