A Greater Duty (Galaxy Ascendant Book 1)

by Yakov Merkin

  Darkclaw leaned against the side of the vehicle, collecting himself. He was not quite out of breath; it would take more than that to wind him, but the fight was still draining. And where were his soldiers? If there was a problem, why had they not informed him? He tried to contact them, but the emptiness of the comm channel told him all he needed to know; the Darvians were jamming all communications within the hangar.

  Darkclaw heard a heavy step over the din of the battle, and saw another Darvian soldier, planting explosives around the assault vehicle. The Darvian quickly spotted Darkclaw and raised his rifle to fire when a burst of plasma fire turned his head into a melted mess.

  “Executor!” called the Tyrannodon soldier. “The enemy appears to be interfering with communication inside the base. We could not reach you or the forces already inside the room.”

  “What happened?” Darkclaw asked.

  “Immediately before the bulk of our force entered the hangar we came under heavy attack. There was no choice but to eliminate the entire attacking force before we could return to our offensive here.”

  “Understood,” Darkclaw replied. He suspected that at least some of the soldiers had fallen victim to the uncontrollable rage, as the captains had during the battle over Algen. Was something broken within the whole species? He would have to report this to the High Lord, who would likely not be pleased. “See to it that all forces engage the enemy here,” he ordered. “They are to protect the heavy assault vehicles at all cost.”

  “Understood, Executor,” the soldier replied, then took off at a run back through the smoke.

  Darkclaw recovered his weapons, then resumed his firing position as the welcome sound of his own forces firing added to the already deafening sounds of battle. More than ever, Darkclaw was grateful for his armor’s noise filtering systems.

  Fortunately, it seemed that enough Tyrannodons had made it into the room before those outside had been attacked that the Darvian advance had been stopped, the enemy taking cover behind the scattered debris and cargo crates across the room.

  Darkclaw moved out from the protection of the vehicle and led the attack, firing at the entrenched Darvians, then deployed a portable shield generator that had been captured on Algen, which created a large, ovoid shield suitable for taking cover behind. He took a moment to survey the battlefield as the fighting devolved into a slower paced game of skill, each side trying to find the right moments to fire from the safety of their cover at the enemy.

  Two of the Darvian ships were already gone, escaped into the launch tunnel, and two more were shutting their loading doors. A quick scan showed that the shield protecting the transports was still at half strength. Darkclaw shouted for his forces to advance; there was no choice if they were to stop the escape. He watched as the satisfying explosions of heavy weapons took out whole sections of Darvians along with their protection, then noted that his protective shield, which had switched to its backup battery, had begun to glow red, a sign that it was close to failing again. Darkclaw used the battle network, which was fortunately still functioning, to summon a unit to his position. The still active shield generator was lifted off the ground by a blast and Darkclaw’s armor began to warn that his shields were dangerously low, worn down by a few glancing hits from a nearby Darvian before the soldier was killed by Darkclaw’s forces.

  Darkclaw quickly came under attack again, immediately returned fire, and saw that his new assailant was a Scion, one of the extremely dangerous, government controlled operatives that “kept the peace” within the Alliance. As Darkclaw returned fire, he saw seven more of the distinctly white-armored warriors emerging from behind the shield. How had he missed them earlier?

  The Scions were advancing steadily as a single unit, headed toward the vehicles. Before Darkclaw could even give an order, the Scions began tearing through his forces on a direct path to the vehicles, and Darkclaw himself. They moved as a single sphere of light, deftly manipulating the blue-white energy they generated to both protect themselves and lash out at the Tyrannodons unlucky enough to be in their path. Every few seconds, one of the Scions would press a button on their neck armor, which would feed them the water that somehow allowed them to access their power. They would eventually run out of power, of course, but not before they accomplished their goal.

