Prime Alpha (Planetary Powers Book 1)

by Joshua Boring

  He stared into the circular muzzle of the weapon before him, then looked past it at the one holding it. The general stood there for a moment, hesitating, like he was about to say something.

  Then he pressed the firing stud.

  The Xazzler coughed, like an impolite belch. Both Nathen and the Vorch general stared at each other for a heartbeat as the fact that the weapon was empty settled in both their minds. The general raised the weapon, appraising it through his visor.

  “Hmm,” he muttered in perfect Basic, his tone sounding as if he was expressing appreciation for a curious work of art. “Interesting.”

  The elite stellar commando lunged, firing off his knees like a coiled snake as he thrash-tackled the general right in the gut. The Xazzler fell discarded as the two combatants tumbled together, head over heels, before coming to a stop, with the Vorch general sitting atop Nathen's chest. The Vorch warrior cocked a fist and slammed a punch down at the pinned commando's face. Nathen twisted his head away, letting the punch glance off the side of his head, tearing at his ear. As the general's fist struck the floor, Nathen's arm snapped up and grabbed the fierce-faced visor by the vent and pulled. The general bowed over, just as Nathen got his second wind.

  Nathen thrust with his hip and managed to hike the Vorch off. He yanked down on the face mask at the same time he kicked up with both legs, enough to kick his enemy completely head over heels. The general struck the floor, crumpling off his shoulder armor awkwardly as his helmet sat askew on his head. Nathen flipped onto his knees as the general snapped to his feet, helmet sitting crookedly on his head. Nathen wound up for another clash.

  “Stop.”

  The general snapped up a hand, halting him politely. Nathen paused, collecting himself for the fresh burst of action. The Master General seemed to have no such urgent inclination and calmly took his time undoing the clasps of his helmet. As he did, Nathen heard his warped voice through the mask vent, in perfect Basic.

  “If we are going to continue to do this,” the general said, prying off the mask and casting it aside. “Then I would prefer we do it, face to face.”

  The Vorch lifted off the helmet with both hands and held it in front of his chest, taking a deep breath through his nose flap. Nathen was surprised to find that the Master General looked to be relatively young, for a Vorch at least. If he had to guess, he estimated their years were about evenly matched. Most Master Generals were far older than this. But the closer he looked, the more Nathen saw something in his opponent. Narrow features buffed with weathered patches. Steely combative eyes glazed with the analytical thoughts of a tactician. Charged blood coloring red, leathery skin. And the calm, deliberate way he drew in his breath said that this was not his first battle... nor did it indicate any thought that it would be his last. Nathen took a moment to collect his own breath, then put all his energy into killing his enemy.

  Nathen ripped his Denchura free of its holster, knowing that if he moved fast there was no way for the Vorch commander to reach him before he shot him dead. Again, the alien’s actions were unpredictable. Rather than charge him like before, the Vorch threw his empty helmet at Nathen, forcing him to reach up and catch it or get hit in the face. Nathen's reflexes betrayed him. He caught it and juggled it, tossing it right back to its original owner. The General continued charging forward as he caught it, quickly closing the distance between the two combatants. Nathen re-aimed, overcompensating in his hurry, and fired, and missed. The General hardly even slowed down, shooting a fist forward, knuckles colliding across Nathen’s face. Nathen took the blow hard but blocked out the pain long enough to backstep out of the Vorch’s way. Before Nathen could counter-attack, the General thrust an arm into Nathen’s bicep, causing him to drop his Denchura as his arm went instantly numb. Nathen responded by stepping back and blasting the Vorch in the chest with a side kick. The force of that attack knocked the alien backwards, nearly stumbling over the body of one of the general's own troopers.

