The yellow guy half smiled at Tazman’s new lady friend with a conceited sense of victory.
Tazman took his hand away, blurting, ‘You’re illiterate!’
The guy’s smirk dropped and his jaw tightened.
‘I apologise for any offence taken,’ Tazman added with a tone of diplomacy. ‘Come back when you can spell,’ he finished with a cheeky grin.
The guy inhaled, his chest expanded unnaturally. His muscles twitched over his skinny frame.
Tazman turned back to Milton.
‘You see, Milton, that’s how simple it is. When someone demands something that’s rightfully yours, you simply refuse. They may argue this and that …’
As Tazman lectured, the yellow guy’s torso began to inflate. Bones crunched and clicked under his skin.
‘Are you paying attention?’ said Tazman.
Milton pointed. Tazman spun towards the guy. His skin had changed to a fiery orange and he’d doubled in size. The lumps down his back had grown into sharp hooked thorns. His jaw had extended to form a carnivorous snout. A long strand of drool oozed from between his thin, pointed teeth, almost touching the floor. He flexed his muscular chest and exhaled stinking breath. When he clenched his fists, bony mounds sprouted from the skin of his knuckles. The creature stepped forward, stealing any floor space Tazman had left.
‘Hmmm … Okay …’ Tazman said, standing and backing up to the bar. ‘Have the seat.’
He thrust the barstool hard into Thorny’s stomach. Thorny grunted and reached down with both hands. Tazman ducked under the slow-moving arms and jumped back. He reverse-rolled onto the bar, spilling drinks and aggravating the barmaid who started yelling at him.
Tazman sprang up with outstretched arms. ‘Ta da,’ he cried. His tail brought his last shot glass to his mouth. He swallowed its contents before flicking the glass behind him. The snake opened every frill and hissed with two sharp, watering fangs.
Thorny screamed and advanced with open hands. Tazman bounded across the bar, knocking over more drinks as he failed to hop over the hands that held them. Unable to stop giggling, Tazman ignored the curses of the other patrons below, one yelling especially loud and pulling a handful of beverages away before he passed, only to have them knocked apart by his erratic tail. Tazman’s shin hit an arm and a handful of tokens spilled out across the bar. When he ran out of countertop he leapt onto a table, causing another angry uproar with people pushing away and standing as spilt liquid washed onto their laps.
Thorny turned and barged his way through the masses. Most of them, the lucky ones, got out of his way. Milton stood up on the foot bar of his stool and spotted Tazman leaping from table to table, circling towards the club entrance. The simian leapt high and swung off a lighting rack, landing out of view.
Milton was bewildered at how little time it took for Tazman to cause a commotion. He stepped down and pushed through the dance floor, squeezing between sweaty bodies, looking for his crewmate over the top of the crowd. Thorny, however, could not be missed. The beast pushed and dragged others from his path, sweeping his crazy-eyed gaze across the room. Milton walled the side of his face with his hand and crossed to the exit.
Tazman squeezed out of the party and they quickly left the establishment. The simian burst out laughing as they passed the cat bouncers and merged with the crowded pavement.
Six
Fleet Commander Magnus Leroy stood on the Alkaxell’s bridge as the ship hovered on the outskirts of Lubric’s orbital traffic zone. The Alkaxell was relatively new to the Composite arsenal and its military features made it stand out among the docked recreational vessels. Its eyecatching design incorporated situating its major weaponary at the front. Its long elegant body was flat and curved down at the sides, creating a floorless tunnel where deployed fighters could accelerate to attack speeds with minimal exposure.
Mere harghs ago Orisurrection had been found obliterated; its particles smeared across the outer rim. No life was spared. Now justice was all that mattered. And it would whip forth like an unstoppable star flare, delivered by the cold hand of Fleet Commander Magnus Leroy, one of the first Humans to obtain the rank.
He looked down on the pleasure cruisers. If he had the time he would have his troops search each and every one. There was no telling what kind of substances or stolen goods were being smuggled to and from the planet. Lubrician border control was lenient at best.