  Darkclaw immediately sent an order for all forces apart from the heavy vehicles to concentrate on the Scions, as he himself began spraying automatic fire at the approaching group. It only took a few seconds for the orders to be received and carried out, but the Scions had plenty of time to tear through almost two dozen Tyrannodons that were in their path, finally stopping as the entire Tyrannodon infantry force overwhelmed them with weapons fire. Sure enough, the Scions’ barrier could not deal with such an increased volume of fire, and one at either end of the group were almost immediately brought down, their armor blackened and smoking.

  If the new development had any psychological impact on the Scions, they did not show it. They silently broke into groups of two, white-blue ribbons of energy flying from their wrists and into the nearest wall or piece of cover before rapidly retracting, pulling the Scion forward.

  Darkclaw immediately tracked the path of the pair still headed in his direction. He ordered two battalions to his position and fired on the two Scions. They seemed ready, however, and altered their flight path as they opened fire with their own weapons, heavy sidearms, and fired new energy ribbons at Darkclaw.

  As harmless as the ribbons looked, Darkclaw had seen their effect on too many others, and rolled to the side as the ribbons passed through where he had been standing, embedding themselves several centimeters deep into the assault vehicle’s armor, and Darkclaw dropped a primed grenade where he had been standing.

  The Scions had been approaching too quickly to register and adapt to the threat, and landed just as the grenade went off. Their shields glowed brightly as they took the full impact of the explosion, but they did not pause.

  The shorter of the two Scions, most likely a Tehlman, charged Darkclaw while the second, a Daeris by the long, curved horns that protruded from his transparent, blue-visored helmet, fired at the Tyrannodon soldiers closing in on them as he created a blade of energy in his free hand. He began using the blade to cut into the assault vehicle while also maintaining a barrier against the oncoming weapons fire.

  Darkclaw was only able to fire a few more shots before the Tehlman Scion flung a pair of ribbons, far narrower and simpler than those he had used previously, at Darkclaw.

  Darkclaw used his rifle to redirect one ribbon, dropping it as the ribbon cut into the metal, and swerved out of the path of the second. But both quickly changed course, aimed at Darkclaw once again. Simply wearing the Scion down would not work.

  Darkclaw reacted with what could have been called a foolish, instinctive move: He tried to redirect the ribbons with his hands, the durable claws forward.

  As the black claws made contact with the energy ribbons, they cut through them as easily as the ribbons had cut through weapons and armor. The sections of ribbon that were no longer connected to the Scion winked out of existence, while the remainders snapped back into the Scion’s hands.

  This gave the Tehlman pause for the first time Darkclaw had seen, and he seized the moment, leaping at the Scion who too late attempted to both use his power and extend a long blade from his wrist, both of which Darkclaw cut through on the way to the Scion’s neck.

  The Daeris Scion dropped his barrier as the Tehlman Scion collapsed, blood streaming from the empty gashes that had been neck and armor, and charged Darkclaw, shouting loud enough to be heard over the sounds of the battle.

  The Scion quickly closed with Darkclaw, wisely keeping Darkclaw between him and the Tyrannodon forces, though it in turn protected Darkclaw from the remaining Darvians. Darkclaw kept his hands up, waiting for the Scion to make the first move, both because he had time on his side—his own forces were steadily wiping out the remains of the Darvian attack group and circling around the S
cion—and because Darkclaw was wary. Daeris were well known for their biologically produced fire which, when combined with the Scion’s imicry power, would be extremely dangerous.

  But there was no sign of the fire as the Scion attacked, swinging an energy ribbon like a whip and slashing with his wrist blade. Darkclaw met ribbon with claw and the blade with the remaining piece of his wrist blade, still extended from his right gauntlet as he struck. Claws sliced cleanly through the ribbon while the Scion’s blade cut though Darkclaw’s—it must have been made of felinite—and both of them stumbled into each other, holding the other’s deadly, innate weapons at bay. For the briefest moment their gazes locked, and Darkclaw could see the bright orange eyes of his adversary through the Scion’s visor. His desire to kill the Daeris wavered for a split second.

  Then the Scion staggered as he took several shots in the back, all absorbed by his shield, as Darkclaw’s forces finally had a clear shot.

