Eye of the Tornado

by Kevin Domenic

  Eye of the Tornado

  Volume Three of The Fourth Dimension

  by

  Kevin Domenic

  *******

  PUBLISHED BY:

  Kevin Domenic on Smashwords

  The Fourth Dimension: Eye of the Tornado

  Copyright © 2010 by Kevin Domenic

  Cover Art: Philip Kurniawan

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

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  *******

  EYE OF THE TORNADO

  VOLUME THREE OF THE FOURTH DIMENSION

  Chapter 1

  "Word has it that Thorus is back in command of the Black Eagle, Boss."

  Truce shrugged as he put his feet up on Olock's desk. "I'm not concerned. The man is so blinded by his pursuit of Arus that he hasn't even acknowledged my existence in nearly a week. With any luck, he won't know I'm gone until it's too late."

  Olock frowned and sat, rummaging through a jumbled mess of papers scattered across his desk. "So long as none of his spies find you here," he said, unconsciously adjusting his cap. "I tell you, I may be in command of this ship, but Kindel has got eyes on me everywhere I turn. I doubt you're even safe here."

  Truce glanced down at the grey Vezulian uniform he wore and very nearly spat on it. "People know my description, but they don't know my face precisely. Furthermore, none would expect someone like me to simply waltz around in front of them if I was truly an escaped prisoner. Besides, we took care of the logs. Anyone who looks it up will see that Thorus himself authorized my release, and they'll be forced to accept me here."

  "I don't know," Olock said, shaking his head. He finally settled on one specific packet and began to flip through it. "What if he finds out?"

  Truce stretched his arms and folded his hands behind his head as he lounged in the cushy chair. The Falcon Mist was most certainly a step up from the Underworld. "If we work quickly, it won't matter. Have you found it yet?"

  "I think so. Give me a minute."

  While Olock skimmed through the packet, Truce's eyes wandered. The captain's office was certainly worthy of a commanding officer, elegantly decorated with fine paintings and carpeted with lush blue fibers that somehow managed to soothe a person's feet right through their boots. A wide viewport stretched along the back wall above brown oak cabinets trimmed with gold along their edges and fixed with golden polished handles. Olock's chair was fancier than anything Truce had ever owned, cushioned with thick maroon padding and equipped with an electronic heating mechanism for muscle relaxation. Starships of old never had much in the way of luxury, but then, Truce's last experience with ships had been many years ago. I wonder what else has changed out there since we've been stranded on Terranias.

  "Here it is," Olock finally said, laying the packet on the desk as he pointed to a technical readout of the Black Eagle. The rear of the ship on the port side was highlighted, and a complete detailing of the damage incurred during the battle was listed beside it. "There's little doubt that the Alliance was trying to destroy Kindel's ship. A myriad of missile and laser blasts damaged the Black Eagle so severely here that the fuel lines to the engines are nearly exposed. If you look here," Olock continued, turning the page to an overhead view of the damaged region, "you can see that the major fuel distribution hoses for the port engine are just behind these two walls." He pointed to the innermost segment of the breached hull where only two titanium walls of the starship's inner structure remained. "If we manage to get a powerful enough blast into that hole, it should break down the walls, ignite the fuel lines, and destroy the ship."

  "Regular laser blasts won't do the job," Truce noted, scratching his beard. "And any missiles launched would certainly be intercepted."

  "And our cover would be blown," Olock added. "So, I figure that if we can find a way to reroute all of the firepower from each of the laser turrets on Falcon Mist to be directed into one single blast, it might do the trick."

  Truce pursed his lips as he rose, his mind working to find the best way to exploit this opportunity. "The problem is finding a way to do that without raising any eyebrows." Even if all the power was successfully rerouted to a single turret, that much energy would likely overload the cannon's generator and blow the thing apart. A stronger generator would have to be installed. "Are there any turrets on the Falcon Mist that were damaged during the battle?"

  Olock nodded. "Several."

  Truce's grin widened. It was all too easy. The Aeden Alliance had unknowingly assisted the Kyrosen in bringing down one of the greatest tyrants to ever wander the stars. "Good. We'll need to get our hands on battleship-class energy generators. We'll install those into the turrets we have now. As it stands, the circuits on this ship are likely not set to properly handle that kind of output, but I'm sure I can come up with some kind of override. If we can get stronger generators into the cannons, and I quietly program each to route their energy to a single turret, we'll have more than enough firepower to take down Thorus' ship."

  "We'll have to move quickly, then." Olock rolled up the packet of papers and shoved it into his back pocket as he stood. "Crews are already hard at work on repairing the Black Eagle. To top it all off, Commander Enzulia seems to think he's in charge here, no matter what I say. I'm sure he's already ordered the repairs of our turrets to begin."

  A soft tone at the door signaled the arrival of a visitor. Truce and Olock exchanged nervous glances. "Come in," Olock finally said.