His loyal crew, hand selected, had orders to prep themselves for every possible outcome. Leroy had found friendly fire an increasing issue in recent missions. Some of the so-called ‘allies’ had mistaken the Alkaxell for an enemy vessel. The cost of the misunderstandings, however, was theirs to pay, which was why everyone had to be careful. Of course, sometimes the misunderstanding came from the other end, but who was keeping score anyway? Collateral damage was a normal part of conflict. The important thing was that both Leroy and his crew stayed safe. The incidents also proved Leroy’s point: the more firepower you have, the safer you’ll be.
When Raegar had called in the Orisurrection report, Leroy was surprised the old man was still functional. The art of the ancient battles during Raegar’s time was nothing compared to facing the outbreak of villainy today. The fact that Raegar had remained a household name in a galaxy of new threats perplexed Leroy. But it didn’t matter. Leroy himself would soon be recognised in the same light, if not one far brighter. The overseers would be proud that he’d taken the initiative to swiftly track down and apprehend those responsible for the Orisurrection incident. There was no hiding now that Leroy was on the case.
That he would gain a promotion from this made perfect sense. Decisiveness and strong focus had given him exceptional results at the academy. Know-nothing critics had questioned his methods as wasteful but they couldn’t argue with success. A promotion would increase the units under his control and then he could continue to tighten his grip on the Tyde.
Once he had the suspects he would get answers. He didn’t care how much torture it would take to break them, he would find his way to the core of their little syndicate. After his crushing blow, Tyde crime lords across the galaxy would shudder at the mention of his name.
‘How’s that leech going?’ he asked his loyal surveillance officer, whatever his name was.
‘Just finishing now sir,’ the crewman replied.
‘Results on screen,’ ordered Leroy. The onboard computer displayed the filtered contents of the orbital traffic data file. A one-hundred-percent match of the suspect ship’s description was displayed across the forward pane. The enemy vessel was reported to be still docked in the city below. ‘I want a pod squad ready to go.’
His troops were on standby. Leroy’s Long Shots were so named for their preference for deployment in tight situations, allowing them the opportunity for glory and recognition among lesser peers. Leroy was happy to give them what they needed.
‘Sir, traffic control is still hailing. I recommend you answer,’ said Leroy’s communications officer and temporary lover.
He turned his head to her and smiled charmingly. ‘Let’s do it then,’ he said, drilling into her with his bright blues, thinking about how he would handle her on their next intimate encounter.
Ever since she walked aboard he could feel her gaze on him. The flick of her hair, the subtleties of the tone she used when addressing him. He didn’t blame her. He was impressive with his clean-shaven, chiselled face and immaculate haircut. He oozed status even when not on duty. His long coat bore his fleet colours: black with vertical stripes of red on the edges. It hung nicely from his optimised physique.
Wavelength graphics appeared on screen and oscillated in reaction to the voice of the nervous orbital traffic controller. Leroy cut him off mid-sentence.
‘This is Fleet Commander Magnus Leroy of the Tranquillian Composite. We have reason to believe a band of violent Tyde agents is hiding on Lubric. Their vessel recently crossed your border.’ He shot his index finger at his communications officer, prompting her to send t
he criminal ship’s data.
The traffic controller confirmed the transmission and assured the fleet commander a search directive would be initiated. Leroy chortled. The action would not be shrewd enough to catch Tyde agents; he knew past any doubt Lubric authorities would fail.
‘No!’ he said. ‘You will let us handle it. Under direct authority of the overseers we require safe passage and a dispatch point to the surface of Lubric.’
The controller protested. The sound wavelengths intensified, showing aggressive and nervous jagged rises. Leroy cut him off again. ‘I beg to differ. The Composite does indeed have a right to unhindered operation on all participating worlds.’
Leroy listened carefully as the controller went on to tell him about Lubric’s new security protocol. Apparently all foreign military forces were required to give an eighth zircle’s notice before commencing any operations. Leroy wondered if they bothered to get approval from the overseers before setting this up.
‘Foreign military forces? And do you realise that Lubric is part of the Tranquillian Composite?’ he said.
The controller started to yell. The wavelengths doubled in size.
