‘This way,’ Raegar shouted.
Milton crawled to the edge on his knees and pulled the trigger again. The recoil rattled the gun against the railing. Someone grabbed his upper arm, pulled him to his feet and guided him towards the retreating squad.
Milton found himself running. The guy with the helmet hurried next to him, but then dropped. The soldier screamed and rolled to his back, firing erratically into the air with a steaming hole in his left shoulder.
Milton turned and joined his efforts but his shaky arms could no longer hold the weapon. The gun shook and flipped from his grip. He found himself short of breath. Dropping to his knees, he lost all focus; the gunfire and screams muffled. All he could think about was getting a warning to Cenyulone, the place he’d seen so vividly in his dream.
A tiny floating speck of light drifted past his face. He raised his fingertips. The speck reacted to his hand and circled in the air. He looked up. More of them drifted about the room having appeared from nowhere. Attracted to each other, they gathered before him. Milton opened his palm and the glittering matter began a clockwise swirl.
The Human stood tall. He pushed his palm out. The stars flared and grew in density, moving together and spinning to a single point. A bubble of blue and green spread out from the centre. It dilated to Milton’s size. Before him lay the Tranquillian Composite logo, only it was not a logo, it was a picture of the real Cenyulone: blue sky, green rolling hills and the tower.
Raegar rushed to the last remaining exit. Two orange blades stabbed through. He lost his temper. An invader above demanded his attention. He ducked, rolled into an aiming crouch and returned fire. His pulse rounds pounded at its chest armour. He altered their course to its head. The invader twitched and fell off the bridge.
He turned back to his troops. Then he saw the anomaly, a circle of liquid light. Milton Lance staggered into it. His form blurred and rippled inside the bending image. The unmistakable smell of Cenyulone grass tinged his nostrils.
The Human returned with black, sparkling eyes. ‘This way,’ he yelled.
Raegar’s soilders looked back for orders. The commander was stunned. He blinked; then gave the command to follow the Human. Lance helped the wounded. The remaining members of his team crossed into the swirling window. Then they were gone.
Raegar grunted. He took up an extra pulse rifle — one on each side. His adrenaline pumped. The fleet commander turned and let loose on the engine core.
His trigger fingers clamped down. Muscular arms held the rumbling weapons on target. Dual streams of pulse shattered against the protective field. Ripples of failing energy waved over the core. Loose streams of electricity sparked. Panels on the engine column burst open.
Raegar sidestepped to avoid the sights of an above enemy. He crouched and dodged a blast from below. The field fluctuated. Tongues of flame leaked out, burning the surrounding metal. The room heated. Stalactites broke apart. Smoke seeped from the top of Raegar’s guns. The housing of the force field cracked open. Raegar bolted, taking the plunge into the swirling circle. His feet landed on soft grass.
‘Stay back,’ he yelled. The four survivors had already gained a distance.
Raegar cleared the searing heat and turned back to the collapsing hole. He could make out the opposite end of the bridge. The invaders broke through the door and sprinted ahead. They burst into flames. The window shrunk. Specks of light dispersed off its rim. As the engine room brightened to an intense white glare, the portal shut, expelling a tuft of purple flame into Cenyulone’s atmosphere.
Milton clutched his head and screamed. His body had a pulsing, sharp sting that refused to cease. He twisted and squirmed on the spot. His eyes shot wide and he howled at the sky. His vision shook; the distant tower vibrated. His head twitched unnaturally to the tune of a screeching in his ear. Hot tears and sweat streamed down his face. He wanted to die. His heartbeat turned over like a machine.
‘I will live,’ he uttered through gritted teeth. Everything went black.
Twenty-two
Milton wandered some distance from the group. He clutched his head in both hands and screamed. Then his voice suddenly cut and his arms dropped. He collapsed face-down on the grass.
‘Call for medical pick up,’ Raegar grunted, dropping his guns. He pulled the pin on a beacon canister and threw it towards the level ground. A fluorescent yellow gas gushed from its valve and carried with the wind.
He went to the boy and rolled him over. No direct hits, but the Human had appeared to be in great pain. Raegar now had doubts about whether Milton was Human at all. He’d never seen one with black eyes. Raegar knelt and placed a finger on his neck. Milton’s vitals seemed to be in order; his blood pumped, he drew breath but body temperature was unusually high.
