Fury to the Stars (Universe in Flames Book 2)

by Christian Kallias

  Of course, at first sleep eluded him. The fact that lizard men almost twice his size were roaming the station was enough to chill his blood. But even in the times he slept out of total exhaustion, for quite a while he still hadn’t been spared some really disturbing, scary and often violent nightmares. After a few weeks he’d installed booby traps and a new array of sensors which were disconnected from the main computer’s network, so he could be woken up should anyone approach his position. That had helped him drastically as far as sleep was concerned. After that security measure had been put in place, he slept like a baby. After the first month of occupation, he’d only leave his shelter to steal food from the hydroponics level.

  He’d grown tired of all of this. At age one hundred and seven, he was no longer young. While he’d implanted himself with some high-tech augmentations to enhance some motor functions, these needed repairs. These tasks were getting increasingly difficult to do while the enemy occupied his beloved station.

  His second mission was safeguarding former projects within his R&D lab from Obsidian hands. He had been tasked by First Admiral Zagorakis to create new weaponry, shields and even a new hyperspace engine just a few months before all hell broke loose. As it stood, most of his projects were quite advanced, and he did not intend to give Obsidian any new edge in technology.

  However, the presence of multiple Zarlack and Obsidian ships docked to the station presented a unique opportunity. He’d managed to get sensor readings and conduct thorough analysis of most of their systems. So he managed to continue his research, making new strides in both his weapons and shield program by analyzing the systems he was encountering from the occupying force. In fact, he felt confident that, should he manage to deliver his plans to Alliance survivors, it could tip the balance of power and give them the much-needed tools and identified weaknesses required to crush their enemies.

  But had anyone survived? That thought haunted Spiros every single day.

  With his research now safely encrypted and stored outside of the station’s network, he’d hardcoded a failsafe in order to make sure he could delete any of it remotely, if required.

  I need to try and contact survivors, he thought. And fast!

  But that was easier said than done, and he knew it all too well. Communications areas were crawling with lizards. He had once tried to re-route the command pathways so he could access them from a remote location, but his efforts had triggered an unexpected security alarm and he’d almost been captured. It had taken some pretty fancy programming and on-the-fly thinking to engineer fake logs to disguise his intrusion as a system’s malfunction, so that the enemy wouldn’t start sweeping the station, bulkhead to bulkhead, to find him. That day, he had decided, would be the last time he attempted such a reckless move. Too much was at stake.

  Of course, he couldn’t let it go; it wasn’t in his nature. So for weeks, he brainstormed and plotted. He refused to give in. He finally determined that he had to find a way to get rid of the current unwanted inhabitants of his station. He’d managed to procure all the elements he needed to make a lethal gas: one that should kill anyone who breathed it, himself included, unfortunately. So the next stage of his plan revolved around the theft of a gas mask, which he’d need to pull the trigger on his plan. Unfortunately, with almost an entire battle group stationed around the station, it was unlikely he would succeed. At best they’d sense the presence of an intruder; at worst they’d tire of investigations and just destroy the station, which was another unacceptable option under the circumstances – what with all the exploding and all.

  The three Zarlacks finally continued on their rounds, leaving the premises. About damn time! When a good minute had passed and he felt that it was safe, he quickly approached one of the lockers and opened it. Most of the gear had been taken, but he managed to find a service pistol. More importantly, and the main justification for his risky mission: he found the gas mask. With his prize possession acquired, it was time to return to what passed for a home these days—deep within the bulkheads.

  But the way to the armory had not been easy. It had taken him no less than five hours of careful movement in order to avoid detection. He was already dreading the trek back. He took out the life-signs detector he’d jerry-rigged from various secondary systems and scrap he’d acquired piecemeal since the occupation, and examined it carefully. The corridor right outside of the armory seemed free, but there were still life signs detected in the next corridor. He would either have to wait or try to crawl up a ventilation shaft, something he was not too keen on. His left leg’s motorized augment was sometimes causing him problems, and he dreaded the prospect of unexpected noise or mechanical reactions: the risk of detection was simply too high. Who knew what he would do if the damn thing decided to shake uncontrollably like it had done a few times before, and with increasing frequency over the last week? He had no wiggle-room here, and therefore decided to get behind the crates and wait some more. After half an hour, he fell asleep.