  F'Ledro sauntered in with his usual arrogance, though it quickly dissipated when his eyes came to rest on Truce. "B-Boss! What are you doing here?"

  "Good timing, F'Ledro," Truce said with a smile. "We're going to need your help."

  "I'd love too, Boss, but Enzulia is riding my tail," F'Ledro told him with a startlingly dismissive tone. "Olock, the commander wants to know when you're going to down to the engine room and start helping with repairs."

  Olock glared at Truce, the unspoken complaints about F'Ledro's insolence registering without a word being spoken. Sartan waved his hand forcefully, and the wiry soldier's body was thrown into the wall. "I am your one and only commander, F'Ledro!" Truce growled, stepping forward. "From this moment on, you will follow only my orders. Is that clear?"

  F'Ledro was already on his knees, an inch short of bowing before his leader. "As clear as crystal, Boss!" he whined. For the thousandth time, Truce wondered how such a weasel had managed to survive as long as he had.

  "We have devised a plan," Olock said, crossing his arms in contempt. "If all goes well, the Black Eagle will be reduced to scrap metal, and Commander Enzulia will be cowering
at our feet."

  *******

  The morale onboard the Refuge improved dramatically with the withdrawal of the Vezulian forces. The victory had been heralded as a grand step forward for the Aeden Alliance and dealt a strong blow to both the numbers and the purpose of the Armada. That Kindel Thorus had survived the encounter was seen as an unfortunate tragedy by some, though the commanders who had ordered that Kindel's fleet be allowed to retreat had come under heavy fire from the Aeden High Council. Damien continued to insist that it had been the right thing to do, despite the circumstances that had confined him to a bed in the infirmary, but Kitreena wasn't so sure she agreed with him. For someone who claimed that emotions had no place on the battlefield, it sure seemed to her as though Damien was letting compassion for his brother stand in the way of true justice.

  Slowly rotating her wrist as she made her way along the corridor, Kitreena shrugged the thought away. Whether or not Damien's feelings were a factor, the bottom line was that the Vezulian Armada was on the run, and Kindel Thorus had been scalded by the very flames he had fanned by allying with Sartan Truce and setting his sights on Arus. That was enough to put a smile on her face, something she had noticed herself doing a lot more of lately. Arus was a big part of that, she knew, but admitting that to anyone else but herself wasn't something she'd been able to bring herself to do just yet. And despite the fact that he almost always seemed to point out her biggest insecurities—he only meant to help, of course—she nearly welcomed his advice. She'd recognized the need for a change in her perspective long ago but had never been able to figure out how to implement such alterations into the lifestyle she'd firmly established for herself. For her, anger and hatred were second-nature. They boiled up before she even noticed they were there, and by the time she realized the need to overcome them, they had already firmly established their hold on her.

  In fact, it was those very emotions that drove her powers as a Morpher.

  The thought sent a shiver throughout her body. If she didn't learn to let go of her anger and replace it with something more positive, it could very well consume her as it had Damien's brother. Yet, if she managed to succeed in that, what would become of her talents? Common sense told her that it would be better to lose her power than to be taken to an early grave by careless emotions, yet she didn't want to give up the one thing that made her unique, an ability that set her apart from the rest of the universe, even from the rest of the Morphers. Properly harnessed, her strength could be a great weapon in the battle against evil, yet what good would it do if it devoured her as it had Kindel?

  She sighed as she looked down at the exoskeleton latched around her right wrist. Thorus had managed to shatter both the bones of her forearm and a fracture couple in her hand before he was done. One of Doctor Nori's nurses, a young lady with reddish gold hair and large green eyes named Fiera, had used microlasers to reset the bones, an uncomfortable process that lasted nearly an hour. Once they were set, the exoskeleton was attached. A bulky device to say the least, it was comprised of a series of metal rods equipped with bone-knitting energy infusion diodes. The rods were arranged to mirror Kitreena's healthy bone structure and fused to the outside of her skin both above and below her wrist. The diodes then injected a series of energy bursts every few seconds, accelerating her body's natural healing process. It almost looked as though her skeleton had been placed outside of her flesh by the time Fiera was finished. But the whole effort would be well worth it; her wrist would be good as new in about a day.

  Arus was right where she'd expected him to be, facing off in an impromptu duel against Doman and Rollock in the gym. She entered quietly and slipped behind the small crowd of spectators that had gathered to watch. The boy never took his focus away from his training, it seemed. Not that it was a bad thing; dedication like that would help him succeed in more than just fighting. He appeared to be moving faster today, reacting quicker, employing fresh maneuvers he'd picked up from his various training partners and working them into his own combat style in an almost flawless flow that turned his sword into an extension of his body. If Kitreena hadn't known better, she'd almost say he had activated the implant's sensors again, but she knew that he insisted on deactivating the device unless it became an absolute necessity. No, what they were witnessing was all Arus, trained and honed with the endless drive and determination of which there was no short supply.

