A Greater Duty (Galaxy Ascendant Book 1)

by Yakov Merkin

  “Find a way up,” he ordered. Once they were at least on the same level, it would simply be a matter of maneuvering and going through walls if necessary.

  One of his escorts quickly found a large maintenance shaft. Dalcon went up first, counted three decks, then emerged into another dark hallway. A slight sound drew his attention, and he turned to see an injured Tyrannodon pulling himself into a nearby room, a pistol in one hand.

  Dalcon made a note of where he had seen the Tyrannodon, then continued onward. As much as he would have liked to help, Darkclaw was simply more important.

  Dalcon led his men through the labyrinthine hallways of the ship, attempting to maneuver around the Legion soldiers while growing closer. He could hear the weapons fire now. At first he worked around the dead ends he encountered, but as he saw the legionnaires slowly gaining on Darkclaw, decided that he needed a faster way.

  “From here on, we’re going through anything in our way,” he ordered. “I don’t care how it’s done, how much power it takes. Any wall or pile of debris in our way gets broken through.”

  “Understood, First Scion.”

  The next few twists and turns were without incident, though Dalcon did see a growing number of Tyrannodon, and legionnaire, bodies strewn about. As much as it pained him to see dead allies, Dalcon was glad that Darkclaw was doing his best to stay alive, perhaps even without any knowledge that help was on its way.

  Though he was getting used to the sight of the bodies, Dalcon had to pause when he came upon a particularly grisly scene near what looked to have been a cleared barricade of debris. The bodies of dozens of legionnaires lay scattered around the hall; some seemingly killed by explosives, most by conventional weapons. Opposite them, just behind a makeshift barricade were two bodies; one a Felinaris, one a Snevan. Each bore dozens of wounds, at least a quarter of which should have been lethal on their own. But they had held the line well, perhaps too well. Both bodies had been impaled on jagged spikes of metal, as if they were trophies. His own allies had done this. And who were these two? Friends of Darkclaw’s? There was something familiar about them, but through the armor it was hard to tell. Dalcon prayed—though he didn’t know to what—that Darkclaw would willingly surrender to him.

  Another check of the signals showed him that he was nearing Darkclaw, but so were the others. He needed a way to get in front of them.

  A quick search brought him to a corridor blocked by a collapsed ceiling. If his sense of direction was right, this would lead him in front of both parties.

  “We need to clear this,” he said as he gathered power. Once his escorts appeared ready, they unleashed a large blast of energy which scattered the mess enough so they could pass through after recalling what they could of the blasts’ energy. He would need a good rest once this was over.

  There were more dead Tyrannodons this way, Dalcon noticed as he sprinted, but these had been killed in the crash, by their wounds. How large had the ship’s crew been? How many were still alive?

  The gunfire grew ever louder as they progressed, and before long Dalcon was reasonably certain that through a still intact wall and the room beyond they would reach the battling groups. And not a moment too soon. Darkclaw had stopped moving. Dalcon hoped it was only because he had reached a dead end, but that still left him little time.

  Dalcon created a blade of energy, and thrust it through the wall. Once the hole was a fair size, Dalcon extended his felinite wrist blades, inserted them into the cut, and began to widen it as his companions did the same on the other sides of what would become a large enough opening to pass through.

  It took longer than he would have liked, but they succeeded and passed through the wall and what might have been a dining area before he burst out of a locked door and into a hallway, and crossfire. Not exactly as planned. Dalcon’s shields almost immediately dropped to fifty percent, and he quickly put up a barrier, which only further reminded him how exhausted he was.

  “Stop this immediately!” he roared. The legionnaires, who recognized him instantly, stopped firing, followed by the Tyrannodons a moment later. There did not look to be more than a half dozen Tyrannodons remaining, and barely twenty of the sixty legionnaires that had been first sent into the ship. By now there would be other groups inbound, but they were far off.

  “You will stand down, soldiers,” Dalcon ordered the legionnaires. Their ranking officer, a Tehlman sub-lieutenant, kept his rifle raised for a few moments, then silently lowered his weapon. Having a loud voice definitely had its advantages.

