by Tyler Leslie
Without even looking back at his defeated foe, the Prince exited the room. A terrified housekeeper stood at the edge of the doorway, eyes wide and mouth agape.
“Clean up the mess,” the Prince ordered without even taking note of the woman’s discomfort. He walked slowly down the hall, intent on reaching his throne room in time to begin the day’s work.
CHAPTER 11
THREE MONTHS AFTER DAVIS’ ARREST
Davis sighed, both in triumph and trepidation, as he passed through the heavily fortified gates of the detention facility for the final time. The three months he had served there had been, for lack of a better term, hellacious. Naturally any period of time spent in a brig would be terrible, but on Firebase Davenport the guards, and fellow inmates, pulled no punches—literally. Davis had made it his mission in life from the second he was admitted to procure a weapon of some kind. It took him nearly his entire first month to do so, but finally he was able to snick a 6-inch knife off one of the regular guards. Once he had the knife in his possession, life became much easier. No longer did he have to watch every angle of his surroundings while in the showers, nor did he have to pay close attention to what was happening as he was transferred to his cell late at night. The mere sight of the weapon’s hilt quelled most signs of trouble.
In one rather unfortunate incident, Davis had been forced to use the knife on a fellow inmate who had continued to advance upon him after the weapon had been drawn. The inmate, a man known only as Brett, had managed to get a knife of his own, and had called Davis out in the middle of the mess hall. The ensuing fight had taken five guards and a taser to end, and gave Davis an enemy to truly fear. For the next few weeks Brett had stalked him endlessly, until one night Davis caught him alone in the shower and slashed his chest wide open. Due to the calculated placement of the wound Brett had been transferred to the medical facility and then on to one of the other detention centers on the far side of the base, giving Davis the much needed peace he craved.
“You’re free to go, Cadet,” growled the rough-
and-tumble security guard who had been stationed at the prison entrance for Davis’ entire stint. “Your personal items are in the room to your right.” The guard gestured to a small room with a single window at the top. “Hope I never see ya again.”
Davis nodded and trudged to the room, intent on grabbing his things and getting as far away from “The Center” as possible. As he passed through the doorway he noticed movement out of the corner of his eye. He didn’t even have time to turn his head. The door to the room slammed behind him and he was suddenly in the most iron-clad, unforgiving grip he had ever felt. Whoever had him threw him forward onto the small metal table that carried his belongings and held him there for several long agonizing seconds.
“Welcome back into the fold, Cadet,” came a loud and gravelly voice that seemed to be capable of rending ears with a whisper. “You don’t know me yet, but you will soon enough. Regina didn’t fancy the task of tutoring you by herself, so she decided to enlist my help. They call me Peterson, and you and I are gonna be best friends…”
Before Davis could muster a word the immovable grip had loosened and his attacker had vacated the room. Whoever this Peterson was, he didn’t like the prospect of Davis getting a look at him before the training began again. Davis sat on the side of the table, rubbing weakly at his throat. Not even three minutes into his freedom and he had already been thrown straight back into the fire. For a split second, Davis actually considered returning to the brig. It would likely be less torturous than life with Regina, and this Peterson had already succeeded in striking fear into the young man’s heart. Life on the Firebase was about to get interesting.
Two weeks later to the day, Davis entered into the final stage of training—quite a coincidence that it would fall on the same day he had emerged from the brig. During the past two weeks Peterson had revealed himself to be every bit the nightmare Davis had feared he’d be, and then some. Gruff, heavyset, and tall, with fiery red hair that perfectly reflected his temper, he had a will that was stronger than the toughest steel and a temper that could tear down mountains. Every infraction Davis accrued was met with the most severe punishments imaginable—everything from literally being thrown back in the brig to being immersed in quicksand to the point of near death, being pulled out, and then tossed right back in. Regina had, surprisingly, taken a more passive role in his education, typically standing on the sidelines and shouting what she perceived to be helpful tips. They were, of course, nothing more than derisive spiels designed to crush Davis’ spirit, but in the end they were always overpowered by the physical aspect of Peterson’s grueling trials.