‘Do not engage that hangar,’ Leroy snapped. From the corner of his eye he saw a subtle smile on his communications officer’s face, before she forced herself to resume her serious demeanour. She seemed to enjoy watching him taking advantage of his authority.
‘By order of the overseers, you will let us through. The suspects are Tyde agents, armed and dangerous. We will handle them.’
The telltale signs of primal rage appeared in the voice readout. Leroy turned away and addressed his faithful bridge crew. ‘Send the pod squad.’ The underside of the Alkaxell flared. The controller ordered Leroy to stand down, or the Alkaxell’s dispatch would be fired upon.
Leroy turned to the screen with a lunatic calm. ‘You don’t give the orders while we’re around, kiddo.’
Before the controller could object Leroy signalled his officer to cut the transmission.
The small pod ejected from the Alkaxell’s underside. Onboard, strapped to their seats, an elite team of Long Shots with black and red armour slid fresh pulse batteries into their rifles.
The pod closed on the orbital defence platform. The platform’s colossal defence fins swivelled and their barrels adjusted as they tried to take aim. But the Alkaxell had target-locked the platform with one of its own cannons. The mechanical petals around its barrel unfurled and lit. Visible energy gathered on them, fizzling and injecting into the weapon. The barrel recoiled as a sparking energy blast exploded forth and zipped over the pod’s trajectory, slamming into the platform’s forward batteries. There was no physical damage, but the light wave spread out along the platform. The inhibiting electromagnetic pulse washed into the system and cut the power conduits. Platform lights blinked out and Lubric’s weapon array halted. The pod cleared the wall and fell at an increasing speed to the surface of Lubric.
Leroy half smiled. ‘Now that’s negotiation.’
Tazman gagged. He raised a finger and turned away, placing a hand on the wall. Milton stepped back. The Freegu’s tail curled. He began a wet coughing fit. Glowing blue vomit sprayed out onto the pavement.
Milton sighed and waited, getting increasingly annoyed at Tazman’s antics. Then again he always wanted to experience new things; at least he was getting out more. Another party of strangely dressed beings passed by, chattering among themselves. Milton’s gaze wandered across the street to a group gathered around and watching a screen display. He couldn’t make out what they were looking at.
A light spray fell from the sky. He looked up. The drizzle was made visible through the city spotlights. Headlamps from hover vehicles turned into beams. Cloud cover above flashed yellow from the inside. Milton folded his arms, shivering in the traffic updraft. He caught sight of more screens dotted about the skyrises and he could now see what was so interesting: they all showed the same thing — images of the former Orisurrection colony. News had travelled fast.
Tazman finished and coughed a few more times, pausing in the same position.
‘Gee, I would have thought a party animal like you could hold your liquor until the end of the night at least,’ Milton said.
Tazman’s tail uncurled and drooped to the ground.
‘You okay, buddy?’ asked Milton.
‘Terrific,’ Tazman managed.
Milton glanced back at the nightspot just as Thorny appeared between the cat security. He started yelling at the bouncers but they remained unfazed. Two more of his friends burst from the entrance. One of the cats pointed with its sharp retractable claw and the three patrons scanned in Milton’s direction. Milton backed away from the walkpath. Tazman spat and inhaled fresh air.
‘Finished? Good, let’s go.’ Milton grabbed Tazman’s arm and pulled him down a side alley.
‘Hey,’ cried the Freegu. ‘I’m trying to puke here.’
‘They’re looking for us, come on you chimp.’
The alley stunk of humidity and rot. Vermin scampered through loose garbage. The ground crunched and squished under Milton’s boots. Visibility dimmed down the alley; he couldn’t make out an exit. Lightning crackled and revealed the path. It was full of overflowing garbage containers that crawled and slithered with a whole new ecosystem. The crevice seethed with warm, moist air. Milton wiped the sweat from his brow and scratched his head.
Thorny could be heard yelling at someone in the distance. Milton and Tazman crossed the litter and took cover behind a waste container. Tazman hawked and spat. A silence passed. Light padding of rain rang against hollow metal nearby.