  “Weapons down as well,” he ordered. When the soldiers hesitated, Dalcon signaled to his companions, who both gathered power in their hands; a minimalist but effective display of power. The soldiers’ weapons clattered to the floor. “Each of you is hereby charged with insubordination. Should you cooperate, perhaps I will consider petitioning for a light sentence.” If it were up to him, the soldiers should serve full time for their actions, but he knew it was unlikely. Additionally, he needed a quick way to ensure that none of them did anything stupid.

  He left his two escorts to watch over them as he approached the Tyrannodons. “Executor Darkclaw?” he asked. The Tyrannodons, all fully armored, looked all but identical.

  “I am still alive,” said one as he limped toward Dalcon. He bore at least one serious leg wound, which was bandaged, and there were significant rents in his armor that indicated other injuries. He removed one of his armor’s gauntlets, revealing the stumps of black claws.

  “Thank the Ashmouth.”

  “I knew you would not abandon me, Scion. That is the reason we held for as long as we did.” Darkclaw sounded exhausted, and perhaps a bit dazed, but Dalcon recognized the voice. “Thank you for making it in time. My bodyguards. A Felinaris and a Snevan. You didn’t happen to…?” Darkclaw asked, trailing off at the last.

  Dalcon shook his head. “They are likely the reason you had as much time as you did. I am sorry I will never get to thank them.”

  Darkclaw sighed. It sounded very strange, coming from him. “They’ll be watching, they said. And they will not be forgotten.”

  The executor did not sound well at all. If not for his physical appearance and voice, Dalcon would have thought him to be an imposter. He had to get him medical attention of some kind.

  “Executor Darkclaw,” he said. “Should you surrender peaceably, I will guarantee your safety, as well as that of your forces here and any survivors that our found within your ship. You will have all the rights allotted by the War Accords, including the right to a fair trial and representation at said trial.”

  “I accept,” Darkclaw said without hesitation and dropped his weapons to the floor.

  Dalcon sighed with relief. The worst was over. Now he would just need to make sure that things did not get worse again. He sent out a text message, as he couldn’t reach the outside by comm, that the executor had surrendered and would need medical attention and conveyance to a prison. The threat of the High Lord was gone, Dorandor was safe, and the only person who could end the war was still alive. Despite all of the death and misery, this was a victory.

  CHAPTER 29

  Nayasar awoke slowly, the room slowly coming into focus, as did a familiar, sterile scent. She was in a medical bay; the Felinar’s? As the grogginess began to clear, Nayasar pieced together what had happened. She had rescued Felivas down on the planet, and made it to the ships. Then there had been the artillery fire and….

  Nayasar tried to use her left hand to rub the side of her head, which felt strange, but her arm wouldn’t move. Immediately, her eyes snapped to her arm, which she saw was bound in a gel cast. So she had been hurt. But that didn’t matter now. She was alive, and there were things that had to be done. She swung her legs off the bed and looked around the room for her uniform; she seemed to be wearing a hospital gown at the moment. She didn’t see her things, but there was a small closet on the other side of the room.

  She stood up, but had to catch herself with her good arm. Her balance
was off. Her legs didn’t seem injured; they must have drugged her so she would sleep. She took a moment to steady herself, then slowly crossed the room to the closet, where indeed her uniform and armor, battered and scorched, was hanging. She had to get out of here. Darkclaw was still down on the planet. She had to get to him.

  “Nayasar?” she heard someone ask as she pulled the armor down from the hangar.

  She turned to see Felivas entering the room. He looked good, with only a few medsalve patches on his face.

  “You’re in no state to go anywhere,” he said.

  “I’m alive, I can walk, and I can think. I can’t just stay here. Darkclaw is still down on Dorandor. And I have command of the fleets.” Nayasar stopped herself from continuing on. “How long have I been out? What’s been going on?”

  “It hasn’t been too long,” Felivas said, walking over to her and gently guiding her back to the bed. She kept hold of her things though. “About eight hours. You weren’t due to be up for another four, actually. You nearly died down there. It’s a miracle you’re in as good a condition as you are.”

