Annals of the Keepers: War 267 (Book 1 in the Gashnee Saga)

by Hile, Christiaan

  “Attacked? You’re not talking about the skirmish in the Ort Biden sector?” Voskal laughed. “I don’t consider that serious,” he shrugged. “We lost one ship against the Fossari dissidents. A mere transport that was less than half full. They in turn lost three of their secret bases and an illegal weapons depot. There are a dozen factions of similar renegades that operate across the holdings of the Domain, but nothing requires more measures than ordinary,” Voskal explained to Lintorth.

  Lintorth held up his hand to stop Voskal from speaking further.

  “I escaped the Sol sector as an unknown invading force attacked and overtook the Dalyth outpost. I have never seen their equal, as one of their kind almost brought me down today. Their ships, weapons, tactics and soldiers are all foreign,” Lintorth said.

  Voskal Lat’s gaze was expressionless. He tried to find the words. “What would you have me do?”

  His question hung in the air for only a nano-second before Lintorth spoke.

  “We need all our spies activated across the entirety of the Domain. I want all courtesies given to those who work by our graces to be called upon by all who owe us favor,” Lintorth said as he caught his thought. “Voskal,” his eyes narrowed to a point of pure certainty, “we are against time. We are behind in our knowledge of this unknown enemy. We must, at all costs, find what we do not know.”

  Voskal spoke in agreement. “I will use all at my disposal.”

  “Once you set your network in motion, I want you to rendezvous with me in the Yantek system. Do you understand, Voskal?”

  “Yes, Lintorth. I will meet you at the military installation there once my mission is complete.”

  “Be safe, my friend, and do not tell a soul regarding what we’ve discussed. In time, we will release what we know so as to keep the powers that be from making reckless and uninformed decisions.”

  Lintorth finished his transmission and end-coded the message to erase any lingering recordings that transpired in the communication apparatus between them.

  Lintorth leaned over in his chair to pull out the chair cushion from beneath him.

  He stared at it shaking his head. What was he thinking?

  Data Cell 7

  The Reaver helmets rested on their metal posts. Each mask was unique to each man on the team. The frontal chin blades had different shapes, lengths and angles to them. All looked like some forgotten creature’s tusks, protruding from the mouthpiece breather.

  The Reaver masks were each designed not only to be different, as to recognize each team member, but to add that air of fear for the enemy upon seeing them.

  The Reaver ready room was a soldier’s playground of technology and weapons. This is where the regiments lived, relaxed, prepared for war and recovered from battle.

  Just as Ramek was doing now, Kason thought, as he entered the chamber.

  He had just finished speaking to Droe Temin in the hallway before he stopped by the armory with Ramek’s regimental sash in hand.

  Kason looked over the red cloth that symbolized each man as an individual. It was woven together as a whole, as a team.

  Today though, Kason reflected, it didn’t look composed since the battle on Dalyth Point.

  The cloth was torn almost in half and shrapnel holes had pockmarked their way through the threads. Ramek’s own dried blood saturated one edge of the seam.

  Funny, Kason thought, as he ran his hand over the garment. It’s splattered with the blood of the enemy most of the time, not our own.

  Kason placed the sash across the soldier’s armor. Motionless, he stood there for a few seconds, pondering the words he said to himself aboard the outpost.

  The phrase punctuated his thoughts once again: “Towards none save my own, Kryth.”

  He placed a hand upon the sash.

  It reminded each Reaver that life is frail; human life that is. Just as easy as it is for the cloth to get frayed, so is the history of mankind, like a thread unraveling. Each thread is needed to hold the sash together; each has a purpose and only together is complete.

  Kason turned and walked out of the ready room leaving the sash behind.

  Never in a soldier’s heart should one feel the total burden upon oneself for the entirety of a race. Kason knew this but held on to the belief that, with his team, they could make a difference in human history.

  Which now presented itself anew.

  He began to think back on the Reavers’ Precept and the reason the Ordinance created them. The tactics and strategies of the Ordinance forces were built around the Reavers.