Finally, on this day, it was all to be over. As Davis was the only cadet being trained by Regina and Peterson, the final trial would take far less time than normal. The rules were simple. A captured Scur’attkan warrior would be released into a controlled area, and Davis would be forced to kill him. It was a brutal exchange, and despite the animalistic and savage nature of the Scuratt’ka, Davis felt a pang of sympathy for the warrior he would face. To be captured, likely tortured endlessly, and then released into the wild only to be killed, seemed a cruel and unforgiving fate. Despite this, the Scuratt’ka were the enemy, and had done far worse things to humanity. Learning to kill the real thing, not just a holographic projection, was necessary for survival in the field.
Davis stood on the edge of a clearing of trees that marked the boundary for the trial. He scuffed the dirt with his shoe in anticipation, making a small x. X marks the spot. The spot where I begin my career in the military and finally leave this hellhole. He looked up, trying to catch a glimpse of the battleground through the thicket of trees even though he knew that was impossible. The last thing his trainers would want is him getting a view of the field beforehand. Unnecessary advantages were looked down upon in the US military. A soldier’s superiority and strength were the only tools he or she needed to survive.
The rustling sound of soft, polished boots stomping through the grass caught Davis’ attention. He didn’t need to turn to know who his caller was. Regina strode toward him with her typical arrogant, annoyed air, not even pausing to look at Davis as she passed by him. She addressed the future soldier without even giving him the courtesy of looking at him.
“My time with you is almost up, Cadet. I have to admit I look forward to being rid of you as much as I look forward to getting off this wretched firebase and getting back into the action.” She slowly turned to face him, and Davis thought he caught a twinge of regret in her face. “However, being rid of you also entails having to train a new cadre of worthless, inept imbeciles, and that pains me greatly.” She sobered; her all too familiar hard-edged facade was in place again. “If you fail, Cadet, there are no second chances. This is it. You lose this battle, you die.
The enemy found behind those trees has been in captivity for as long as you have been training. He will show no mercy, and if anything, is even more ruthless and spiteful than the Scuratt’ka you will face in the field. Don’t let your guard down for even a second, or I promise you, you will die.” She turned back toward the thicket, an action that relieved Davis, for she wouldn’t see the gut-wrenching anger that now played across his face. Even in the face of his final, most important test she was defiant and hateful. He knew a small part of her wanted him to die. In a twisted way it would give her some solace. Unfortunately for her, Davis had no intention of dying at the final stage. He would test out, and prove himself to be more than worthy of the US Marine Corps.
The thicket of trees that tapered off into the distance in front of Davis seemed to possess a sort of extraordinary power, as it if was literally alive. Davis realized this was likely due to the fact that this particular thicket would literally serve as the portal to his future career, and therefore it held a mythical aura of future success. The future Marine stepped forward into the dense underbrush that marked the boundary of the thic
ket and began slowly pressing forward. It was all he could do to keep from rushing headlong through the trees in an attempt to discover and defeat his enemy as quickly as possible. Doing so would be incredibly foolish, he knew, because the enemy that lay in wait was as intelligent and as cunning as he was, and would surely be waiting in ambush somewhere unseen.
Davis crouched down, making his silhouette as small as possible while making an effort to avoid twigs and branches that would crack and give away his position. Davis had been given no intel on the armament the enemy warrior would be carrying, and was a little bit nervous because of this. From what he had learned in the classroom sessions with Gregg, the Scuratt’kan warriors carried a bizarre array of weaponry, all of which was capable of rending human flesh with the ease of a particle laser. If the enemy warrior was equipped with armor—and it was likely that he was since an AMBA was waiting up ahead for Davis—this would prove to be a fight that would never leave the young man’s memory. The holographic training sessions against armored opponents had been nerve-wracking enough, but the adrenaline that accompanied this kill-or-be killed fight was nearly enough to send Davis to the ground.