  “So did you,” she reminded him. “But again it doesn’t matter because I’m fine. I want to know what happened. And don’t even think of hiding anything.”

  Felivas smiled. “From you? Nothing. But despite what you say, you’re not fine.” He motioned for her to sit on the bed, and Nayasar decided to comply. She was still a bit tired. Felivas sat beside her, and took her good hand in his.

  “When that last artillery round landed, you were thrown a good ten meters, fortunately toward the ship. You’ve got a lot of bruising more or less everywhere, a few minor burns, and a broken arm.”

  “I haven’t noticed bruises.”

  “Have you checked?” Felivas asked. “Besides, you are still under the influence of painkillers. As I said, you should still be asleep. The doctors said you should be pretty much fully recovered in a matter of days.”

  “Yes, but what about the fleet? What about Darkclaw?” That was what was truly important.

  “The fleet’s pulled back from Dorandor. Once the Legion Navy realized that the Tyrannodons were in no shape to fight they came back in force. It was not worth fighting, and with the Tyrannodons not up to capacity, it would have been unwise to do so. As for Darkclaw, he is confirmed alive, but captured. He’s being held in Traggia Prison, near the government complex. Here, watch this.” Felivas brought up a video on his multitool. A Tehlman female stood in front of the government complex, and was speaking into a camera.

  “During the Battle of Dorandor, the enemy flagship was shot down and crashed just outside of Eridel. We have confirmed reports that over one hundred Tyrannodons were captured after Legion forces raided the ship, including the Tyrannodon executor, who is currently being held at Traggia Prison and undergoing interrogation. We’ll have more once the acting chairman makes his address to the Alliance later this evening.” The video abruptly ended,

  “We have to get him out of there,” Nayasar said. “They’re torturing him!”

  “Darkclaw had a contact high up in Alliance affairs, the First Scion,” Felivas replied. “I highly doubt that Dalcon Oresh would allow Darkclaw to be tortured.”

  “If the Alliance high command wanted Darkclaw tortured, or even executed, how much do you think one person, even if he is a Scion, can do about it? The rest of the Tyrannodons might defer to me now, but they still believe the war will continue as it has been. Without Darkclaw alive and free, they will never stop.”

  Felivas was silent for a long moment, which Nayasar took as an opportunity to continue. “We still have the Harbinger. We can get in there and get Darkclaw out. He would do, has done, the same for us.” She stood up and began to lay out her armor and gear.

  “Wait just one second,” Felivas objected. “Even if we launch a rescue operation, you surely are not participating.”

  Nayasar glared at him. “I would not leave you behind, and I will not leave him behind.”

  “Nayasar,” Felivas said, resting a hand on her shoulder. “We can and will save Darkclaw. But you are too badly hurt. Please, stay here. You cannot do everything yourself. You do command an army, after all.”

  Nayasar was about to argue, but stopped herself. “Felivas, once again, was right. As much as she ached to go personally, it was another pointless risk, plus she wasn’t quite sure if she could properly fight yet. She had accepted that her place was with the fleet, doing the job she was supposed to do.

  “Alright,” she said as she stopped fussing with her equipment. She reached over and gave Felivas a hug with her functional arm. “Just make sure he’s alright. I never really had a chance to tell him I was sorry.”

  Felivas hugged her tightly for a good minute. “Don’t worry about it.” They ended their hug and he moved to leave. “I know a good team for the job,” he added with a grin, then stepped out of the room.

  * * *

  Darkclaw watched the Alliance interrogator stalk out of the room, and allowed a small, self-satisfied smile slip for a moment. Of course, there was nothing funny about his situation. Immediately upon his incarceration, Darkclaw had been moved to this solitary confinement room and strapped to the interrogation machine, which held his arms and legs apart, though he was fortunately upright. He had not seen Dalcon since he had been handed over to the Alliance’s judicial system.