  Kason remembered his earliest training regarding how a small, well-placed group of soldiers could take down the mightiest of warships or the largest of space stations. If they could get a Reaver team on these assets without any detection, then the enemy would be concentrated on attacking just the fleet. This would allow the cancer from within to work against them, unknowing of the dangers that now lurked under their own skin. Before any foe knew what happened, it would be too late.

  Even though Kason’s mind was on Ramek, he still believed the Precept of the Reavers was the highest calling for humankind’s future.

  Kason wouldn’t allow the likes of Nevlen to diminish the Regiments’ successes, even as he headed down the corridor to the med-lab were Ramek recovered at this moment.

  Data Cell 8

  Several large glass tanks lined the medical lab, each running from ceiling to floor. The all-white room gleamed with medical devices and grav-beds.

  Doctor Solome came into the room holding a red vile of sorts.

  Ramek spotted her from his bed right away. “Now doc, if that’s another one of your concoctions you can take it yourself. I’m feeling fine. Much better, really.” Ramek smiled.

  “I don’t doubt you feel better Ramek, but don’t you worry, this one is just to replenish the nanites in your system. There are no major side-effects, so you can relax,” she said.

  “So just minor side-effects, huh? I’m relaxed already.”

  The doctor just smiled as she placed the vial in a slot on a console next to Ramek’s grav-bed. The system locked onto the vial and began to drain its liquid contents. The tubes running from the console to the metal cuff on Ramek’s arm turned red as the fluid flowed.

  “Minor effects. Right, doc?” Ramek queried again.

  Solome’s smile widened.

  Another voice echoed through the med-lab. One that Ramek was sure to regret.

  “Is that whining I hear coming from you, big man?” Jens Dryden said on cue as he walked in.

  “Why don’t you try some of this crap for yourself, Jens?” Ramek shot back.

  Jens approached Ramek’s bed-side. “I’m sure I’ll get my chance. That’s if I ever have a run-in with a Kryth female like you did.”

  Ramek reached out to grab Jens by his uniform jacket.

  Jens moved back.

  “Kryth female, huh? I’ll show you a Kryth female,” Ramek shouted.

  “I meant nothing by it, big man, just hitting you where it hurts.” A smile came across Jens’ face. “It’s good to see you again, friend,” Jens said as the two men grasped forearms.

  Ramek agreed. “Indeed, it is.”

  “So doc, do we know what happened to Ramek?” Jens asked Solome.

  She was reviewing a holo-chart while standing in front of Ramek’s damaged torso armor that hung from a stand near his bed.

  She replied to Jens’ question. “I think you mean who? It’s evident what happened to him. A large explosion detonated a few inches from his Reaver suit. The blast slammed him into the bulkhead; those were the effects of the cause, which is… a D-9 grenade.”

  Just as Jens was going to speak, Kason walked in the room.

  “I agree with Doctor Solome’s keen observation. It’s not ‘what’ but ‘who’ did this to Ramek,” Kason said.

  “Did we find anything with the suit’s data about this Kryth?” Ramek asked.

  Kason approached the two men.

  “His name
is Lintorth Sol, a Kryth commando. He’s a high-ranking official in the Talenth Sar legion.”

  “And we ‘knew’ he was on the station because?” Ramek voice was laced with sarcasm.

  “We didn’t. We matched the identification with the data core taken from the outpost.”

  Rolling his eyes, Jens replied, “Intel!”

  “We shouldn’t need intel for everything, Jens, that’s what good contingency planning is for,” Kason remarked.

  “I guess their commandoes have some fight in them. The rest didn’t,” Ramek said.

  “How is this guy’s last name spelt? S-o-u-l is it?” Jens asked.

  “No, S-o-l. Like the Sol system,” Kason replied.

  “That’s one hell of a coincidence, boss,” Ramek added.

  Kason now walked over to Ramek’s hanging armor. His hand ran over the dented and mangled chest piece.

  “We Reavers do not believe in coincidence. You two know this.”

  Jens and Ramek looked at each other with bewilderment over the last name.

  Kason continued.