Suddenly there was a noise to the right. It was soft and low, and sounded something like the growl of a large jungle cat.
Impossible, there are no panthers out here… are there? Davis shrugged off the noise as nothing more than his mind playing tricks on him, and continued forward at his slow and steady pace. Within a minute or two, the sound rippled through the forest against, this time louder and more forceful. Davis spun to his right, gripping tightly the machine gun he had been issued for the trial. What was Regina up to? There had been no mention of predatory animals—or any kind of wildlife for that matter—in this test.
If he was currently being stalked by a big cat, or worse, this test had just become ten times more difficult. The last thing he needed was something distracting him from battle with an enraged, captive alien creature, and a hunting animal was something that certainly couldn’t be ignored. Davis got down on one knee and raised his weapon. If the panther, or whatever it was, had him in its sights it was only a matter of time before it began its attack. In the meantime Davis was losing precious seconds in his battle with the Scuratt’kan warrior. He needed to get to the AMBA as quickly as possible. Once he had achieved this goal the animal would be no threat whatsoever.
The growl tore through the brush again; this time there was no mistaking its origin. It was coming from a small clump of bushes directly in front of Davis, and from the sound of things this was no small animal. Davis decided to go on the offensive and pressed forward, weapon ready, waiting to unleash a battery of bullets at the slightest sign of trouble. He reached the clump of bushes and stopped. Was there really a giant predator hiding just feet from him? And if so, was he ready to take it on? If the animal got the jump on Davis and he lost his aim, it was all over for him. A several hundred pound cat could easily pin him to the ground and finish him in a matter of seconds.
Davis stole a few quick glances around to make sure he wasn’t being stalked by the warrior he was supposed to be engaging, and with a deep breath, parted the bushes with the barrel of his gun. What he saw next forced bile into his throat and nearly stopped his heart. A small, odd looking piece of metal and some indistinguishable material was tied to a tree. A small green light adorned the top of the device like an emerald tiara, and signified that things were working well for the Scuratt’kan warrior. This was a trap; nothing more than a diversionary tactic set up by an enemy that had been gravely underestimated. This warrior was even more cunning than Davis had anticipated, and the metallic taste of fear slowly crept into the future Marine’s mouth.
Davis didn’t even get a chance to turn and run before the enemy was upon him. A hard blow to the side of his head knocked him to the ground, stunning him for a few seconds. As he fell, he caught a glimpse of his attacker. It was the enemy warrior, covered from head to toe in glimmering silver armor. If ever there was a sight to strike fear into a man, this was it. Davis tried to spin away from his attacker, but his equilibrium was off and he managed little more than a flop onto his back. The warrior advanced upon him menacingly, brandishing a giant metal axe-like weapon that seemed capable of cleaving a rhino in two. It was at this moment that Davis realized the direness of the situation he was in. If he fell here there was no second chance, no re-do of the trial. He would die, and die before making it into the Corps. This was not an option; he had to win this fight no matter the cost.
Using the remaining momentum from his roll, Davis managed to clumsily get back on his feet—just in time to dodge a swing that would have neatly cut him in two. He needed to get some distance between him and his attacker, and fast! Without thinking, Davis grabbed a thick tree branch from the ground and swung it at the warrior. The Scuratt’kan didn’t even bother moving. The branch collided with his nearly indestructible armor and broke like a twig. Davis could have sworn that for a split second he saw the warrior’s face mask change its expression to a smug smile.
The warrior’s next attack came without any warning whatsoever. One minute his left hand was clenched by his side, the next it was impacting Davis’ shoulder with enough force to once again lift the man completely off his feet. He sailed through the air, landing with a loud thud against a nearby rock.
