“You did,” said Caden. “But here I am.”
Throam’s body turned away from the window, and he walked slowly towards Caden. As he approached, Caden remembered what he had once jokingly called Throam. ‘Tiny’. It was certainly a misnomer. Throam was not tiny at all; he was the opponent no man ever wished to encounter.
You should shoot him while you still have the chance.
Throam stopped within touching distance of Caden, and stared down at him.
“Why did you return?”
“You want me to go. So I’m not going to. You won’t get what you want until I get at least one good answer.”
“Then you will die here, and I will go on.”
“Where do the Shaeld Hratha come from?”
“I will not reveal that to you. I will reveal nothing.”
Caden was not put off.
“Are the Shaeld Hratha what we call Rasas?”
“No answer will benefit you if you die here.”
“Where are you, Voice?”
“I am everywhere. You must leave.”
“Give me back my friend, and I’ll leave right now.”
“That cannot be done.”
“You’re telling me I will never speak with Rendir Throam again?”
“Never,” said Voice.
“Then there is nothing to stop me killing that body.”
“So be it.”
“But the thing is, Voice, I already know that you lie.”
Throam’s face adopted a sinister smile, a mocking parody of what had once been a friendly, oafish expression.
“You’ve run out of time,” said Voice.
A salvo from the nearest Viskr frigate hit the tower, shaking the entire chamber and throwing Caden to the floor. He saw Bruiser stumble, but Throam just swayed as he absorbed the movement. Voice had known exactly what was coming.
The plaster ceiling shattered, the tops of pillars split from their nests. Those windows with glass remaining sprayed it in all directions, showering the floor with lethal shards. Even with the protection of his armour, Caden rolled to avoid them.
He climbed to his feet.
“Voice, give me back—”
Something fell, hit his helmet hard, and for a moment he could not see. A black hole exploded inside his brain, he did not know which way was up, and he was back on the floor again before he realised what had happened.
He opened his eyes to see Bruiser doing the only thing he knew how to do in a tense situation: smashing the enemy right in the face.
Throam’s body sailed backwards, hit a pillar, and slid to the ground. He did not get up.
Caden felt tired. So, so tired. Mighty Riishi had fallen, Voice was a thing he might never understand, the many worlds were under attack and probably did not even know it. While the fleets fought a decoy battle at Ramm Stallahad, the Shaeld Hratha were taking worlds to which they had so carefully drawn thousands, maybe even millions of troops.
And Throam. Rendir Throam, the man he had trusted for ten Solars to watch his back, was now liable to drive a dagger into it instead… if he was even destined to live long enough to try.
So very tired. He felt the unmistakable sensation of blood crawling across his scalp, oozing down his forehead. It dripped in his eyes.
The last thing Caden saw before his eyes closed was the floor cracking, from one side of the chamber to the other. The fissure travelled up the walls on each side of the chamber, split the whole of the ceiling, and in seconds the side of the room opposite the doors was simply gone, plummeting to the ground, taking the entire inner room down with it. He had no idea where Bruiser was.
And then there was only darkness.
Next time, listen to me.
To Be Continued…
The beginning of the end will arrive with From Shattered Stars, due 2016!
Also watch out for two companion episodes:
— I Dream of Damastion —
— The Granite Whistle —
The Armada Wars novels are all available in paperback form, and to buy or borrow for Kindle devices and the Kindle apps.
Please consider leaving reviews on Amazon and Goodreads.
ArmadaWars.com
— About the Author —
R. Curtis Venture was born in the United Kingdom in 1978. A graduate of Applied Biology, he has previously worked in entertainment and hospitality, business development, and intelligence analysis. His first great passion was for science fiction, both in books and on the screen, and he spent his childhood years imagining far-off places.
He is currently employed full-time in the legal sector, and somehow also finds time to write.
You can find R. Curtis Venture on both Facebook and Twitter, where he welcomes interaction with readers and encourages feedback. To see what he’s reading these days, follow him on Goodreads.
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The Calypsis Project
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0430 Hours, November 08, 2438 (Earth Calendar) / Drocain Royal Empire Training & Ordnance Facility, planet Si-Gheila, Phoenix System
It felt like an eternity had passed before the dropship finally came to a halt, jerking Kenon from his light slumber. He wondered how long they had traveled for, and how he’d managed to fall asleep in the first place.
The dropship’s portal door spun open and Kenon raised his hand to block out the brightness that lit up the cabin. He stepped off the plate and followed the other warriors as they descended the gravity lift one by one, and the moment his feet touched the ground, he wished he was back in the ship.
