by Ronan Frost
"There is no time. Either come now or remain to be eaten - your choice. Just let me say that if I wanted you dead I would have done so long before now."
Still confused and sceptical Shaun saw no alternative but to drop the minigun into the swamp. It had been a bluff anyway - the weapon was empty.
Water sloshed through his boots as Shaun passed directly below the twin searchlights that gave out palpable heat, guided by the sound of mechanical hinges working as the hatch opened. Shaun saw very little of the ship as he passed next to the sturdy landing leg, but he knew for certain that this was a craft of Hartrias design. Mentally tensing, he clenched and relaxed his fists, surreptitiously patting at his side where a small blade lay hidden. Breathing deeply to quell his fears, Shaun knew there was no alternative but to leave the swamp. The voice over the loudspeaker was right; this was his one lifeline.
The unsteady footing gave way to solid metal as Shaun ascended the ramp, feeling the technology enclose him like a blanket as purified air left the crude stench of the swamp behind. Footsteps echoing upon the glistening surface Shaun entered the craft, noting every detail as he stood in a puddle of muddy water spreading from his feet. He stood in the passenger compartment of the craft, a round table set before him and several seats arranged nearby. Bathed in a pure fluorescent light the square scientific features of the cabin juxtaposed the twisted unclear images of the swamp. To his annoyance he discovered the sudden change in environment had momentarily put his senses off-guard that he had not noticed the approach of the ship's occupant.
"Greetings, solider."
Shaun spun, his hand finding his hidden blade as his gaze met with the figure of a Hartrias standing in the rectangular frame of the doorway. The Hartrias' reptilian brows rose above coal black eyes as it extended both arms in a gesture of admonition. "Careful now."
"Who are you?" questioned Shaun, knowing hand-to-hand battle against a Hartrias would be stupidity. But rather than allow himself to be captured a third time Shaun was ready to plunge the crude blade into his own heart if worst came to worst.
The Hartrias took another step forward, heavy boots snicking against the flooring. Then something incredible happened.
The Hartrias' face peeled open.
With a clunk the blade fell from Shaun's limp fingers as he watched in fascination, hardly daring to believe his eyes. The Hartrias' head rolled backwards like the folds of a roller door, partially peeling back from the cheekbones to the forehead. The small opening ran with orange coloured liquid, revealing a pair of human eyes small in comparison to the squat Hartrias features surrounding.
This time it spoke in human fashion, free of the harsh tones of Hartrias language. "You look as if you've seen a ghost."
Shaun cursed his lack of wits as understanding caught on. He watched in mute awe as mechanical switches clicked. "That's incredible. Bio-mechanics..."
The human eyes blinked orange liquid and the man looked as if he were in pain. "Good to see you like it." He paused, then said; "I've got to refasten the seals or she'll dry up."
Shaun watched as the Hartrias face moved back down and blended without flaw into the reptilian flesh of the mechanical face that rippled with moving muscle that gave the illusion of life. Shaking his head he at last regained his sense of purpose.
"I must thank you for coming for me." Shaun extended a hand. "I owe you my life."
The other's snoutlike face nodded acknowledgment as he turned a huge hand palm upward, the claw recessed but still evident under the skin. "Let me introduce myself; I am Agent Conrad Tracer of the Federation Special Services. I'd shake, but with this I'd most likely rip your arm off. But enough - I can see you are dead on your feet. When was the last time you slept, solider?"
Shaun shrugged, for although his exhaustion and aches he knew what he craved most. "How's that food-storage locker stocked, Conrad? I'd kill for a piece of flesh to fill my guts - I think right now I'd even swallow a piece of sythnispam."
"You can refer to me as Agent Tracer, or Sir," said the man evenly, "from the looks of things I'd say only one of us is in command."
"I'm sorry, sir," apologised Shaun somewhat taken aback. He hadn't expected such coldness from the first human he had made contact with for three years.
Conrad grunted deep from what sounded like powerful Hartrias lungs, but Shaun knew his vocal chords must have been amplified and modified to match the Hartrias'. "Don't get me wrong, son, I'm not looking for your hide. It's just that we are still on enemy dirt and until we are away I want to do things my way."