Raegar looked towards his three surviving soldiers, whom he had only met moments ago in the chaos of the invasion. The one with the shoulder wound peeled off his helmet, revealing his furry red head. He yelled coordinates into a transmitter. A voice came back, confirming dropship dispatch. The blue lady treated the young green one with an injection to dull the pain. Green bit down on a wad of cloth and screamed. His chest plate had melted into his wound. The only thing she could do for him before the transport arrived was to pin him down. Any movement was an aggravation risk.
Raegar looked back to the tower of the overseers. A mere quanut ago he was halfway across the galaxy. Not only that, he had travelled to Cenyulone instantly. He checked his body. His insides seemed to be in place, despite having crossed such a vast distance in less than a spuckon. He remembered what the kid had said. Warpholes. A dense feeling came over him. Milton had told him the enemy was going to use this technology. If that were true, and a warphole could emerge on the outskirts of the city, then Cenyulone was unprepared. An attack could come at any moment.
The sky crackled. The dropship flared its thrusters in the distance. The ship angled towards the marker gas and slowed overhead. The four wings along its body had magnetic turbines built into each. Its left thrusters fired a burst of energy and the transport inched to the side. The vertical fins swivelled and it turned to circle the group. Heated wind rippled the grass. Raegar winced. The transport lowered, rotating to align the rear hatch with the wounded. The landing skid lowered and the ship touched down.
The rear hatch flipped out, with the lower half of the door forming a ramp. Two armoured combatants bearing black and red colours descended with a hovering stretcher each. They broke off to aid Raegar’s troops. One of them helped the blue lady lift the wounded soldier to the lowered stretcher. The other approached Milton.
Commander Leroy then appeared. He descended the ramp with hands behind his back and a slight side swing to his boots. He fastened a button on his coat and puffed out his chest, inspecting the sight as he wandered over to Raegar.
‘What do we have here?’ he said. ‘The fugitive?’
Leroy’s soilder lowered the stretcher next to the Human. He slung his rifle to his back and helped Raegar hoist Milton onto the unit. The screen crackled on and his medical properties swam down the side of it. The computer confirmed Milton’s species and showed erratic vital readings. His heartbeat had levelled at a rapid turnover and yet his temperature was normal.
‘Cenyulone is in danger,’ Raegar briefed. ‘The command centre on Poria was attacked by an unknown force. This Human seems to know about them. He must be brought to consciousness as soon as possible.’
Leroy’s commando adjusted the controls on the stretcher and lifted it to an appropriate height. ‘I want a seal on that one,’ ordered Leroy. With the push of a button, transparent shielding extended from the stretcher sides and locked over Milton’s body in biological containment.
‘Can’t be too careful, can we,’ Leroy added.
Both stretchers were taken to the craft’s medical bay. Raegar ascended the ramp behind the blue lady. His furry guy with the shoulder wound followed behind, biting down on a cigar and lighting up with the portable blowtorch.
The two soldiers sat opposite each other in the hold. The hatch sealed and the ship lifted. Raegar adjusted to the movement and headed to the cockpit.
The two pilots, from Leroy’s Long Shots, gave him a salute. He leaned between them, took a transmitter and adjusted its frequency. He accessed a coded channel and punched in his pass number. Jhaia answered.
‘I’m calling an emergency meeting,’ Raegar said. ‘All commanders are to gather at the Ministry of Defence.’
‘You’re back on-world? What’s going on?’ she asked.
‘I need to speak with all available commanders.’
‘What? Now? How do you expect—’
‘Jhaia, listen to me. I do not know how much time we have, but you should trust my judgement.’
The other end went silent. Her worried breath blew into the mouthpiece.
‘I’ll send the alert,’ she replied. ‘I hope you know what you’re doing.’
He hung up the transmitter and looked out the wide, tinted pane. The tower of the overseers was locked in a direct path. The dropship veered between the Nimbus and the gardened rooves of domestic dwellings below. Raegar glanced up at the dormant hover thruster that stretched out over several city blocks. He paused and entertained a passing thought before heading back to the hold. He found his armoured soldier slumped forward with his helmet placed carelessly on the edge of the adjacent seat.