  The officers interrogating him had no interest in hearing Darkclaw’s tale of how he wanted to end the war, or how he had worked to aid them. All they wanted was information on his own forces: fleet information, ship capabilities, passcodes. But they would get nothing from him that would harm his forces. He had almost laughed the first time they had attempted to use electric shocks to coerce him. The one time the High Lord had tried to cause him pain for moments was had been far more painful than anything the Alliance could do to him. It hurt, sure, but it was nothing he could not handle.

  What he was concerned about was the war. He had no idea how long he had been in Alliance custody, since for part of that time he had been unconscious as he had been allowed to heal before the interrogations began. Keeneye would not wish to wait long, and Nayasar would not be able to keep him from attacking again should the praetor decide that the High Lord’s—and Darkclaw’s—last orders held precedence.

  Which left Darkclaw in the position of having to decide, once again, how to deal with an unbearable situation. He could attempt escape, but the Alliance rank and file would love an excuse to kill him. But he could not stay here forever, either. He was already feeling the effects of confinement, and knew that even he could not hold out forever.

  Darkclaw raised his head and looked toward the door on the other side of the long, narrow room as he heard shouting from outside.

  A minute later, First Scion Dalcon barged into the room, followed closely by the Alliance interrogator and four guards.

  “Do you have no sense of justice?” Dalcon shouted as he gestured toward Darkclaw. “He surrendered peacefully, and deserves full protection under the War Accords! I gave him my word!” So Dalcon had not forgotten.

  “Dangerous enemies of the state can be denied full rights,” the Talvostan interrogator replied. “And as much as your word is valued, you cannot speak for the Alliance as a whole.”

  Dalcon shook his head. “And you haven’t listened to a word he’s said, have you? He is the sole reason we’re still alive, and he is the only one who can put a stop to this war.”

  “So he has said. But we have no reason to trust him, other than your word—and the value of a Scion’s confidence has been shaken lately. Besides, the military believes we can win this war now. We destroyed their space station factory, we stopped them at Dorandor, and we killed their leader.”

  “Even if this war can be won, is it worth it to you, officer? We can end it here, now, with no more lives lost. All it will take is for people like you to swallow their pride and do the right thing.”

  “I disagree, First Scion. He remains where he is. It is
time for you to go.” The guards raised their weapons, and the interrogator crossed his arms, apparently satisfied.

  “No. I will speak with my prisoner,” Dalcon said, his eyes never leaving the Talvostan’s. Darkclaw felt a glimmer of hope.

  The interrogator was silent for a long moment, then gestured toward Darkclaw, and Dalcon approached.

  “I am so sorry,” the Daeris said immediately. “I had no idea they would be so thick-headed. Apparently even the testimony of the hero of the day isn’t worth anything. They tried to sideline me, citing stress. Stress! You have told them what you told me, correct?”

  “Yes,” Darkclaw replied. “They do not seem interested.”

  Dalcon shook his head. “Unfortunately, you’re right. But the people out there are, though unfortunately not in high places.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “I have, with a group of people loyal to me, set up my multitool to broadcast from here to every major commNet news station. You only need to say the truth; I will ensure that no one stops us.”

  Darkclaw began immediately, a thrill filling him. Some emotions made all the unpleasantry worthwhile, at least somewhat. “I am Executor Darkclaw, the leader of the Tyrannodons, now that our previous leader is deceased. And I rejoiced as much as you did when I saw him fall. For some time now, I have been working with First Scion Dalcon Oresh on a desperate plan to stop my High Lord, to end this destructive war. And we succeeded.”

  Darkclaw noticed the interrogator receiving a call on his comm unit, and he glanced rapidly at Darkclaw, then glared. “Stop! Now!” he ordered, and the guards advanced. Dalcon began to glow with power.

  “All that I seek now,” Darkclaw continued, “is for peace with the Galactic Alliance. For a chance for my people to live unshackled to a tyrant, an equal amongst others. I know this will do little to console those who have lost loved ones in this war, and for that you have my deepest sympathy. I was wrong to fight this war, and I cannot express how horrible it was to have to follow orders I abhorred in order to keep my plot secret.” The guards were running now, firing their weapons—nonlethal, but they could still stop Darkclaw. Dalcon simply raised a barrier as the Talvostan shouted into his comm unit.