"I understand the seriousness of the situation, sir," nodded Shaun, trying to straighten his shoulders despite his weariness. "Control of the jump-point is critical to the outcome of the War."
"Then you know - that is well." Agent Tracer ran a critical eye over Shaun's form. "I've been placed deep within the Hartrias forces, and you must understand my mission comes first." Tracer's heavy brows relaxed slightly. "I'll get you some food, solider." Heading for an ice-chamber it wasn't long before a plate sealed with a metal foil was delivered steaming hot before Shaun.
"It's Hartrias food," said Tracer with the barest hint of humour creeping a little warmth into his voice, "but not anything as bad as synthispam."
Shaun could not resist the steaming food for long, even despite his unwillingness to relax his guard so quickly, but the odours soon made his stomach grumble with such ferocity that he could not help but begin to shovel morsels into his mouth. Shaun regarded his rescuer from between mouthfuls. "If you don't mind me saying so, sir, that must be thousands of creds worth of equipment you're wearing. Mechanical limbs and cybernetic linkups don't come cheap."
"Not just that, it's all bio-engineered so it lives just like normal tissue, fed by a supply a nutrients from my own flesh." Tracer's incredibly real Hartrias eyes narrowed under a pair of heavy brows. "The suit was practically grown around me, and I've been in it for so long now I doubt the Federation will be able to remove it without killing me. My flesh has grown around the suit, and even removing the eyes as I did just now was very painful."
Shaun was silent for a moment, knowing now why Tracer had acted so cold and impersonal towards him. He knew that his own imprisonment on the Urisa was nothing compared to the confines of the bio-suit that bound Tracer for life.
"Where I've been I needed every detail," continued Tracer in an even voice as he leant back on his chair opposite Shaun. "A lot of the detail is classified" Tracer grunted low in his throat then arched a brow. "And yourself? What is your story?"
"My name is Flight Lieutenant Shaun Lowry, Federation pilot captured three years ago. You're the first human I have seen since then, sir."
Tracer nodded. "You are the first human being I have seen for five years."
Shaun lay aside his fork. "If you don't mind me asking, sir, where did you come from?"
"With the help of the Federation Secret Services I infiltrated the Hartrias battleship Rplore under the pseudonym of footsolider J. Moarn and carried out spy work. I was a deep plant, working in their midst and under the scrutiny of their computers, and it was then I was brought quite by coincidence to this planet. It was fortunate to be where I was at the time."
"Then it was you who saved us back on the Urisa," realised Shaun. "You fired those shots into our captives aboard the skipship! But how in the name of the Almighty did you manage to find me? It was a planetary search - yet you seemed to have narrowed the hunt very quickly."
"I would have thought it logical," replied Tracer smoothly. "I planted a tracking device in the minigun I gave to you the last time we met. From there, it was simply a matter of destroying a lot of the ship's defences and blasting away in this stolen craft."
Shaun grinned. "A tracking device - well bugger me with a clampscrew! You showed remarkable foresight, sir."
Tracer's brown Hartrias eyes glinted. "Retrieving you was the least I could do. You and your friends created the confusion I needed to pull this thing off. Speaking of which; your frie
nds - who were they?"
"Natives," said Shaun. "They helped disable Avatar."
"Then the Federation owes them thanks; although I managed to disconnect Avatar's fire control and warning systems I couldn't get close enough for a direct hit." Agent Tracer leant forward over the table. "Where are the natives now?"
Shaun lowered his gaze. "I've lost them."
"With all the reptiles and predators in this swamp it is impossible to identify them with this ship's equipment. They must have taken naturally back into their home environment." Tracer shook his head in a Hartrias manner, and Shaun noticed that the man must have unconsciously taken up their habits. No, Shaun corrected himself, the habits were probably drilled upon Tracer for years so that nothing gave away his identity.
Tracer relaxed back into the padding of the wide couch. "Weird looking things - like stick insects in a way."