  The Scion immediately disengaged, putting up a barrier and using two energy ribbons, their ends claw shaped, Darkclaw noted, to launch himself into the air, letting the barrier absorb fire as another pair of ribbons lodged in the floor just in from of the still standing, if clearly weakening, shield. The Scion shot across the room, landing just before the shield, then ran though, toward one of the four ships protected behind it.

  Only four ships.

  “Fire everything at the shield!” Darkclaw ordered, “Ignore all else!” But it was already a failed cause, he noted, as the Daeris Scion leaped aboard one of the ships, and two lifted off and sped to safety through the tunnel. The Darvians had salvaged a small victory, just as they had in the battle over the planet.

  A few seconds later the shield finally fell, just as the last two ships were lifting off, just as the last remaining Darvian defenders were slaughtered.

  “Concentrate fire on the ships!” Darkclaw ordered, hoping to salvage something from this. Both entered the tunnel as the heavy assault vehicles aimed and fired, catching the last ship just as in entered the tunnel, destroying its engines and sending it careening into the tunnel wall, where it exploded.

  Darkclaw stopped midstride and kicked a discarded plasma cartridge, sending it clattering across the rapidly quieting room.

  A stupid action. Despite the heavy casualties and the escape of some hundreds of Darvians from the base, along with the surviving Scions, the day was won, a decisive victory against a worthy adversary. The Darvian fleet was completely wiped out, their armies devastated. Those hundreds, or even thousands, would not make a significant difference.

  A sound to his left drew Darkclaw’s complete attention, having had his fill of surprises for one day. He followed the sound and found the remains of an improvised fortification, a short wall of heavy crates and various pieces of equipment, with the bodies of its defenders still behind it, where heavy weapons fire had gone through their cover and struck the entire group.

  It only took a second more to pinpoint the source of the sound. A Darvian, wounded but still moving, groaning as he tried to drag himself from the bodies of his larger comrades. Where to, Darkclaw could not guess.

  Darkclaw drew his battered sidearm and aimed it at the head of the Darvian, who was still unaware of his presence. Shooting the Darvian would be the quick, merciful thing to do. If the Darvian was not already dying of his wounds, Darkclaw’s own no-prisoners policy would be the end of the soldier.

  But as he watched the soldier groaning and straining to pull himself from the bloody mess, Darkclaw found that he simply could not pull the trigger. Too many had died that day already, and many more still would. The Darvian deserved whatever time he had left, however short and unpleasant it might be.

  Nayasar had been right. Despite his increasing emotional capacity, Darkclaw still did not care about the lives of his soldiers. Over fifty thousand Tyrannodons had perished during the battle over Darvia, and already thousands more had on the ground.

  Yet here he was showing mercy to a Darvian after taking many actions to save Felinaris lives—at the cost of the lives of his own soldiers—and he had yet to feel a thing after sending so many of his soldiers to their deaths. True, they were easily replaceable clones, but they were still fully alive. What kind of commander did it make him if he cared more about other armies than his own, and only saw his forces as material assets?

  Darkclaw holstered his weapon and left the struggling Darvian behind as he again looked around the hangar, at the unmoving bodies of so many Tyrannodons and Darvians. Will this be my legacy? He wondered. Bringing nothing but death to not only others but also my own?

  Darkclaw shook his head in a vain attempt to clear it and hold back a strange, sick feeling. The High Lord had better have a way to fix him, and quickly.

  CHAPTER 12

  Unfortunately, the Felinaris ambushed Darkclaw before he could speak to the High Lord, requesting he attend a ceremony honoring their fallen soldiers on Felinar. With little strength to argue after the battle, and not ignorable empathy over the huge losses at Darvia, Darkclaw consented.

  So he sat through the entire two hours of eulogies and prayers, all spoken in Felinari. Darkclaw had a translation device, but he chose to leave it off. He didn’t want to feel more guilty for what was to come than he already did, something that was more difficult than it should have been as a slide show ran throughout the ceremony, depicting faces of the dead—so many were young, with hundreds more years ahead of them, ended abruptly because of a tactical error. This was what he had truly brought the Felinaris people. Not justice, only more death.