  A vocal message delivered through the station’s sound systems woke him up from his slumber and he jumped in surprise.

  What a fool! How could he have fallen asleep? That’s even more dangerous than trying to crawl up a ventilation shaft! His sudden waking from a deep sleep had jumbled his thoughts, but he could hear something being said in the Zarlack tongue over the speakers. He quickly took another gizmo from his pocket and activated it. It translated the clicky, incomprehensible language directly into his brain’s Head’s-Up-Display implant.

  The message was simple: “All non-essential personnel, return to your ships at once. We are departing within fifteen minutes, having been ordered to rejoin the fleet near the Gatos Nebula. This is not a drill!"

  He couldn’t believe it. Was this the lucky break he had waited so long and patiently for? Were the ships really about to vacate the area? If so he could put his plan into action, and try to regain full operational control of the station. Even from the safety of his semi-hidden position, he was well-aware of the commotion that followed the speaker’s announcement. He heard multiple loud footsteps in nearby corridors, and his life-signs detector display proved that most of the occupation troops were indeed rushing to embark.

  While he patiently waited for the evacuation, he wondered what was located in the Gatos Nebula. He resisted the urge to try and hack one of the ships in orbit for one, two, three minutes. Finally he decided that whatever he could find could potentially outweigh the risk of being detected. He also counted on the perceived urgency of the evacuation: urgent enough so hopefully nobody would notice his little incursion into their digital systems, if he was careful. He’d already placed several backdoors on their systems, back when he had studied their ships’ capabilities to improve his research. He approached the nearest terminal and entered his command code.

  Stealth mode engaged, was showing on the holo-screen.

  “What are you stinky reptiles up to?” he murmured to himself, still not yet feeling easy or entirely safe.

  Once through the three main firewalls and into the last backdoor he’d installed on the biggest ship of the fleet, he started searching for files pertaining to the Gatos Nebula. The ship he’d chosen was a behemoth of Zarlack monstrosity with incredibly strong shields. Files in that area were encrypted, and required a high level of authorization within the enemy’s rank.

  He stopped and pondered. Such files could definitely trigger a log or an alarm, and the time when he almost got caught still weighed heavily on his mind. But the scientist in him loved a challenge. He quickly entered multiple commands on his terminal. He then took a cable out of his pocket and plugged one end in the terminal and the other behind, in the back of his neck, where the input port for his brain-augment tech was located.

  Soon he was within the ship’s systems with his thoughts. This way, he would drastically lessen the time required to input commands compared to using the touch terminals. Plus he could also monitor logs and system alarms in real time, and intercept them before they c
ould be registered, if need be. His next task was to get into the sealed files. By his account he only had a few minutes left to do so, before the ship left dock.

  He could see more of the fleet-wide orders now that he was in. The order had come from an individual called Argos, and was a priority level-one order. Something was afoot, that was for sure. He pulled a file for this Argos persona, but the amount of log-triggering and alarms linked to the file was overwhelming. Fortunately he managed to cancel every single one of them and access the file, but it had been close, far too close for comfort.

  He exhaled deeply, relieved. He was thrilled at having managed to get into the file in spite of all the safeguards, but mystified at the rationale. He looked at the picture of that Argos. He was humanoid, something Spiros had not expected. A human giving orders to Zarlacks? Really? But there was something about his face, even though he couldn’t place it. Somehow it seemed familiar. Time was running out. Now that the file about Argos was stored into his neuronal file banks, he moved towards the big prize.