‘Look alive, soldier,’ said the commander. The guy did not move. The smoke of his cigar drifted up around is face. Raegar approached and lifted his head. His eyes had glazed over, unfocused. His dangling cigar dropped to his lap, having been snuffed out. The smoke rose up from multiple blast holes punched in his chest. Turbulence shook the unstrapped body to one side. The man’s helmet rolled and bounced onto the floor. The unmistakable charge of a Composite sledge pistol reverberated behind Raegar.
He dropped forward. The shot blasted the wall. He touched the seat with his top hands and kicked his foot, stomping hard into the assailant. The attacker grunted and another stray blast fired at the floor. Raegar spun to find Commander Leroy, steadying his hand.
Raegar lunged. Leroy pulled the trigger again, catching Raegar mid-stride. Raegar stopped. Heat burned into his abdominals. He glanced down. A black stinging hole excreted a thick line of smoke. He convulsed. His breath escaped him. He keeled over. The floor stretched ahead of him. For a moment the dirty grilled steel looked comfortable. He fell onto his hands and struggled for breath. The smell of his burning flesh flooded his nostrils and his heartbeat slowed. Looking up, he saw Leroy’s polished boots adjust their stance on the floor, purposefully, stepping under his nose. Anger welled. The Kharla snorted. Raegar kicked to his feet and his arms whipped out. In a tangle of hands he disarmed Leroy, threw the weapon over his shoulder and knocked him back at the same time.
Leroy stumbled back against the opposite seats. His palm pressed against the face of his other victim. He pushed her lifeless head to the side and he stood upright. Despite being hit with a blast to the guts the old man stood tall. Raegar advanced slowly with clenched fists and a demonic look in his eye. Leroy had always made a note to never go hand-to-hand with a Kharla, especially this one. He spotted his pistol on the other side of the hold. He thought of making a run for it but Raegar’s intimidating back-jointed legs were tense and ready for anything. He glanced to his side for the lady’s pulse rifle. The diligent bitch had secured the weapons on the rack at the front of the hold; still too far. He glanced to the wall behind and found his next move.
Luckily, Raegar had a slow advance; the cocky bastard thought he’d won. Leroy waited for him to take another step. When their positions optimised, Leroy lifted a thrust pack from the wall and swung, flexing his arm in a downward hook. The heavy piece of equipment slammed against Raegar’s head. His muscle-bound, yet aged form toppled. Leroy kicked out his legs. Raegar landed hard on his back. The old man rolled forward to get to his feet. Leroy grabbed the straps of the pack, swung it back over his shoulder then dropped it hard to the commander’s chest. The veteran shrieked. Leroy had never heard the sound before.
‘You should’ve settled with the gun,’ said Leroy, cocking the improvised weapon over his shoulder again. ‘Would’ve been less painful than this.’
Leroy swung. As the pack arched over his head, a Kharla foot kicked him in the groin. His hands slipped over the strap controls. The pack burst to life with unfolding triangular wings and flaming thrusters. The unit flew over his head and bounced off the floor. The hit sent the heavy piece of equipment into a spin and it bounced uncontrollably around the hold.
Raegar got to his feet. Leroy backed away, slightly bent over. Getting his bearings again he adopted a combat stance to finish him off. He lunged and landed hard hits to the Kharla’s face and wounded stomach. In the middle of his combo his uniform was snatched up by his opponent’s lower arm. Raegar drew him close, offered hard returning blows. Leroy’s face received double hits and snapped to either side. He kicked his knee and managed to push away. Then a lifesaving chance soared in from the side.
The thrust pack slammed into Raegar. The Kharla was lifted off the floor and flew with a bounce into the back wall. Leroy cackled in relief and went straight for the dispatch controls, slamming his fist to the button. The drop trooper alarm rang and he smiled. The back of the ship opened and Raegar tumbled out.
Leroy went to the opening door, grabbed the cargo strap and used it to lean into the crisp wind. His pilots had changed direction and were now headed into orbit. The great and wonderful Fleet Commander Viceon Raegar was but a mere dot, flailing to his gruesome death on the streets of Cenyulone.