Milton inched to the edge of the container and peered towards the alley mouth in time to see Thorny pass. His first sidekick followed and glanced in their direction. Milton froze. The sidekick kept going. A few spuckons passed before number three trailed behind. Milton emptied his lungs.
A brown hairy rodent scampered along the top of the container. Milton was taken aback. It stood up on its hind legs and spread its arms, revealing a set of webbed gliders. The small animal chuckled and sprang into the air, sailing away until it disappeared down a steaming drain.
Tazman held his stomach with unfocused eyes. ‘Recreation, huh?’ said Milton. Tazman simply shrugged. Milton huffed and started back towards the alley mouth.
Thorny and his two goons sprung out from around the corner and spaced themselves across the alley opening. The one on the left had swollen veins running all over his body. Muscles crawled over his thin frame as he patted a metal pipe in his hand. The big one on the right looked rodent-like himself. He snarled and showed his fangs. Tattoos and piercings decorated his front; matted blue fur stuck out from his back.
Milton spun; Tazman was way ahead, his wobbly form staggering into the shadows. The trio laughed. Milton followed after Tazman, his so-called friend. Squeaks and croaks rose up as the rubbish rattled with fleeing critters — and now Milton was one of them. He ducked under an overhead pipe and almost lost his footing when his boot met a slimy puddle.
He caught up to Tazman who was forced to stop by a high wall at the end of alley. The trio chuckled from the darkness, slowing as they neared.
Tazman huffed and spun decisively, placing a hand on Milton’s shoulder. ‘They’ve left us no choice,’ he said. He stepped up to them. ‘Time out fellas.’ They stopped. ‘Can you give us a moment?’
The blue-fur guy snorted something incomprehensible and cracked his knuckles. Thorny looked on with an uncompromising focus, water dripping down his cracked lips and heaving chest. He smirked and all his thorns flexed in a wave.
The muscle guy with the pipe flashed a set of fake, gold-plated teeth and stepped forward. Thorny’s hand shot out and pressed against his chest to halt him. ‘Make it quick, Freegu,’ he said, humouring his victims.
Tazman gestured his thanks and turned away, pulling Milton with him. ‘It’s okay. I know how we can survive this,’ he spoke softly, still a little off-balance. ‘Big Blue will be
the slowest. I’ll dodge past to distract him. You take care of the other two.’
‘What, and how am I supposed to do that?’
‘Use your ... you know,’ said Tazman bringing a clawed hand outward from his chin.
‘Huh?’
‘You’re flaming breath, silly. You’re a Human aren’t you?’
‘Humans don’t breathe fire!’
‘They don’t?’
‘No!’
‘Milton Lance?’ a new voice spoke.
The engineers looked up. Replacing the trio, a tall shadow stood draped in a black hooded robe. The shadow held the metal pipe of the muscle guy, who was bolting back towards the exit. A panting Big Blue was dragging Thorny, who was sprawled across the ground and reverting to his original skinny yellow form. Blue crouched and hoisted his friend over his shoulders. Shadow pointed with the pipe back down the alley. Blue gave a frightened nod and ran with his friend in tow.
Shadow dropped the pipe and turned back to Milton and Tazman, looking on from the concealment of his hood. Slender grey fingertips poked out from the long sleeves.
‘Milton Lance?’ it asked again. The voice sounded deep and relaxed.
Tazman’s tail pushed Milton forward, prompting him to reply. ‘That … that’s me.’
The creature eyed them, turning its face subtly. Lightning flashed, revealing large eyes and cheekbones that accentuated a large, narrow skull. No other visible features. The creature stepped forward and bowed his head.
‘My name is Reelai of the Xoeloid. I am grateful to have found you in time.’
‘Okay,’ said Milton.
‘You must listen closely.’ He raised his head again. ‘A dangerous force hunts you for what you possess. All resources have been put into finding you. I am here for your protection.’
‘Protection from what?’ Milton stammered.
‘There is not sufficient time to explain,’ said Reelai. ‘The black-eyed ones close in.’
There it was: confirmation of what he’d seen on the Reconotyre and in his dreams. Milton knew it. There was something more.
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