Prime Alpha (Planetary Powers Book 1)

by Joshua Boring

  Helen looked even more shocked. “Lupell? The captain of the Sledgefast?”

  “At the time,” Nathen explained in sharp, short phrases. “Now he’s Captain Sharet of the Generation.”

  Helen felt her fingers squeeze the shield-shaped comm. unit in her hand until it shook. “That, that son-of-a…”

  “Focus, Helenade!” Nathen said harshly, snapping her out of her anger. “We still have work to do, and no time to do it.”

  Doc lifted his own comm. unit and tuned into their conversation. “So what are we supposed to do now? Without comms, we can’t call for help.”

  “Then we’ll find a ship with long-range comms and use it instead.”

  “That won’t work,” Helen said. “All the ships are in communications lockdown. I already checked. Whoever took the bridge has everything in blackout.”

  “Not everything,” Nathen said, knowingly. “There’s at least one ship that won’t be affected.”

  Helen and Doc both looked at each other, understanding.

  “The Sledgefast,” Doc said. “The traitor’s vessel.”

  “I’m sure they left it free so they could communicate with the Yew,” Nathen said. “We can send an SOS from there.”

  “Right,” Helen said, getting fired up. “We’re on our way.”

  “Negative,” Nathen said. “You’re too far away. Any moment we’ll-”

  The floor shook under their feet as somewhere outside the comm. room, an explosion rocked the station. Helen spread her feet apart to steady herself. “What in the Galaxy was that?”

  Doc had his arms out, trying to stay balanced just in case another explosion came. “Dunno. Judging by the force of the shock, some kind of heavy explosive. Could be a disrupter charge.”

  Helen couldn’t believe it. “Those Yew idiots! What are they thinking? An explosive like that could easily rupture several decks at once! I thought they wanted the station intact!”

  Doc gripped his sub-machine gun in his dry palms. “Maybe that wasn’t the idea. We’re not that far from the lower scaffold. The anti-radiation hatches are heavily armored. Cutting lasers wouldn’t make it through. A disruptor charge, on the other hand…”

  “It would cut through it like a hot knife through butter.”

  Doc looked at Helen, concerned showing on his face. “What do you think it could mean?”

  Helen frowned. “It means we have bigger problems now. Yew reinforcements.” Helen switched her comm. unit back on. “Knight, did you feel that?”

  “I did,” the commander said. “Felt like it came from the lower half of the station. That was no boarding party. It had to be a ship.”

  “My conclusion exactly,” Helen said. “Lower decks are about to get flooded.”

  “And you’re in their path,” Nathen said, concernedly. “Forget the Sledgefast. I’m closer, I’ll handle it. You both get to Central Command and hold that ground.”

  “Roger,” Helen said. “Watch your back out there, Boss. And good hunting.”

  “Will do,” Nathen said. “Deus Ex Machina.”

  The connection severed, and Helen put her comm. unit away. She hustled over to the communications room door and opened it. “Come on, Doc. The good guys’re going to need all the help they can get.”

  Doc hurried after Helen, hopping over a dislodged console chair. “I’m right behind you, Helenade.”

  Helen scowled. “Don’t call me that.”

  Doc grinned as he brushed by her. “Yes’m.”

  Helen watched Doc walk by, then growled. “I’m going to shoot you.”

  ***

  The melted remains of the anti-radiation door slowly disintegrated as the hangar air filters managed to pump away the ozone. The glow of the dissolved metal was still fading as the first of the Yew assault teams moved in, picking their way over smoking metallic shreds. The massive, open hangar echoed with the sounds of armor and weapons as the Flog hazard teams came through the airlock and spread out. Donned in “battle blue” space armor, the Flogs scuttled across the deck, snapping at each other in their native tongue, Gralyyk, as their rodent/wolf heads peered through goggled half-masks.

  The small aliens searched around and behind shuttles, containers, and parked tuglifts looking for any resistance. Several scorched Human bodies lay on the deck, a result of the instant vaporization of the hangar's atmosphere. Every couple seconds there was a heated sizzle-snap of a cell blaster, followed by the grilling of flesh and crackle of incinerated bone. A few cries for mercy called out, and were answered by the piercing sound of an energy bolt. After a few moment's search—and several executions—the pack leader sheathed his cell blaster and touched the snout of his half-mask.