  The air was choked with the sound of Nathen's rattling breaths. The medivest made distressed crinkling noises, breaking down under the constant punishment as its delicate function fell apart. The resonance stopped, and Nathen almost immediately started to sense the agony seeping into him like his chest was submerging into icy water. Pain. Too much pain, squeezing him like a vice. Nathen grabbed his arm, trying to work feeling back into his bicep as he scanned for his sidearm through a black eye. He didn’t see where it had landed. He did, however, see Kyler's Pitbull shotgun, sitting almost exactly between the two combatants. The General saw the shotgun too and noticed the look in Nathen’s eye. He grinned, showing off his confidence, and straightened up, eyeing the weapon meaningfully.

  Go on, the eyes said. Grab it.

  Nathen kept his knees bent, ready to spring out of his low stance in a second despite the feeling that they were made of wood. Still, it was clear that even if they both tried to get the Pitbull at once, it would just start another grappling competition that could result in another stalemate. Nathen didn’t have any other solutions. He was about to dive for the shotgun when a little buzz in the back of his mind drew his attention to the General's slightly twitching hand. Nathen, without letting his eyes give away his revelation, saw why. Almost concealed at the Yew leader’s left hip was the handle of a J'fin war sword.

  For the first time since the fight started, Nathen knew he could win.

  This was it. The deciding moment. No more guns, no more blows. The general was just going to kill him and move on. Only one thing gave Nathen the advantage. He knew his enemies next move. His foe… didn’t realize that yet. If Nathen didn't act on that in the next second, that lone advantage would be gone. And then, Nathen saw his chance. Turned toward him, in a position that the general could not see:

  The handle of Nathen’s dagger, buried in a dead trooper's chest.

  Nathen dashed forward, heading for the Pitbull, just as his opponent was waiting for him to do. Just as Nathen had suspected, the General responded by also dashing forward, drawing his J'fin. As soon as the General made his move, Nathen tucked his head down and rolled, slipping under the horizontal slash that would have sliced him rib to rib. Nathen's tight forward roll tumbled him over the body of the dead trooper. The master general, seeing he had missed Nathen, flicked his wrist calmly so the point of the sword was aimed back at the rolling Human.

  Then Nathen sank his dagger through the Vorch's stomach.

  “Hurh…” uttered the General, face changing from confidence to shock. Nathen shoved, leaning into the stab. He had him! He had-

  Watch out!

  Nathen's eyes flickered in his peripheral vision. Down one of the branching corridors, a fresh squad of Yew appeared, instantly catching sight of the struggle. The Stelkan officer screeched something and lifted his weapon, sighting on the Human. The general, despite grimacing from the knife in his belly, looked up at the sound as one would react to an interruption of his conversation. In that flash of a distraction, Nathen let go of the knife, snatching a concussion grenade off the dead soldier in the same motion. He activated it and jammed it fist-first into the General's sash belt.

  The whine of the grenade snapped the general back into focus. Fighting to the last, the Vorch reached out to grab hold of Nathen, so they would die together. Nathen shoved with both hands, freeing himself before turning and running. He stumbled, snatching up Kyler's Pitbull before swinging into the room with the three dead Vorch troopers. Nathen turned, slapping the door controls. In the last second before the room closed off, he saw the enemy general dropping his sword and reaching for the grenade, dagger still buried in his gut. Then the door shut, and Nathen fell over the corpse of his first victim.

  The deck pounded once under Nathen as though a car had just been dropped from the sky. Then, for a few seconds, things went quiet. Nathen lay there on his side, clutching Kyler's shotgun in his right arm, curling into a fetal position, finally allowing the pain to register. His limbs felt shattered. His eyes were swelling black. Blo
od and spit trickled from the corner of his mouth. He could feel with a throbbing tongue one of his teeth was missing. His hair was matting with sweat and sticky blood. His knuckles were raw and red, and his medivest was silent. He just wanted to lie there, counting all the pains he could. But, even after all that, he knew he was alive. That knowledge alone was practically grabbing him, shaking him inside.

  Get up! MOVE!

  Nathen rolled himself onto his bruised stomach, dragging himself through the dark room, heading for the crawlspace hatch. Through the nausea and pain, one ray of sunshine kept him illuminated.

  He’d won.

  By the time the arriving Yew troops entered the room to search for him, Nathen was gone.