  The encryption algorithm protecting the Gatos Nebula file was stronger than anything he had experienced before, on previous hacking sessions on enemy technology. That could mean only one thing: whatever was in this file was highly secret; of invaluable worth. The internal timer he’d set at nine minutes when he started the hack was almost done. Only one minute and forty-seven seconds remained. The booby traps that he’d defused around the Argos file had been nothing compared to the ones he was disarming in real time, to make sure his intrusion to the Gatos Nebula file remained undetected.

  He didn’t register that he was quickly getting drained by using his brain so heavily. Sixty seconds left. A warning came on his mental HUD: ships powering hyperdrive engines. All available shuttles had left the station. All ships that had been docked on the station were already maneuvering away from it. Forty seconds. Even if the fleet was running late on pre-checks before entering hyperspace, Spiros knew that he was almost out of time.

  He quickly entered the advanced settings of his brain tech and over-clocked the processing power by two hundred percent. That was definitely a gamble, but he had no other choice. He needed to be able to access this file now! His timer reached zero and blinked red within his mental projection. Over-clocked, he kept pushing. He felt the temperature in the lower part of his skull rise. All sorts of warnings popped on his mental projected HUD, but he kept going as fast as he could.

  The decryption algorithm was now at ninety-eight percent completion. When the information arrived that the ship’s hyperspace engines were ready for jump, he redirected every ounce of processing power to the decryption task. On top of the heat rising within his skull, his brain started to pound with pain, but he pushed through. His HUD warned of impending neuronal damage. The next second the file was finally decrypted and he saved it within his internal data banks. At almost the exact same time, the enemy ships entered hyperspace.

  The disconnection was brutal to the say the least. Spiros felt something like a spark within his brain. His tech shutdown almost instantly.

  “Dammit!” he shouted out loud, immediately biting his lips afterwards.

  Even though most Zarlacks had left the station, the volume at which he had expressed his frustration had been too high. He quickly looked at his life-sign detector but he didn’t need to. He could already hear some heavy footsteps coming his way. He cursed his recklessness, disconnecting the cable from the terminal and implant, and quickly jumped back to his feet. But he felt impossibly light-headed, no doubt another side effect from over-clocking his tech. He shook his head to try and get his mind clear of it, but as he did so the door of the armory suddenly opened and a tall Zarlack came in—guns blazing.

  Panicked, he ducked behind the console. Sparks flew around him. The jolt of adrenaline from extreme fear kicked in, his mind racing. He was no sharp shooter, but now was not a good time to die. He had to survive and access that file. He had to regain control of the station. But first he needed to deal with this beast trying to blow his head off, preferably before it tried to call for reinforcements.

  Suddenly an idea crossed his mind, encouraged by another laser impact near his scalp. He grabbed the life-signs detector and inversed the polarity of the power source, sweat pouring down his face. It got very hot fast and emitted an increasingly painful, high-pitched sound. In one fluid motion Spiros slid to the floor next to the console, throwing the melting detector towards the Zarlack. The creature reacted on instinct, shooting wildly towards the incoming object. He hit the detector where it lay, less than three feet away from him. It exploded with a fiery green flash that sent red-hot power fluid boiling across the Zarlack’s face. The resulting screech of agonizing pain he unleashed was unbearable. Spiros lurched out of cover, lined up the sights of his pistol and fired three shots in rapid succession. The first two missed, but the third one went straight into the Zarlack’s eye socket. The screaming stopped instantly. With a loud thud, his lifeless body collapsed to the ground.

  Spiros’ heart was pounding so fast in his chest—he feared a heart attack right then and there. He kneeled on the ground, trying to catch his breath. But he could no longer wait. Without the detector he had no idea what other confrontations he might expect, and he could not risk another conflict in the open. Risky or not, he decided that his only option was to climb up a ventilation shaft. He would crawl out of here, or die trying. So he moved the crate he had been hiding behind earlier, carefully climbed it, removed the paneling from the top of the wall and entered the shaft, carefully replacing the paneling.