  “Han-gar secured,” the Flog spoke with a slight slur. “Advance, forward guard.”

  From beyond the airlock, a call went out. Then came the rush of reinforcements. Vorch shock troopers came marching into the hangar, led by their war princes clad in exotic armor. Gangs of Golos pounded out onto the Human station, carrying Slugfests and TAC cannons. More Flogs mingled with the other squads, carrying ammo packs, air tanks, and cutting lasers. Several Stelkan “Glasseye” snipers marched in, scanning the room with their monocles. In moments, the hangar was swarming with Yew troops as they set up defensive positions and command equipment. As more and more troops spilled through the slag that was formerly a massive anti-radiation door, a single Stelkan in an admiral’s uniform strode into their midst.

  Merthal stepped onto the station’s deck, keeping his wings tucked into his sides to avoid bumping into the troops that moved about. He observed his surroundings calmly, picking up the tiniest details with his enhanced avian/reptilian vision. The assault squad had encountered zero resistance once the doors had been breached, which pleased the Stelkan leader.

  Merthal had resisted the urge to enter the Human station right away, instead waiting until his troops had secured the immediate area and all access ways leading to the carrier. He wasn’t careless. Yet he knew that the sooner he could see the inside of the station himself, the quicker he could deduce how to direct his forces. Merthal had a special talent for figuring things out just from a quick look at his immediate surroundings.

  The Celestial Wind’s small army was deploying almost perfectly. Packs of Flogs were hurriedly moving in equipment and heavy weapons with bands of Golos marching deeper into the station to secure the hallways. Shock Vorch troopers were setting up defenses at the entryways while officers of various rank and race were co-coordinating their soldiers. Golo two-horns grunted Jagon at Vorch war princes while Flog pack leaders conversed with Stelkan commanders. A group of Vorch walked by, struggling to restrain several leashed Mauls: powerful blood-sucking felines that had been trained for war. Merthal was confident that his attack force would be sufficient to overwhelm the station.

  The entryway to the lowest docking scaffold was vast, as Merthal had suspected. He wagered that the large room was used as an extra storage room when not receiving incoming ships. Mechanical loading equipment and technical gear were strewn about the floor, indicating the area had been quickly vacated not long ago. Technical staff members were likely in the area, attempting to flee the scene once they’d realized their current position was no longer defensible. Merthal smirked and whistled in pleasure as a familiar armored shadow came up on his left.

  “Here’s your victory, General Synks,” Merthal cawed, waving a hand across the hangar of swarming troops. “Absolute dominance and not a living Human in sight.”

  Scizzor said nothing. Merthal turned and looked up. The Vorch commander looked about the hangar not with pride, and not quite with disgust. It became clear to Merthal that the crafty General found the entire display distasteful. He was bored.

  “Would you rather be losing?”

  “I would rather be fighting,” Scizzor said with a frustrated sigh. “You underestimate the value of a battle won through hardship, not through default.”

  Merthal scoffed, flashing some of the small, serrated t
eeth under his beak. “If Humans were capable of putting up a respectable fight, they would not be underhandedly giving us our victory through betrayal.”

  Scizzor curled his nose flap at the admiral. “Much like a victory was ‘given’ to the Humans on Cravac?”

  Merthal felt his wings tremble against his back as he hissed. “You’re bitter, General Synks. I would have thought that pettiness beneath you.”

  Scizzor didn’t even dignify Merthal with eye contact, still lazily looking about the hangar. “Bveur stao vis’taj jjed.”

  Merthal frowned. “What was that?”

  Scizzor looked down on the admiral with a grin. “Nothing. I congratulate you on your victory. Our brothers who died at the hands of the War Hive will surely be looking on us right now, applauding.”

  Merthal was silent.

  “Still,” Scizzor said, face falling back into stolid boredom. “So long as there is work to be done, then let it be done. I believe the station’s Central Command is next to secure.”

  Merthal nodded.

  “Then that is where you will find me,” Scizzor said with a bow. “I am duty bound to follow your instruction, Admiral.”