  “This commando comes from a long military line. You see,” Kason moved to face the two men whose eyes were still wide, waiting for the answer, “the Kryth are a proud race with a heritage that goes back millennia. Their pride rests in their contributions to the Domain; contributions such as a great invasion or victory in war. Their traditions allow the act of the victor to take as part of their name. Hence, the last name of Sol. His great lore-father led the attack on our system and Planet two hundred and sixty-seven years earlier and thus the campaign he began and ended honors him. The name is passed down,” Kason finished.

  Jens and Ramek sat silent.

  Ramek was first to speak. “That kizard bastard.”

  “He was your equal today, Ramek,” Kason said.

  “I will give him credit. He was a tough one.”

  “Since he escaped and if he lived, I am pretty sure with a last name such as his to defend, he’ll want more.” Kason directed his comment for Ramek.

  Ramek sat up in bed. “Then I will make him earn that name the next time we meet.”

  Jens grinned and said, “All you’ll be earning is a few days off and more shots, if you’re lucky.”

  “As if you would be in any better shape yourself?” Ramek scoffed at Jens.

  “You would be surprised. I have a few tricks up my sleeve.” Jens smiled at his friend.

  “Okay, you two, we have work that needs to be done before Retribution. We prep in the next hour and launch in three.” Kason approached Ramek’s bedside. “But you, big guy -- you might be sitting this one out.”

  Ramek protested. “Oh come on, boss. I can fight the Kryth from this bed.”

  “There is no doubt in my mind, but Doctor Solome will have to green-check you for combat. And, unless she does, you will be sitting it out.”

  “That’s tilted!”

  “I know it is. There will be another important mission after Retribution I need you on, though.”

  “Am I going after Mister Sol, boss?” Ramek’s eyes flashed with excitement.

  “I doubt it. Commander Parejas will brief me after the assault on Earth. He said it was important, but it would have to wait. So, I want my best man on it, and I need you at a one hundred percent. No argument.”

  “No arguments here. But as long as there is more ass-kicking to hand out, I’m all ears,” Ramek said.

  Jens couldn’t resist and made one last remark towards Ramek.

  “Big floppy nasty-looking ears, too.” Jens laughed.

  “Hey, you already have one foot in the hole with that female comment,” Ramek said as he reached up and touched his ear. “What’s wrong with my ears?”

  Kason motioned to Jens. “I want you to join Keelen and Maddox and do weapons prep. I have a briefing to attend to before the mission.” Turning to Ramek, he continued. “I Want you to listen to Doctor Solome, understand?”

  Ramek looked over at the doc. His smile dropped as she was holding another hypo-injector.

  “I don’t think I have a choice in the mater, boss.”

  “You don’t. Enjoy yourself. I’ll see you when I return,” Kason said as he left the room. Passing Solome, “Doctor, he’s all yours.”

  Ramek turned to the doctor, who was holding the odd-looking penetrating device.

  He raised his arm. “Here’s my arm, doc. Have at it.”

  “Oh, I don’t want your arm for this one,” Solome said as she approached.

  Ramek’s eyebrows rose. He could only guess where this one was going.

  Data Cell 9

  The beast snorted along the ground, sniffing its way near the detention corridor. The enormous head swayed seeking the scent that had lured it to this side of the cell block.

  The animal moved forward without caution, hair bristling around its neck, its jaws opening exposing the crystalline serrated teeth inside. A low audible growl issued from the quadruped’s throat as it came to the force-field of the cell door. The beast’s yellow eyes locked on to a small cowering figure in the back.

  The tiny shrinking shape hid its head in a corner, shooing away the large dog-like creature, now at its barrier entrance.

  “Go. Go away. Just go away. Leave me alone, Aythra,” said the little being with a childlike voice, trying to wave off the unwanted beast.

  At the motion from the minute form in the corner, the Aythra’s growl turned louder, as it huffed and snarled under its breath, wanting to gain access through the field which separated the two.

  “Tanee, Nahh!” a yelled command issued from a distance.

  The creature turned upon the order, moving away from the invisible barrier before it.

  A Kryth officer approached the block.