  I’m too old for this, he thought, crawling awkwardly forward.

  About ten minutes in, he heard a noise coming from under him and decided to stop moving. He could hear the heavy breathing of yet another Zarlack nearby. His body froze, but he could feel something going wrong. He felt his leg starting to tremble, slowly and mostly inside what once was his gluteus maximus, now mostly enhanced with nano-powered circuitry. Now was not the time for a malfunction! But he could feel the trembling grow. He knew from experience, soon he would lose control of his augmented leg and that could be the end of him! Without hesitating, he grabbed a small knife from one of his pockets and jammed it where he knew the control wiring met his remaining old muscle nerves. The resulting pain was excruciating but he managed not scream, though his head started ringing and his vision started to blur. He felt the oncoming rush of darkness. There was nothing he could do to prevent it now. He lost consciousness.

  C H A P T E R

  XXII

  Tar’Lock looked at Ryonna across the shuttle, watching her blue knuckles on the throttle. They were going somewhere in what was once Nevada to find the man that Nina had identified as her handler. All they had was a name and an address. Paul Trichson: a name with a deceptively empty file. Ryonna had not spoken a word for quite a while when Tar’Lock decided to break the silence.

  “Are you alright?”

  “I’m fine,” Ryonna spat, clearly a little on edge.

  “If you say so.”

  “I’m sorry, Tar’Lock, I’m just preoccupied. We’ll need to be careful when we land. This person could be extremely dangerous. And we need him alive.”

  “Somehow I doubt he is half as dangerous as you can be. As for him staying alive, perhaps you’ll want to remind yourself of that, in the heat of things? Your habits do seem fierier than mine.”

  She cast him a warm smile and he smiled back. Of course Tar’Lock was correct. Ryonna knew full well she had a temper, and that it sometimes got the best of her. She laughed inwardly at the juxtaposition. She was definitely not used to making friends easily, yet it kept on happening... Both Chase and Tar’Lock had been so helpful in her quest to save her son, and she was extremely grateful. She was interrupted in her train of thoughts.

  “Do you have a plan?” asked Tar’Lock, cautiously.

  “Not really. We need to find this Trichson character and make him talk, see if he is behind all this. Or maybe he’s just anot
her pawn, working for yet another shadow we’ll have to cast light upon. What’s certain is, we need to find who is behind these attacks and make them stop. For the time being not much info has bled to the public. But if these attacks continue, the Earthlings might wonder if the alliance they made was the right choice.”

  “I think the Alliance has good values, better than Obsidian. But that isn’t difficult, I guess.”

  “The Obsidian are conquerors. They take everything they want by force, and destroy whomever stands in their path. What worries me is the fact that they’re acting as the pawns of the Zarlacks, though. If a force as powerful as Obsidian could be enslaved so quickly, then the Zarlacks are a real threat. I think my people came to the same conclusion, and that’s why they are joining the Alliance.”

  “From what I understood from our briefing with General Adams, I thought most criminals left Earth. I guess I’m wonder why this is all happening.”

  “Well, the Olympians gave everyone a choice between two paths. But that doesn’t mean everyone followed directions. I’m sure some people decided to make their own choices, bend the rules. As for why: Earth has seen a tremendous amount of change in a short time. That can be scary! People tend to do irrational things when they are afraid.”

  “I guess. Looks like we are approaching the coordinates given to us.”

  “So we are. Commencing landing procedures.”

  The shuttle landed on top of a building, nor far from where this Trichson lived. They exited the shuttle and proceeded down through the building and through the streets towards their target building. A quick look at mailboxes in the entrance corridor told them that Paul Trichson lived on the seventh floor. They took the elevator and soon arrived in front of their target’s flat.

  “Now what?” said Tar’Lock.

  Ryonna clicked the doorbell.