The gray stone beneath him was ice cold, and the harsh winds only made this place more unwelcoming. It was vastly different from the temperatures he was used to.
In the distance he saw the snow-dressed peaks of mountain ranges, frozen bodies of water that expanded outward for miles, and above, a dark indigo sky dotted with stars that refused to fade as a dull white sun began to rise.
Kenon turned at the sound of footsteps and saw the blue-skinned warrior he’d met earlier.
“Welcome to Si-Gheila,” he said with a smile.
“Si-Gheila?” the recruit echoed.
“The quiet abode of the Khael’hin, home to some of the largest weaponry facilities in our military. What you see around you is what covers most of the planet’s surface,” the Leh’kin said, then muttered, “Not exactly my favorite place to be.”
Kenon nodded in agreement. “Who are you, anyway? I do not believe you told me your name.”
“Levian ‘Nher.” The warrior folded his arms and added, “I must warn you, newcomer, you chose to join the forces during a rather chaotic time. I expect you will encounter many a hardship while you are with us.”
“I can handle it,” Kenon said rather sharply. He hadn’t intended for his tone to be so defensive.
Levian was silent for a moment, staring at the recruit through narrowed eyes. “I have never seen your kind around here, Drahkori. So tell me, why are you here?” He sounded almost sympathetic.
Kenon was hesitant to respond, but he couldn’t leave the warrior’s question unanswered. “I… I am here to prove myself, to seek redemption,” he murmured. “I hope to return what honor I can to my family name.”
The second those words left his mouth, he wished could have taken them back. If he hadn’t let them slip out so carelessly he could have lied and kept his personal troubles to himself.
Levian whispered something too quiet for Kenon to hear, then signaled for the Drahkori to follow as he walked away from the dropship. “Have you any experience in battle?” he asked.
“I graduated from Ceida State Battle Training Academy several months ago at the head of my class. The training is quite brutal and rather extensive. I suspect this will be no different.” Kenon looked ahead to the structure they were approaching. It appeared small at first, but he quickly realized that it was built into the mountains.
“Then you are naïve,” Levian said flatly, leading the recruit
through a pair of energy shield doors and onto a lift tucked in an alcove at the front of the facility. Once the lift began its descent, the Leh’kin warrior continued. “On my homeworld, decades before this war, I was trained in ways no academy could teach. That training was then put to use during the civil war waged between the kingdoms of Oe’Nhervon and Oe’Delavion. But when I joined the Drocain Royal Empire, my skills were tested… and I soon found that they demanded improvement.”
The lift slowed and stopped. Kenon followed Levian closely down a long corridor. The walls on either side of the hall were mostly made up of glass windows, each measuring two meters across, through which he could see large, empty rooms.
“What weapons have you been trained with?” Levian asked, activating the holo-display on his arm. It looked like he was scrolling through a list of firearms and other equipment.
“Bow and spear, mostly. However, I have also been trained in hand-to-hand combat, and—”
“There is no need for further detail, newcomer,” Levian interrupted. “You will be tried with firearms in Chamber Two. Your first session has already been scheduled in anticipation of your arrival and you are expected to be there on time. You will enter a series of very realistic simulations, and although the targets are no more than holographic representations of the enemy, you must treat them as you would a true opponent.”
Kenon, having been outfitted with a black combat suit, now stood in one of the large rooms he’d seen earlier, awaiting the start of his first battle simulation. He hated to admit it, but he was nervous—afraid that he might make a mistake and be expelled from the training program.
Putting aside his concerns, he concentrated on the room.
It had concave walls that faintly reflected his image, the edges of the floor and ceiling were lined with white lights. The viewing window now looked like a mirror—someone standing outside would be able to see in, but for some reason he was not allowed to see out. On the opposing wall was a tinted observation port through which the recruit could make out the shadowed figure of his instructor.
Kenon anxiously tightened his grip on the crytal-loaded firearm he’d been supplied.
Crytal was a substance that could be used in a variety of ways, the instructor had told him. It could be liquefied, hardened, or baked into a crystalline state, and was most commonly used in the Empire’s artillery, as it made a powerful and highly lethal ammunition.
The gun, though smooth and surprisingly light, was awkward to hold. He’d never handled such a device before, nor had he been given the chance to familiarize himself with how it worked.
“Begin,” the instructor’s voice sounded over the speakers as the simulation chamber sparked to life.
Scattered across a landscape of brittle brown grasses were spindly shrubs and flat rocks glistening with crytal residue. Lifeless bodies were strewn about the earth, and plumes of dust and mud shot up as silvery bullets pounded the ground. A unit of Drocain aircraft streaked through balloons of black smoke—their sleek hulls glistening even in this washed-out daylight.