"They were my friends," Shaun said defiantly, detecting a note of scorn in Tracer's voice.
Tracer shook his head. "They fit under the code of primitive inhabitants and until such a time as they are determined a potential ally will remain so."
Picking up his fork again Shaun took another bite, knowing it would be folly to argue. He turned his thoughts to the War. "Has the battle been joined by the Federation? In my time aboard the Urisa I was able to send out a communication relaying for help."
"Then you were successful," complimented Agent Tracer. "Again, you succeeded were I was not able to. My access was limited aboard the Urisa and with the jumptunnels strictly monitored the task was impossible without revealing myself."
"Then the Federation is here?"
Tracer nodded. "You have done good work, Flight Lieutenant. Going from the last reports I received the Urisa, disabled by our combined efforts, is now nothing more than a husk of fire-eaten metal."
Within his heart Shaun allowed himself a moment of congratulation, for in his cryptic manner Tracer had admitted that the native's work had aided the Federation immeasurably, which would without doubt place them in good stead.
Agent Tracer stood and indicated to the rear of the craft. "There are wash facilities and clothing in there - clean yourself up and strap yourself in, it's time we left."
"My friends?"
Tracer grunted negative. "They will have to remain. I cannot stay and search for them."
"No - we can't leave without them!" cried Shaun without thought.
"What?" Agent Tracer stood, knuckles pressed down on the table. "I have to rendezvous with the Federation, Lieutenant, and the lives of a few natives does not press upon my mind. For Zok's sake, I've wasted enough time as it is!"
The curse was Hartrias. Shaun closed his eyes and saw dancing spots. He knew it would be folly to argue with Tracer. "Very well," he breathed, thinking of Ashian, Capac and Myshia; he could only pray that they would survive for there was nothing he could do to aid them. "We will leave, but I shall return for them. I owe them that much."
* * *
Explosions rippled through the decks of the Urisa as twenty megaton torpedoes drove home. Metal buckled and sheared as unimaginable quantities of destructive energy swept through corridors, devouring all in its path. Consoles, machinery, the steel of the superstructure, the Hartrias crew - all swallowed and reduced to basic molecules within seconds.
Those further from the blast had only time to dive to the floor before flame and noise assaulted their forms. Some scrambled madly from pressure-suits and escape pods but their efforts were futile against the deadly Federation missile; there was nothing that could stop the great spherical mushroom cloud billowing from the stricken ship.
"Pull them back!" cried Force Master Loakar. "Release the Urisa now!"
The grapples disengaged and pipes fell away as the battleship fought to free herself from the destroyed carcass. Those aboard Rplore tensed as the forces ripping apart the Urisa also pushed their own ship away...but unlike the Urisa she had shields.
"Our status?" Loakar discovered he was standing.
"Shields holding," came the report. "Damage minimal."
"Damn it!" Loakar pounded the arm of the chair with his fist. "We've lost the Urisa!"
"Yes sir. She's taken a direct hit - without Avatar there was no chance of damage control."
The Force Master slammed his fist down once more. "Damn them to hell! Weaponsmaster Treah, what's the status of those Federation fighters?"
The voice of the Weasponsmaster came over the speakers of the command room. "The four craft penetrating the Urisa's defences are already destroyed. Nothing could have survived that nuclear blast."
Loakar punched the deactivate button and Treah's voice silenced. "Patch a communication to the Warmarshal."
Force Master Loakar's heavy brows furrowed and he drew a large clawed hand back along the edge of his chair as he rallied with his thoughts. He knew there was nothing to do but to report his failure to his superior officers.
He was snapped from his thoughts as the full-height holographic image of the Warmarshal blinked into existence. The later wore a short cape and an imperious insignia of office upon his bullish form, narrow eyes displaying carnivorous intelligence losing none of their definition through the flickering of the holo-image.
Dropping to one knee, eyes downcast, Loakar bade his superior greeting. "Warmarshal, sir."
"Stand, Force Master."
Loakar obeyed and forced his jaw to remain tight. "The Urisa has been lost beyond salvage."