  Looking down at the huddled mass, he spoke, “Get up, Cuukzen. You’re being moved for interrogation.” He glanced at a data pad in his hand. “You, prisoner fourteen, a Cuukzen spy named…” He searched for a name.

  “I’m a bounty hunter, not a spy,” the tiny Cuukzen responded with arms crossed.

  The hairless and stubby Cuukzen was only three feet tall; not even an inch taller than the Aythra that drooled before his cell. His oversized eyes blinked at the towering Kryth before him. The large ears folded and dropped back behind the wee Cuukzen.

  “I don’t have all day. The name is, Mistuuk. And I’m a bounty hunter,” the little one said with boldness.

  “Yes, Mistuuk the spy. You will be moved shortly. That’s all,” the Kryth guard said as he left.

  “What, that’s all?” Mistuuk trotted up to the barrier. “Idiots, Kryth idiots. I’m a bounty hunter for the sixth hundred and tenth time.” He ranted his dissatisfaction to no one in particular. “Can’t you pitat’s get anything right? Well, can you?”

  He couldn’t hold back his frustration. “A spy, huh. Just stupid. No respect, Kryth.”

  Mistuuk was still sore from the shrapnel wound in his side that grew bothersome as he sat on the hard cell floor.

  He counted himself lucky, though. He and a fellow survivor, a Fossari, had been detained for questioning by the Kryth after the attack on the Sol System. He thought the Fossari to be a troublesome race, always testing how far they could reach before their Kryth Mahr masters slapped their hand back down.

  The Kryth picked them up three days after their escape from Dalyth Point. They took the problematic Fossari first for interrogation. The Cuukzen get no such respect; never being questioned first, and always tortured last for some unknown reason. Mistuuk could never put his finger on why though.

  He did know his situation to be quite serious, considering the cell in which he sat.

  The Yantek Lore military installation deep behind Kryth lines was legendary. He chuckled to himself, imagining Kryth investigators trying to link the Fossari dissidents to the devastating attack on Dalyth Point. Chasing any lead, no matter how improbable, was all that the Kryth could do now.

  During his first session with the investigators, Mistuuk sens
ed that the Kryth were just as confused as everyone else was. They were jumping at shadows, for he knew it wasn’t the Fossari’s misfits but something unknown to both.

  Two armored guards approached. “Come.”

  Now we are talking, Mistuuk thought. Finally some respect around here.

  Armed guards waited to escort this bounty hunter to an interrogation room. He knew he had nothing to hide; well, maybe for a price he did. Odd, he thought as the last questioning didn’t have soldiers in full battle gear, like these two, almost as if they awaited an attack from some unknown quarter.

  After a series of twisting corridors, two lift rides, and a flight of stairs, a door opened as they led Mistuuk in.

  The guards took the restraining bolts off his wrists. “Wait here,” the soldiers said as they left.

  The door slid shut behind them with a lock.

  Mistuuk looked around the room.

  No cuffs. How interesting. No doubt the guards would wait a short distance outside the door. No matter, he thought, as he was free to move around and, by all accounts, it was much better than a cell.

  The room was white, with insignificant furnishings except the crystal desk that sat in front of a long oval window, which ran the entire length of the room. Two chairs sat, one behind and one in front of the desk, surely for the interrogator and the interrogatee. No torture tables or hungry Aythra’s to instill fear here.

  He paused as he double-checked behind the desk. Check, no Aythra’s present.

  Mistuuk approached the window to take note where he was. The seal of the glass was at his height. With a sigh and a hand-hold on the edge, he raised up on his toes to have a peek out while he waited for his stupid Kryth masters to arrive.

  ∞∞∞

  “Your spies have given me nothing since our conversation onboard the Selken’s Drift, Voskal Lat.” The comment punctuated by Lintorth as he spun on the balls of his feet to avoid the dler staff coming his way.

  Voskal Lat missed his mark, he repositioned himself. “I have all my agents scouring all sectors. It has only been several circles since last the request was made,” He finished with a series of attacks, all blocked by Lintorth. “You must give me more time,” he implored to Lintorth.