Even though he didn’t hit his head, Davis felt like his life was only moments from leaving him. A surging pain akin to acid pumping through his veins shot through the side he had landed on. In the few moments it took the warrior to advance upon his position, Davis had time to reflect upon the time he had spent at Firebase Davenport. What had he really accomplished anyway? Why were they even bothering to fight an enemy this powerful? Surely humanity was destined to return to the dust from whence it had been born. This adversary was simply far too superior. They might as well just surrender and hope their lives were spared. Perhaps they could live on as slaves. It would be a terrible end to a great civilization, but it would certainly be better than death.
Davis shook his head. Of course there was a reason to fight! Here was an enemy that had literally burst from the heart of the earth itself to wage war on humanity. They had been hiding in fear for centuries, afraid they would be decimated by the technologically superior humans. Then, the creation of MindGate had finally given them the strength needed to show themselves. Despite their newfound fearsome technology however, humanity would put these creatures back in their place.
He struggled to his feet again—painfully—and squared his jaw against the advancing warrior. He only had one shot at this, and he couldn’t mess it up—doing so would probably end in his death. As the warrior drew back his weapon to cleave Davis in two, the future Marine rushed the alien, and dove through the gap created when the Scuratt’kan raised his axe. The creature’s reflexive abilities were astonishing, yet Davis managed to make it through the hole with less than a bruise. Now was the time for action. Davis ran as fast as he could toward the position where he had been told his AMBA lay in wait. If he could just get inside it, he would have a fighting chance against this foe.
Davis sprinted like he had never sprinted before. The wind whipped at his face like he was running deep within the bowels of a wind tunnel. Behind him, the sounds of the warrior hurtling through the underbrush after him became steadily louder. The warrior’s vast height coupled with his power armor gave a Scuratt’kan the ability to run at nearly forty miles an hour over flat terrain, according to Gregg’s lectures. Luckily, in a dense forest like this his size worked against him, and he had to continuously fling branches and bushes out of his way, unlike the far more limber Davis. The future Marine dared not take a glance back at his enemy; there was no time for errors in judgment in a situation such as this. The AMBA lay just over the crest of the hill Davis was hurriedly ascending; he was nearly there!
The only problem with Davis’ plan involved the power-up sequence that was required for act
ivating the battle armor. By the time he got inside the machine the warrior would long be upon him. Davis simply had to trust in the suit’s protective abilities to absorb the initial damage it would receive while he powered it up. Davis finally rounded the top of the hill and caught sight of his prize. It glinted in the sunlight like an ancient Mayan treasure finally unearthed, and filled Davis with more hope than any long-lost artifact ever could. He tore down the hill, barely able to slow himself down enough to ascend the ladder built into the armor’s leg. As he climbed into the cockpit he caught a glimpse of the warrior making it to the top of the hill. Davis had run faster than he thought possible—but the warrior should have been closer. A sudden pang of fear shot through Davis; why wasn’t the warrior upon him already? Did he have some other well-laid trap in store? He shook his head. There was no time to worry now. The suit’s onboard computer had beeped to life and informed him the power-up sequence had started. Davis smashed the cockpit hatch’s open/close button with his fist and the nearly impenetrable canopy slid down to shield him from his attacker.
Let’s see how you like me now that the odds are more even, Warrior. Davis allowed himself a tight grin. Now things were looking up.
The warrior descended the hill with none of the pace Davis had exerted; he was cautious now that his foe was similarly equipped. The power-up sequence finished and the blue light signaling all systems were ready lit his face like a beacon of hope. Time to finish this and claim my rank.
The warrior had stopped midway down the hill and seemed to be assessing the AMBA’s threat level. Davis grinned as he imagined the warrior’s reaction to being utterly annihilated by the plasma weaponry he now commanded. The Marine-to-be flipped through his weapons list, the smile fading from his lips as he read the equipped armament. As if on cue, his comm crackled to life and the always smug voice of Regina cut in.