Zaxon B: The Final Struggle (Galaxies Collide Book 4)

by Andrew McGregor

  Shino slipped the spatula into her mouth, her senses intensifying as the red spicy food reacted across her taste buds, her hand reaching for a mug of Trevakian wine as she winked at Debra opposite, ‘Do you think we will ever see earth again now?’

  The airport supervisor shrugged, tentatively lifting some food from the blue tin wedged between her thighs with her spare hand, ‘It seems so long ago now, but it has only been a few days…’ She nodded towards Riaz, his smile widening as he pulled the top of his canister away, ‘What have you got this time young man?’

  The asian officer looked up triumphantly, flashing his teeth in a grin, ‘Ravioli!’ He lifted the tin, inspecting the sides, ‘To begin with I found it frustrating that I did not know what was inside, but now it’s kinda fun!’ He lowered the tin, shovelling food onto the spatula and leaning forward to absorb the steaming aroma, ‘Smells good too…not like that spicy stuff!’

  Shino grimaced, swallowing a mouthful, ‘You just aren’t tough enough for the red!’ She smiled, nodding to Debra, ‘What will you do if we go back…stay at Heathrow?’

  Debra nodded, ‘It’s a good place to work and I love the atmosphere…not sure it will ever be the same now though…perhaps more military flights?’

  Riaz shook his head, enjoying his food selection, ‘I am not sure I want to go back now…’ He glanced upwards as the other two stared wide eyed at him, ‘I mean…this is adventure…the most adventure I have ever had. No two days are the same and our futures are intertwined with a variety of races from across several galaxies…’ He hesitated, considering his remark, ‘I may ask Dugachard if I can join up…see the Trevakian Empire and fight for it!’

  Shino swigged from her mug, perspiration glistening across her brow, her hair matted, ‘Are you sure…it’s very dangerous and the enemy are evil?’

  Riaz nodded in certainty, ‘Someone has to do it…we can’t leave it all to our allies. There will be years of fighting ahead no matter what happens on this planet.’ He shrugged, ‘Sure, I would like to go back and visit earth…see my friends and mother, but I will only be bored after all this experience.’ He leant forward, his eyes straining, ‘I don’t want to be someone that sits in a bar having drinks bought for me and recounting my ‘first contact’ with a couple of weeks of excitement…embellishing the story to impress people…I want to live it for as long as humanly possible!’

  Debra shook her head dismissively, ‘I had not thought of it like that…’ She leant back thoughtfully, ‘I suppose our lives have changed for good now…’ She winced as the shoulder injury irritated her, ‘Still, I know how painful this can be…perhaps I will be for going back if we get the chance. What about you Shino?’

  The Philippine sipped from her mug again, her face flushed from the alcohol and spicy meal, ‘I don’t know really…I have many friends and family in London…and a boyfriend.’ She sniffed emotionally as if recalling the people close to her, the spicy food adding to the action, ‘I think we will be here for some time now…we may not even survive to go back, poor Sam didn’t…it may all end here!’

  Riaz’s eyes widened as did Debra’s, the supervisor lifting the ceramic jug slowly, ‘Let’s all have a couple more drinks…remember our friends and family…’

  Chapter Sixteen: Waking Up

  David Bland’s eyes flickered open, his breathing relaxed and shallow as he lay staring at the silver shining ceiling, a faint silhouette of his body reflecting on the surface above. Sleepily turning his head, he glimpsed the pilot lying on the bed next to him, the Trevakian breathing heavily, his body twitching slightly from a nervous dream.

  Resisting the temptation to drift back to sleep, David struggled to clear his thoughts, considering the air in their quarters was probably mixed with relaxants, his frame seeming blissfully subdued and lazy. Glancing round the room, he realised it was sparsely furnished, the glinting silver walls and floor complementing the ceiling as dim lights glinted from the corners. His body was now dressed back in the combat uniform, the material seeming cleaner and filled with a clear and fragrant musk aroma.