  Without waiting for confirmation, Scizzor turned and walked away, summoning two squads of Flogs and a company of Vorch to escort him. Merthal watched him go, silently seething. He was not a Stelkan who was overly fond of any Vorch. But he hated Scizzor Synks. He despised his ego and he loathed his pride.

  But above all, he hated how much he was right.

  Merthal turned his beak downwards, scratching to himself under his breath.

  “Arrogant Vorch,” the Admiral said as his troops started deploying into the station. “You are truly wasted on fighting Humans.”

  Chapter 42

  Kyler and Trent sprinted down the hallway at a dead run.

  The sniper had the lead, one Wolfhound pistol gripped in his fist. The hunter was close behind, carrying a Coyote assault rifle, the ground thundering with each footfall.

  “Move! MOVE!”

  Trent hit the corner in a slide, going halfway down like he was sliding into home plate. He popped back up and spun on his heels, backpedaling as Kyler dashed past him. Twenty feet back down the corridor, a Golo came charging after the two ESCs, pumping dark blood from multiple wounds. Trent hammered off two bursts with his Wolfhound and caught the brute in both shoulders with armor-piercing pistol rounds. The Golo howled and stumbled to its knees just as two furious Flogs popped out from behind it and sent spears of power snapping from the triangular muzzles of their cell blasters. Trent spun and chased after Kyler, feeling the bolts of energy nip at his back as they flashed by.

  “How many boarding teams did we tick off?” Trent shouted as a chorus of angry howls sounded behind them. Up ahead, Kyler stopped to check a corner, catching his breath.

  “Uh, five. And theh a lot fastah then I thought.”

  Trent skidded to a stop at the intersection, looked, and pointed. “This way!”

  The two took off again, with three dozen angry Yew right behind them. Kyler had to turn and empty half his clip behind them as the smaller, swifter Flogs started catching up. Two of them tumbled to the floor as bullets punched through their modest armor, and the rest quickly ducked around the corner, returning fire. Kyler hugged the wall as golden bolts flashed past him until he slipped through the door and Trent slammed the lock.

  “Blimey. Thes es getting too close foh comfort!”

  Trent swallowed, reloading his Wolfhound and tucking the half-filled clip away.

  “That should buy us some breathing room. Unless they brought a-”

  The door bent inward with a loud bang.

  “-battering ram.”

  Trent and Kyler turned and dashed as the flimsy hallway door rattled again. The zap-crack of cell blasters on blast mode sounded on the other side as glowing welts starting appearing on the door. The two ESCs finally reached the umbilical airlock and plunged in without slowing. It was a ten meter dash to the ship, and if any of the Yew turned the corner before they made it, there was absolutely no cover to be had. Kyler reached the airlock and punched the open command. The heavy airlock didn't budge.

  “Oy!” Kyler hollered, slamming his fist on the bulkhead. “Let us in theh, ya funny jackheads!”

  Trent caught up and holstered his Wolfhound under his arm.

  “Coyote,” he requested.

  Kyler handed the assault rifle over and slammed on the bulkhead again. Suddenly the armor retracted and the airlock hissed open, and there was a gasp as the air equalized between the station umbilical and the ship. On the other side stood Red, wearing a sour expression on his face. Leonard stood by his side, trying to look relaxed despite the Casper submachine gun pointed down the umbilical.

  “Bout bloody time,” Kyler said, stepping into the hangar. The two pilots stepped back as Kyler stopped just inside the airlock. He turned and whistled. “C'mon, Shahps.”

  Trent breathed out and hugged the Coyote to his shoulder, aiming back the way they'd come. He didn't flinch for several seconds, waiting. Suddenly a Vorch shock trooper came around the corner, leading with his wrist rifle.

  The Coyote jumped against the sniper’s shoulder.

  The Vorch jerked in surprise as he heard the zip of the bullet past his head, shattering the gravity regulator on the wall. There was a disapproving blare from the umbilical alarm, just as three over-eager Flogs charged into the umbilical, sighting on the Humans at the other end.

  Then the regulator gave out, and the gravity in the umbilical went dead.