There were a few seconds delay as the communication covered the millions of kilometres separating the two ships. Even though light travelled quickly it still involved an appreciable time before the Warmarshal responded.
"And the planet's defences? Have they been compromised?"
"No sir. The Federation battleships are retreating to your vector."
"Acknowledged, Force Master. I want your ship to seal vector twenty-five."
Loakar bowed. He knew the Warmarshal's objective was to seal the fate of the Berana and the Ki, and was no longer concerned about the Urisa. It was a loss that would be recovered threefold upon the Federation starships.
"Shifting course now sir," snapped Loakar.
"We can hope for nothing but a glorious death."
General McMillan looked across the large control deck and spied the speaker. A mischievous glint shone in his eyes as the seasoned leader smirked a negative. "Dae'd yea think I'd sink us into the shit without a lifeline?" He snapped his fingers together. "Get yae arses into gear, or yae'll find yaeself as a dockworker quicker than yae can think! Now get me a radar update on the screen and set ae course five oh five."
The Berana had suffered great damage at the hands of the Sova-1 fighters, although systems were still marginally above the red. It was at this time when the fighting lulled that the General knew his crew would begin to lose all hope. It was hard to keep one's mind focused when all aboard knew that the Ki, which had remained as a rear-guard, had been caught by the armada of Hartrias ships appearing from jumpspace behind. Reports were coming silently in - lines of text across infonet screens, but the Berana could not possible give any cover fire. She was simply too far away and the enemy's fire-power too heavy.
And the Lanceman. That too had been lost in the first ten minutes of battle along with the lives of thirteen thousand crewmen and pilots.
The General's aide glanced to his leader. "Your plot will put us in the centre." His statement was half a question.
McMillan nodded gruffly. "Got tae draw all the Hartrias apart. On my mark double to bearing four-four-six."
"They will converge upon us," prompted the aide. "They will make sure we cannot escape."
"That's exactly what I want," nodded the General, his eyes not leaving the on-screen radar.
The aide dared not question McMillan further. He, along with the rest of the crew, could only wonder what the aged General had in store for them. It would take nothing short of a miracle to save their hides from the trap.
"Multiple radar pinp
oints have appeared in sector kappa forty!" cried the radarman, breaking the silence with his almost joyous shout. "ID reports on-screen now - Federation Deepspace Cruiser Roland as flagship."
"They appeared to the rear of the Hartrias armada," muttered the General's aide in sudden dawning of understanding. "The rest of the Federation fleet that lay in wait in the docks at Krake waited for the right moment."
General McMillan nodded and muttered half to himself; "It was obvious tae Hartrias would send in their armada, and if oor fleet were caught between them and that planet's skycannon facility we would'nah lasted longer than ae ice-cube in hell."
The main radar image disappeared for a second as static rode across the screen. A moment later the visage of the FDC Roland's captain appeared. General McMillan saluted to the officer dressed in a uniform adorned with a multitude of shinning medals and embellishments.
"Good tae see you, sir."
The Roland's captain returned to salute. "Prepare to engage the Hartrias fleet, General. I want none to escape."
McMillan dropped his hand. "Yes, sir." And he knew that now the hunters had suddenly become the hunted.
* * *
The barefooted feet slapped through the thick leaves, moving through piles of wildly coloured vegetation of blues, yellows and greens. As he ran the small boy hummed to himself a tune, lost in his own world of thoughts. The forest was thick in this part of the land and his tribe had survived to date without any contact with the menace from the stars, although on many nights they had gathered upon seeing strange lights in the night skies. Sometimes, when the forest was silent and wind still, strange distant noises found the ears of those in the village and many worried about the reports they had heard from other villages allegedly overrun by the Sunlords.
But these rumours were far from Elio's mind as he ventured through that part of the woods nearest the swamp where prey was easy to find. The young eloprin had often been warned by his clan-mother that to dare so close to the swamp was to invite an accident, for all knew that pyrons lived there and the large reptiles did not take well with company. Despite this Elio knew, in the surety of youth, that he would have no such troubles if he just kept his senses about him.