  The beds were heavily padded, seeming to move with his body, providing considerable and comforting warmed support as he smiled faintly, realising his legs were hanging over the end of the raised resin base that encircled the pulsing mattress.

  Raising his head further, he noticed the door opposite the end of the bed, realising there was no handle or way of opening it, a small intercom sitting two thirds of the way up the frame, his eyes narrowing as he stared at the height of the opening, the doorway seeming quite short.

  He lowered his head again slowly, drifting back into sleep as the air surged around their figures, the temperature rising and falling in response to the breathing of both figures. Further oxygen and healing chemicals were pumped into the small room, the two figures sleeping deeply as the air and mattress responded to body scans.

  David’s body shuddered suddenly, the pilot reaching out and shaking his shoulder, his voice a hiss, ‘Wake up human…it is time to get out of here!’

  He shook himself awake, the pilot pulling on his boots and glancing round the room, his combat suit beginning to tighten as it felt his raised heartbeat, David staring at the man incredulously, ‘There is no way of getting out…you may as well just sit back and wait for them to come for us…’

  The Trevakian glanced at him, his lips curling, ‘We will be ready for them when they open the door…’

  David shrugged dismissively, ‘What for? They have done nothing to us…in fact I feel great…they have fixed whatever was wrong with me and I have never really felt better…’

  The pilot grinned reflectively, turning to stare at him, his eyes widening, ‘Actually you are right…I feel good too.’ He sat back, exhaling heavily as he shrugged, ‘We have no weapons…let’s see what they have to say…how they react?’

  David nodded, rising and dropping his feet over the side of the bed to get his boots, his hands rubbing the mattress which moved under his touch, the surface heated slightly, ‘They certainly know how to make a bed…this is divine…heated with some sort of material that adjusts to you underneath…’ He grinned fondly, ‘I could make a fortune with this invention on earth…’

  The Trevakian’s eyes narrowed as he indicated towards the intercom, ‘They will be listening I think…’ Then he grinned again, ‘Mind you, we don’t know anything that is secret or classified…they are probably not Morgon as we would have been dissected by now or just shot…they would also have taken our skulls!’ He shrugged once more, ‘Let’s hope we are not kept waiting too long…I need to try and convince them to let us go back to Zaxon B…we can help there, they will need every soldier they can get.’

  David nodded knowingly, slipping his feet into the boots as they turned startled, the intercom beeping softly, the high pitched voice from before spilling through the speakers, ‘We come to room shortly…stay away from door and remain on beds please…this will ensure your safety.’

  Both men sat back, glancing suspiciously at each other before staring towards the door, the intercom light flashing as soothing natural chemicals were pumped through the air in the room, David smiling as he caught a brief sniff of the pacifying aroma in his nostrils, ‘At least their English has improved…’

  The door swept open, an electric whirr as it disappeared into the side housing, David and the pilot’s eyes widening as the two figures marched in and assumed positions either side of the opening, assault rifles raised across their chests. The two males were slim, of approximately five feet in stature, black shining helmets adorned with side protectors, reflective visors covering their eyes.

  Dressed in black combat uniforms with oversized boots, their shoulders, upper and lower arms, thighs and shins were protected with sparkling armoured plate, lower plate covering the front of their boots. Staring straight ahead, the two soldiers had tanned skin, their jaws flexing as their feet parted in unison, standing easy as another two figures emerged from the silver corridor outside. />
  One shorter than the soldiers, the emissaries wore similar combat uniforms as the soldiers albeit without the plate accessories and helmets, both with flowing red cloaks draped from their shoulders and across their chests. Stopping a couple of metres into the room, the figures stood side by side, bowing slightly from the waist as they stared at the two men sat on the ends of the beds before them.

  David and the pilot nervously lowered their heads in response, the smaller figure on the right speaking first, the airport manager recognising the high pitched voice as he stared across their features. With high cheek bones and sparkling brown eyes, the deeply tanned emissaries had dark glistening black hair, their teeth glossy white as they smiled.