  Even without understanding a word, however, the ceremony on its own was curiously moving, a strange combination of emotions being expressed: sadness, faith, pride, and understanding, among others. He had been able to glean as much simply by the tone of voice of the various speakers, a skill he was only now able to utilize. Nayasar, as per usual, was the easiest to read.

  Instead, Darkclaw examined the prayer room. Unlike the tiny, ramshackle room on the Felinar, this one, located in Aliyasen, the planet Felinar’s capitol city, was clearly designed as an aesthetically attractive building dedicated to prayer to the Omnipresent.

  The building’s exterior was an impressive work of architecture, several stories tall and large, topped by a single perfect dome. The entire structure looked to have been built of the same pure-white stone, which was blinding when sunlight reflected off of it. Additionally, religious symbols were carved into the exterior walls and doors, cleverly designed to appear to glow at sunrise, when Darkclaw had arrived.

  Inside the prayer room itself, decorations were simple while still clearly ornate; perhaps subtle was the best term. They consisted of verses from the Felinaris Scriptures imprinted in gold, flowing around the room, and large skylights that let the bright Felinar sunlight stream in, in addition to a far smaller skylight that sent a beam of sunlight directly onto the dais from which a robed Felinaris led the services. The only other immediately noticeable aspect of the room was its size. It was filled to capacity, with hundreds of Felinaris, soldiers and civilians, filling the long rows of seats on the main floor and the dozen balconies. The ceiling, over twenty meters high, added to the grand feeling the room was meant to invoke.

  Suddenly, Darkclaw realized that all assembled were rising to their feet. He did so as well, and stood silently as the prayer leader and the rest of the Felinaris recited a responsive prayer. Darkclaw considered reactivating the translation device he had decided to start wearing, but decided to leave it off.

  The ceremony closed with the reciting of the royal Felinaris anthem, a rallying cry. It felt like so long since Darkclaw had first heard the song, when he had perhaps misguidedly first approached the Felinaris with his offer of alliance. It took a great deal of effort not to recite it along with them despite not knowing its meaning, but Darkclaw could not—and would not—attempt to stop the feeling of guilt as he listened to such an old, proud, and deserving race declare their loyalty to each other and their deity, knowing
what was to come.

  Then the ordeal was over, and the Felinaris began to leave and talk amongst themselves. Darkclaw considered attempting a quick exit, but if he knew his hosts at all, it was not worth the effort.

  Sure enough, Nayasar approached him a moment later, along with Felivas and several other Felinaris, all but one of whose uniforms marked them as fighter pilots. The last was the captain of the Selban.

  “Thank you for agreeing to come,” Nayasar said. “I can’t tell you how much your presence means to us.”

  Darkclaw was tempted to point out that he really did not have much of a choice, but he did not need to give the Felinaris another reason to believe he had a sense of humor. And more important that he did not let on that he found her comment amusing.

  “I believe I understand,” Darkclaw finally said after a vain attempt to formulate a better response. “Unfortunately, I cannot linger,” he added.

  “Of course,” Nayasar said, nodding her head somberly. “You have your own forces to take care of.”

  Darkclaw would not have phrased it the same way, but it was true enough. He was just glad Nayasar had not brought up the extremely high Tyrannodon casualty rate in the previous battle once again. She had been pestering him since the primary operation had concluded, trying to learn why Darkclaw’s soldiers had seemingly protected her own forces at the cost of their own lives. Nayasar likely thought she knew the answer to her question. She had no idea of the real truth.

  “Before you go,” Nayasar continued, “there are some people I’d like you to meet. And they’d like to meet you too.” She gestured toward the four pilots, all officers, and the captain of the Selban, and older male Felinaris. “The commanders of the fighter squadrons that saved the fleet from the Darvian battle stations, and High Captain Natar Felikhav of the Selban,” she introduced.