Leroy caught his breath and laughed, touching the blood from his mouth and nodding approvingly at the fight still left in the old man. Nonetheless, he was glad good fortune had shone down on him.
‘I guess he wasn’t the legend he was cracked up to be,’ he said to the wobbling cadavers as he passed by. He closed the hatch with an air of enthusiasm, before limping up to the cockpit with a slight spread to his walk.
‘Did you see that?’ he boasted to his pilots, cleaning his face with a handkerchief.
‘Yes sir,’ came the obedient reply.
‘For a moment there I thought he still had it,’ chuckled Leroy.
With the hatches secure the dropship shot to the sky, breaking atmosphere and flying past the space platforms. Leroy looked over the Composite ships and stations in disgust. At the same time he felt immense joy he would no longer be subjected to the bureaucracy again.
His disdain for the Tranquillian Composite was not a recent occurrence. He’d been passed over for promotion time and time again. Jhaia thought he was reckless and had testified that to the overseers. She’d regret it soon enough. A man like Magnus Leroy needed more than a steady pay rate. He needed expansion and had taken upon himself to inquire into other avenues. Now he’d found an opportunity worthy of his skill and talent.
He made out his destination. The shape of the hypersat was two triangular pyramids joined at the base. About a third of the length from the join in both directions, arms extended from the edges. Attached to each were flat triangles, laced with powerful hyperspace transmitters.
The pilots cut the thrusters and the nose drifted over the airlock, a triangular snout on one of the flat sides. His team had already scrambled the security locks and set the door to automatic detection for construction vehicles.
Once the vessel was in line with the opening, the pilots activated the sub-thrusters and forwarded in. The entrance was relatively small for the dropship. The Weinians hadn’t thought of everything after all, not that his pilots would have any difficulties.
The dim lighting guided them through the tunnel. Hissing sounds of pressurisation expelled from the walls. The tunnel dropped suddenly into a large chamber with several landing platforms, many occupied by payloads of construction gear and building materials.
Leroy went to the medical bay and casually disabled the life support for Raegar’
s wounded soldier. He then retrieved the stretcher that contained the fugitive Milton Lance and pushed it into the drop hold as the rear hatch opened. The remaining three members of his task force waited outside.
‘The station is secure sir,’ the sergeant informed.
Leroy stepped out onto the landing platform. Reelai and two of the other Xoeloid met him there.
‘Greetings,’ Leroy smiled. The pilots pushed the stretcher down the ramp behind him and he presented Milton’s body. ‘There he is, signed and delivered. All we had to do was go down and scoop him up.’ He pressed the control to open the containment shield. ‘Is everything ready?’ he asked, darting his focus between the creatures.
‘Yes,’ said Reelai, inspecting the kid. Apparently he was the only one of them who could talk.
‘Good stuff,’ replied Leroy. ‘Why do you need him, anyway?’
Reelai checked the kid’s life signs, wrapping two digits round his wrist. ‘This particular Human has certain genetic abnormalities. He possesses a gift we once had. We simply need him to share it with us.’
Leroy nodded, pretending to understand. But his real concern was for the rest of the plan.
‘And are you sure this is going to work?’
‘Do not doubt me, Leroy.’
‘Okay, okay,’ he said quickly. ‘So in the aftermath you will keep your word, right?’
‘When the invasion is complete, you shall possess rift gate technology.’
Reelai had said it before, but this time it sounded extra sweet. Leroy fantasised of what a skilled fleet commander could do with such power. He would make his own rules. His piracy could easily surpass that of the Tyde. All would respect him, for there would be few limits to the influence and wealth he would amass.
The Long Shots took the fugitive to the control room, where Reelai’s colleagues had made the necessary adjustments.
Twenty-three
Cenyulone, the headquarters of the Tranquillian Composite, had woken to an ordinary day. Troops were trained, meals were cooked, equipment was serviced, and briefings were issued, then this happened. Jhaia sat on her observational deck above the central auditorium of the Ministry of Defence. Officers hurried to their designated places below. She looked over her personal screens at the chaos that had taken place mere moments ago.
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