  The voice was shrill, the representative seeming nervous as their stance shifted, ‘I am Begum, your translator…I apologise that my knowledge of your language may not have been as suitable for your understanding before…I have now upgraded my skills whilst you were sleeping. I hope this meets with your approval…’ He glanced at the soldiers on either side, ‘We are soldiers of the Fahimian Republic…and welcome you to our ship.’

  David nodded wide eyed, ‘I am also sorry if I seemed rude…’ He glanced at the Trevakian, seeing the man staring at the two representatives, ‘Your English is fine…I can fully understand now…’

  The pilot nodded in agreement, his voice low as he spoke, ‘I can understand…’ He smiled in awe, speaking nervously, ‘I have heard stories of your honourable race…from the far side of several galaxies. We apparently made contact two centuries ago I believe, an exploration vessel of ours responding to a distress signal from an outpost in the Darison System…far past our deep mining colonies. By the time we reached the facility all we found were bodies and destroyed equipment, a base ravaged by an enemy unknown…’

  The emissaries glanced at each other uncomfortably, Begum speaking once more, ‘It is written in our historical records of the demise of our positions in Darison…we lost a lot of our settlers there…that was the beginning of our war.’ The representatives shifted uncomfortably on their stance once more, Begum continuing, ‘We have studied the electronic records on your ship and intercepted some messages from your forces in the next galaxy as well as enemy communications…our war with the Morgons has lasted a shorter time, but seems to have been just as destructive.’ Begum sighed, his frame stiffening with emotion, ‘You are losing your war as we have…we are the last ship of our people…our planet fell some time ago, all our colonies falling one by one as the Morgons advanced. They have slaughtered our race and chased us across three galaxies…destroying and murdering our population…we are all that is left.’ The emissaries stepped forward, crouching down as if relaxing more into a natural position, ‘We escaped as we were fortunate to be in the most advanced vessel we possessed, able to cloak and fly at maximum speed. In our urgency to flee our planet, the others without this technology were hunted down one by one…we flew out at different trajectories in attempts to find a friendly race that would shelter or join with us…’ Begum smiled ironically, indicating to David, ‘We were destined for your earth…the last of our other vessels was caught some time ago…their deep space covert message reporting the existence of an ultimately powerful Morgon warship before it was destroyed. This enemy vessel is far superior to this, our now last remaining vessel containing the last survivors of our people.’

  David Bland grimaced, his head shaking as he began to realise the enormity and extent of Morgon power, Begum speaking more reservedly, ‘I have spoken to our commander regarding the battle in the next galaxy...she has advised that we need to preserve the existence of our people…we have only seventeen thousand souls on board and will search for a distant planet to colonise.’ Begum rose to his feet, ‘However, we have a number of prototype weapons that escaped with our vessel and we are willing to provide the schematics and plans for some of these as we understand your peoples to be honourable and peace loving…if a little argumentative. We were unable to build some of these weapons before our home planet was invaded…this is regrettable as we consider them superior to Morgon technology. We understand that they have not fallen into enemy hands as the scientists responsible are aboard this vessel.’

  The pilot’s head slowly rose, his eyes narrowing in excitement as adrenalin and excitement surged through his chest, ‘What kind of technology…what weapons please?’

  The Fahimian to the left raised his hand to his ear, listening intently to the translation, Begum glancing nervously at his superior as the shorter being spoke, his voice tutting and clicking as David strained his ears in response. Begum spoke nervously, glancing at his senior once more, ‘I have said perhaps too much, gaining the disapproval of our commander…we will escort you to the room where this technology is stored and allow you to view for yourselves…in accordance with our laws on first contact, we can provide three of the items you see only, and will compliment this with the technology of our translator system. This will enable us to communicate with both your worlds in the future once we locate a new home planet.’