  The emergency airlock at the far end of the umbilical slammed right in the Vorch trooper's face as the cutoff took effect. The three Flogs squealed in surprise as their feet suddenly left the ground and never set down again. They scrambled in the zero gravity, bouncing off the walls and ceiling as they struggled to right themselves. Flogs didn't do well in zero gravity. They were built to have four feet pointing one direction. Trent calmly let himself drift in place, lowering his Coyote. Leonard stepped to the very edge of the airlock, right were the ship's artificial gravity ended, and fired his Casper into the umbilical. The telltale chatter of the Casper cut the cries of the distressed Flogs short. Blood splattered across the walls and floor. Once the Yew in the umbilical were dead, Kyler leaned through the airlock and seized Trent's shoulder in a massive grip, hauling the sniper into the hangar where he lightly landed on his feet. Red quickly closed the airlock and waited until he heard the armor shield slide into place before breathing again. Trent dropped the assault rifle into the pilot's arms as he walked by.

  “That won't hold them forever,” Trent said. “Be ready.”

  Kyler jogged past Trent out of the hangar. Red and Leonard exchanged worried looks and started moving equipment to fortify the airlock.

  Kyler hustled through the weapons room, passing Rathe and Nikolai as they stood guard at the entrance to the hangar. They didn't even get a word in before the giant passed them and headed for the lift. Several crew scrambled aside as Kyler barged past. A minute later, he practically jumped off the lift and jogged the rest of the way down to the armory. Kyler slapped the controls, and the door parted. He stepped inside the dark, circular room full of glass cases, filling the doorway with his broad shoulders. At the center of the room, seated on his mediation mat, the small, Splinter armorer looked up. His stained-glassy eyes flickered with expectancy as he took a slow, shallow breath.

  “I thought you would come,” Photos said, sadly. “The mistakes of our past have come home at last.”

  Kyler stepped into the room, shadows falling across both of them.

  “The Yew were youh mistake,” Kyler said. “We're theirs.”

  Photos gave a slow nod, then turned his wistful eyes on the wall to his right. The darkness parted like a veil as a single armor case lit up, displaying the flawless blue avatar inside.

  ***

  Trent stood at the center console for the weapon's room, inputting his clearance code. Lingering n
ear the door to the hangar, Rathe paced, restlessly.

  “I can't believe it,” he muttered. “A Yew spy probe, on our hull. I feel dirty.”

  “I am a bit more concerned about the warships, myself,” said Nikolai, leaning back against the wall as though nothing concerned him at all. “A Yew spy probe only tells. It doesn't shoot.”

  “I don't care what it does,” Rathe said, sniffing and looking at the ceiling of the pristine weapons room. “It’s still out there, like a boil.”

  Trent finished inputting his code and stepped back. Suddenly the door to the hangar slammed shut and locked. Rathe and Nikolai both looked at their only route to the hangar, then looked back at Trent.

  “Uhm,” muttered Nikolai.

  “That's automatic,” Trent said as the doorway to the prep chamber and lift sealed likewise. “In case there's an accident.”

  Rathe and Nikolai shared the same confused look, then Rathe ventured a question.

  “What kind of accident?”

  Trent input a command. On the sniper's right-hand side, the gleaming blast-proof wall of weapons and ammunition split. The hidden door that took up half the weapons room wall slid back on hidden rails, taking its deadly arsenal with it. When it finally halted, the door separated and parted into double doors, sliding behind their other halves. The room beyond was unlit, but judging by the hollow clang that echoed out, it was just as big as the weapons chamber. Nikolai pushed away from the wall and peered inside.

  “I did not know this was even here,” he said, intrigued. Rathe hung back, looking into the darkness as though he expected a ferocious beast to leap out. Trent, on the other hand, strode fearlessly into the black room. After hesitating for several seconds, the two pilots joined him.

  At first, they saw nothing. Then, Trent found the switch for the lights, and turned it on. The room looked like an unused storage bay. Crates and tarps were everywhere they looked. The pilots wagered that this was the only room on the entire ship that had any level of dust to it. The vents here worked slowly, and the air smelled musty. Overhead was a plastech banner that simply had three words stacked over each other: Sticks – Stones – Fire. There were maintenance tables against each wall, but they were as unused as everything else. Trent walked past the bewildered pilots as they took in everything.