  Rollock was eliminated mere moments after Kitreena entered as Arus' weapon lightly touched the young Svodesian's gut in what would've been a killing blow if they were not simply sparring. The floppy-eared fighter stepped out of the ring reluctantly, earning a few pats on the shoulder from his comrades. Arus' movements never halted, his sword swinging toward Doman in the very next instant. The burly man brandished knives in either hand, both of which met the steel of Arus' blade at least twice a second. To the best of Kitreena's knowledge, Arus had never defeated Doman in a duel. But today . . .

  The two fighters suddenly froze, bringing excited cheers and whistles from the crowd. Doman's eyes shifted down to his opponent's blade, and his lips curved into a wide smile. The tip of Arus' sword was mere inches from his throat. "Nicely done, Arus. Your talent seems to have no limits. You improve greatly every day."

  If Kitreena didn't know better, she'd almost think Arus was turning red. "Thanks, Doman," he said, returning his sword to its sheath. "But I can only learn what the rest of you teach me. You've all been a great help to me in strengthening my skills."

  Once the crowd began to dissipate, Arus' gaze fell on Kitreena, and he made his way over with a smile. She smoothed her favorite blue shirt and brushed her baggy white pants nervously as he approached. "I didn't know you were here," he told her. "How's the wrist?"

  "It's not bad," she said, bending it slowly. "The exoskeleton lets me move it like normal as long as I'm careful, so it hasn't been too much of a hassle. How's your training coming?"

  "Great, apparently," he responded. His glance in Doman's direction was met with an approving nod. "Got my first victory over Doman today."

  She smiled and nodded. "I saw. At this rate, I'm going to be no match for you soon!"

  Arus tilted his head back and laughed. "Don't be ridiculous. You're a far better warrior than I'll ever be. Besides, I don't know the first thing about defending against a whip."

  "Don't be silly," she said, flipping her hair over her shoulder. "Listen, Damien wants us to go talk to Muert. He wants to know if we can trust a Kyrosen."

  Arus glanced down at his sweat-soaked shirt. "Do I have time to wash first?"

  "Sure. Muert isn't going anywhere."

  Back in Arus' room, Kitreena sat patiently on the end of his bed while he showered. His sword and sheath rested beside her, and she ran her fingers over the dragon design embroidered across the red leather scabbard.

  "How are you feeling?" he called from the washroom. "I know Morphing usually saps your strength."

  "Doing well," she responded, careful not to look toward the doorway. "My body is getting better at recovering from the strain. Damien says that I'll be able to change back and forth at will eventually without any side effects. He doesn't think I've fully tapped the potentially of my abilities yet, but what I remember makes me wonder how my body wasn't torn apart by the amount of energy I'd gathered."

  "If I understand correctly, that's because you were the energy at that time."

  Kitreena scrunched her forehead as she thought about it. "I don't think so. If that were true, then how did Thorus break my wrist? My bones must've still existed somewhere beneath that light."

  "Perhaps you have yet to fully transform?" he suggested. "I mean, if Damien thinks you haven't utilized the full extent of your power, perhaps it means there is an even further change you have yet to go through."

  "That doesn't mean I'll somehow be invulnerable to broken bones, though. An Elemental Morpher is supposed to be powerful, but as we've recently learned, not invincible."

  "True, but as I understand it," he paused as h
e turned off the shower, "your entire body becomes something else, right? So if you're supposed to be able to merge with the elements, then shouldn't you become that element?"

  "I suppose," she conceded. Finally, she dismissed the whole thing with a shake of her head. "I don't know. I'm not all that comfortable with Morphing anymore. Not after what happened on the Black Eagle."

  Arus was frowning when he came out of the washroom, dressed in a pair of tan pants and a blue shirt with the laces below the neck untied. The sleeves of the shirt had been torn away, leaving fraying threads around either shoulder. He seemed nervous; she noticed uneasy glances from him while he stuffed his feet into his boots. It wasn't until they were headed for the lift that he finally asked. "Um . . . what happened?" he stammered, obviously wondering whether or not he being too intrusive. "On the Black Eagle, I mean . . . If you don't mind my asking, of course."

  For obvious reasons, she hadn't spoken to Damien about the mind-altering effects of Morphing that she'd experienced during the fight with Kindel. How in the world could she tell him that she'd considered killing him—for what, she couldn't even remember—when she'd been in her transformed state? The emotions that fueled her Morphing grew in proportion to her power, drowning her with an unbridled and unquenchable fury. "I am . . . afraid that more than just my body changes when I am Morphed. My attitude changes as well." Maybe she couldn't tell Damien, but certainly Arus would listen. He was forever supportive and understanding. "The anger that I've relied upon to drive my strength for the majority of my life grows to unimaginable proportions when I undergo that transformation. I lose control of who I am and who I care about." Emotion welled up inside as she spoke, bringing tears to her eyes. "I see everyone as a target for one reason or another, and I retain very little of my own personality."