  Begum rose slowly from crouched, smiling fleetingly, ‘We are sorry we can offer no further help…but the survival of our people must now overcome any temptation to fight again against the Morgons…we are now too weak and they are just too powerful!’ The small figure straightened, glancing round as an orderly advanced into the room, his hands laden with a silver tray, ‘We presumed you would both be hungry and have provided a selection of our delicacies for your consumption.’ He indicated to the tray as it was lowered, legs automatically beginning to protrude and descend from the base.

  The two seated figures began to realise their hunger, staring ravenously at the trays surface as it was lowered, Begum stepping forward in anticipation and pointing at the surface, several grey square boxes on the surface, ‘We studied your records and realise you tastes may differ from ours…we have therefore provided the least spice orientated foods we have, all vegetarian I think you call the substances you consume. Fahimians also only each fish as part of our diet...and then only the species created by our scientists that are what I think you call sustainable. We allow wild creatures to survive and flourish and only eat once the fish reach old age…this allows us to sample the more mature flavours once seasoned, without culling a living being before they have time to experience life…that is what our culture considers acceptable.’ He grinned thoughtfully, ‘Our food is also designed to maximise our bodies life expectancy and resilience…animal meat was outlawed some time ago…’

  David cautiously leant forward and picked up one of the containers, sniffing it gingerly as Begum indicated to the package, ‘That is stew…formed form proteins and developed matter…very filling and good for you…it is spiced, but not as much as we like it! Simply pull the clip on the base and it will cook…these are excellent battle rations for our troops and very popular.’

  The airport manager raised his hand, glancing underneath the container and grinning as he reached for the small oval attachment, the pilot selecting another package. As David tugged the clip, his eyes widened, the package beginning to warm in his hands, Begum giggling in delight at his reaction as he spoke further, ‘Once it has warmed to your satisfaction, pull the lid and the container will sustain that temperature until you have consumed your meal…that allows our soldiers and personnel to select their own preferences with our food…the spatula is inside and doubles as a useful addition to our assault rifles.’

  David pulled the top of the container back, steam rising across his features as the intense aroma of the food swept onto his nostrils, his mouth-watering as he prized the spatula from the lid and slipped it into the thick lumpy brown substance, cautiously raising it to his mouth before slipping it inside. He leant back as the glorious flavours swept through his senses, smiling widely as he chewed and nodding his appreciation, ‘This is really good…delicious in fact!’

  Two Fahimian honour guard marched before and behind the pilot and David Bland, the emissaries walking br
iskly in front through the silver shining corridors, grilled steel walkways beneath their feet. They passed several startled crew members in red overcalled uniforms as they progressed, the staff staring upwards in awe at the visitors, the pilot raised his voice, ‘What is your armoured strength aboard this ship please?’

  Begum glanced round, smiling with pride, ‘I am not at liberty to say, as you should understand. However, this is a Class ‘A’ Fahimian Battle Cruiser, unknown to your people…we have a considerable number of highly trained specialist troops and commandoes on board and more than double the standard fighter and bomber strength of such a vessel. This is…was…the most powerful and most technologically advanced ship we have ever designed and manufactured…’ His eyes dropped in despondency, ‘…unfortunately produced too late to stem the Morgon advance and slaughter, but able to outmanoeuvre and outgun the Morgon ships we knew of…’ He indicated to a door ahead, ‘Here is the specialist armoury housing our prototypes…’

  Hesitating by the doorway, Begum tapped on the security panel on the side, then pressed a small hand to the surface as the electronics read his palm, the door sweeping open and lights flickering on within. Stepping into the neon lit room, the lights surged in intensity, sensing a presence, David Bland glancing across the many display cases as Begum began explaining the contents, ‘We had researched smart grenades for close quarter combat…these will rise and stick to the Morgon soldier, some detonating immediately, others later when the trooper is gathered with others.’ Indicating to another display case, he continued, ‘These are smart pulse mines…detonating as enemy soldiers pass, targeting their reserve or second line troops and designed to enable our soldiers to attack without worrying about enemy reinforcements.’