  Chapter 60

  Merthal clicked his beak with impatience as the troopers in front of him failed again to open a sealed door. It was the second one they’d encountered, and it was slowing their progress back to the carrier.

  “What is taking so long?” demanded Merthal. “Don’t our forces have some cutting lasers? I was told that we did.”

  “Those were only our boarding craft crews, Admiral,” insisted the Flog engineer, fumbling with a mess of Human wiring. “Part of their mission was to clear these doors to ensure they stay open. Somehow they seem to be re-sealing themselves.”

  “Just get it done,” ordered Merthal, turning away in disgust. The Stelkan Admiral ground his clawed fingers together, trying to vent some of his frustration. “Sub-Admiral Danter.”

  The Stelkan aide moved in to his side, tentatively. “Yes, Admiral?”

  “Have the Celestial Wind prep its engines. I want to be able to leave the moment we arrive.”

  Danter perked his wings, hesitantly. “And General Scizzor?”

  Merthal didn't even look at his aide. “If he's not there, we leave him. It’s what he would have wanted, the cocky scum.”

  Danter nodded and folded his wing across his chest in a respectful salute. “Yes, Admiral.”

  Merthal turned away from his underling and waved a commanding wing at his troops. “Forget the door. There must be another way. We will press on until we have reached our destination by some other means.”

  For several minutes, the two Stelkans marched along in silence amidst their troops. The guards around Merthal were restless, feeling uneasy and vulnerable in their retreat. Merthal scoffed at their pointless fear. Didn't they know they couldn't lose? Though the space battle was going somehow awry, they had sub-admiral Kotu coming in to reinforce them. Even if they were retreating from the station, the Celestial Wind would easily destroy it in the end. Merthal was still pondering the idea when the door near the end of the hallway slammed shut. Suddenly, there was a crack, and a Vorch in front of him spasmed and crumpled, a bloody hole in his forehead.

  Merthal cawed his surprise as a Vorch trooper grabbed him from behind and pulled him backwards out of danger as the opening shot was followed by the crack of more Human projectile rounds. Merthal was already analyzing the threat as his loyal forces pulled him back out of range and out of danger.

  For the first few seconds, it was just one rifle firing, a Human Coyote assault rifle, but it was quickly joined by several other weapons. The forward Golo guards instantly dropped to their knees, planting their shields and returning fire with slugfests. At first, the attack was startling. But, as the seconds ticked by and the rush faded from Merthal's mind, it became clear that these Humans posed little threat aside from a few surprise kills. Merthal pushed off his protector’s grasp and started shouting orders.

  “All troops, return fire! Golos in front, move up the shields! Stack formations, don't give them any targets!”

  Merthal watched as his troops hurried to carry out orders, as if suddenly aware that their leader was present and watching. The admiral ignored the soldiers pleading with him to fall back and watched as the Golos started taking enough shots to their shields to allow the other races to commence with their counter-attack. A well-executed tactic, and he was glad to see it.

  Just as Merthal was about to order the final charge, something came flying through the air, clattering across the deck right between the two shielded Golos. Most missed it in the confusion, but Merthal's sharp eyes tracked the object as it tumbled and came to a stop a few meters away.

  It had a detonator wired to it.

  Down near the attacker's positions, the firing suddenly ceased and several doors clanged shut. Merthal screamed as the Human's intention suddenly became clear. One Vorch trooper saw the bomb and threw down his weapon, jumping on the grenade to smother it. But it wasn't a frag.

  The trooper disappeared into a hissing cloud, which quickly ate every Yew in its path in a screaming, gaseous tidal wave.

  ***

  Helen waited several more minutes until she finally overpowered the urge to walk away from the door. It had been a heavy risk, toxifying the station's oxygen like that. There had been a high chance that the old station's emergency filtration measures would have been offline entirely. That certainly would have put Doc and Calico in a tight spot as they slowly died inside the room across the hall. But the pressure doors had sealed right after the grenade had gone off, and the air pumps had cleared the corridor shortly after the screams had stopped. Helen took a deep breath and reached for the door controls.

  “Here we go,” she said under her breath as she hit the open switch. The door hissed open and allowed Helen a quick glance into the corridor. Nothing was moving; every single Yew that had been in the hallway was lying dead on the floor. Helen waited several seconds to make sure it was safe, then stepped out into the open, letting her Coyote lead her rather than lead it. She recoiled slightly at the immediately offensive stench of melted flesh and clothes.

  She tried not to cringe at the sight of the bodies, which were tangled and covered with boils and burns. The thought of just how much suffering the aliens had gone through was sickening to her. Helen lowered her weapon at the nearest corpse and nudged it with the toe of her boot, checking to make sure it was completely dead. It didn’t move, though the skin stuck to her foot like grilled fat. Convinced it was dead, Helen motioned to the others behind her.

  “Clear,” she stated, stepping over the bodies to begin her next task. Doc walked up behind Helen, staring in disbelief at the piles of bodies they had created.

  “That worked,” Doc said, masking his disgust. “A little too well.” Doc shook his head and sighed. Helen talked to him over her shoulder.

  “Would you rather they kill us?” she asked.

  “No. I’m just saying I do not envy these aliens the fate they received, that’s all.”

  Helen started to respond, but her words came out as nothing more than a dismissive huff, feeling her fair skin starting the prickle under the smell of the corridor. She was used to humid jungles, sweltering brush. This was a parched, dead heat, locked in a metal labyrinth wrapped within the cold of space.

  “Let's find this Admiral and get out of here,” said Helen, moving past two Golo’s that had fallen on top of each other. “We're still deep behind their lines.”

  Helen stepped around a dead Flog and continued scanning bodies for signs of the Stelkan Admiral. While the methods she used to kill her enemies usually didn’t matter much to her, Helen had to agree with Doc on this one. The speed in which the Mojave had wiped out the enemies in the tight quarters was a little scary. Helen shook the feeling off. Now wasn’t the time to worry about it. After another second of looking, Helen spotted a leathery wing sticking out of a pile of charred bodies.

  “Over here!” shouted Helen, moving in and kicking a Vorch carcass off the top of the pile. Calico came up next to Helen and reached down to help move a body, but Doc moved in and grabbed her by the shoulder, stopping her.

  “Back up, back up! Don't touch them with your bare hands!”

  Doc quickly crouched and tugged on a set of medic's field gloves. Helen pointed impatiently at the bodies.

  “Do it, quickly. Let’s confirm our mission is complete
and get out of here before the rest of the Admiral’s escort breaks through the doors.”

  A moment later, Doc pulled the last body off the Stelkan corpse and stood back, letting Helen get a good look at the alien. She stared for a moment, forcing the burned alien features to register, then closed her eyes, sighing with frustration.

  “It’s not him,” she said, shaking her head. “Judging by the uniform this was some sort of underling. A Sub-Admiral, I think they call them. Keep looking. We can’t leave until we find this guy’s body and…”

  Helen trailed off as she felt the deck vibrate slightly under her feet. A muted clang of machinery lifted through the quiet air, alerting Helen to something she’d almost missed. Helen was quiet for a moment, just listening. Calico frowned, noticing the strange look on Helen’s face.

  “What is…?”

  Helen felt another vibration in the deck and a slightly louder clang of machinery. This time there was no mistaking it.

  Something was under the floor.

  Helen snapped her Coyote to her shoulder and hit a small switch next to the trigger, powering on the assault rifle's extracharge mode. As the Coyote threw power to its accelerator shaft, Helen took aim straight down and fired. Rifle rounds pounded out with increased stopping power, punching through the floor with booming clangs like a rivet gun. Doc jumped back out of range, pulling Calico with him in an attempt to stay out of the way. Helen pulled the trigger again and again, putting hole after hole in the floor, staggering her shots back and forth across the width of the corridor like she was hunting an invisible mouse. After a minute of shooting, Helen stopped, trying to block out the ringing in her ears to catch the noise she’d heard before. Nothing.