Sounds became clearer, more vibrant and real—the howling of strong winds, gunfire, distant explosions, the crackle of lightning and rumble of thunder. Shrill whines of Drocain ground transports competed with the rhythmic beats of human aircraft, mixing with battle cries and pained screams.
Drocain warriors appeared around Kenon, their images wavered for a few moments before stabilizing. Each of them was marked with an “ally” tag that floated above their heads, whilst enemy soldiers remained untagged.
Looking to his left, he caught sight of a small human figure crouching down atop a hill, trying to conceal itself beneath the branches of a bush. His camouflage uniform blended in well, but the green light on his rifle had given him away.
Kenon raised his weapon, aimed at the soldier, and squeezed the trigger. Shards of hardened crytal flew forth, shining like golden icicles. They splintered the human’s chest plate, piercing his flesh and spraying crimson blood across the grass.
There must be more than one …
He was correct. Out of the blue, he was completely surrounded. Nine enemy soldiers had taken up positions around him.
The recruit darted forward as his opponents opened fire, dodging bullets by mere inches, and tackled the soldier directly ahead. He snapped the human’s small neck, jumped back on his feet, then pulled a grenade from the clip on his thigh guard and tossed it back into the clearing where he’d been standing before.
The grenade detonated. The shrapnel tore the humans’ frail bodies apart, leaving one alive, who had taken cover in a ditch.
Kenon froze when he saw that the remaining soldier had mounted a rocket on his shoulder.
The man pulled the trigger and set the rocket loose.
Every muscle in the young Drahkori’s body screamed at him to run, but his limbs had locked up and he couldn’t make them move.
The rocket hit him square in the chest, the impact knocked him to the ground.
Kenon, still very much alive, propped himself up on his elbow and inhaled sharply, blinking a few times to clear his vision. He was back in the white room again—the simulated battlefield nowhere to be seen. There wasn’t so much as a scratch on him. He was fine.
“Had this been a true battle and not a simulation, you would have been killed. You must learn to observe and listen,” the instructor’s harsh words echoed off the walls. “We will try you with a new weapon. When you are ready we will begin round two.”
Soon the recruit was thrown back in the simulation. The same setting from the previous round flashed into existence with all the same scents and sounds—however, the holo-images of his teammates navigated the field differently now, as did those of the enemy soldiers. He surmised they must have been reprogrammed so that he wouldn’t have the advantage of knowing the location of his targets.
For this round Kenon had chosen a repeater. It was an automatic rifle that could fire continuously for eight seconds without overheating. The crytal capsules it carried for ammunition were able to burn through just about anything they came in contact with.
The repeater proved more effective against his opponents than the splinter rifle, but it did not lead him to victory. He failed round two in less than a minute, while he’d lasted in the first round for four. He wasn’t even sure what had happened, but assumed he must have been shot through the head to have been kicked out so quickly.
Again and again, the Drahkori graduate fought through simulation after simulation and never tasted victory. His energy continued to drain away with every passing round, and after six hours of training he’d lost his motivation and strength. He had been tested with many different weapons and settings, with and without the help of virtual allies, and yet every simulation ended the same way—in failure.
The day is almost over, recruit. This session will conclude after one final round.”
Kenon nodded tiredly and walked over to where the weapons rack had turned out from the wall. This time he was allowed to choose two firearms, of which the secondary had to be new to him.
For his primary weapon he chose the repeater, the rifle he had used in the second round. It had felt the most natural to him and it took down enemies quicker than any other gun he’d been tested with. As for his secondary, he’d had both of his arms fitted with armored gauntlets. Each was equipped with an energy blade projector. To activate them all he had to do was flick his wrists a certain way.
“Commencing final round. Good luck.”
A lush jungle formed around Kenon, teeming with tiny alien creatures and packed full of tall, twisting trees. Heavy rainfall penetrated the leafy canopy above, pattering down on dark soil and gathering in bowl-shaped leaves that bowed under the weight of the water.
The smell of smoke hung in the air, and apart from a distant thumping that sounded like some massive piece of artillery hammering the ground far, far away, all seemed calm and quiet—there was not a single human in sight.
Suddenly, the bu
shes rustled behind the Drahkori and he spun around swiftly, giving his wrists a quick flick. A pair of bright energy blades flashed into being at his sides.
Kenon stared at the trembling leaves a few feet in front of him, and when he moved forward, a short human wielding a carbine jumped out and opened fire.
Kenon evaded the attack and rushed his female challenger. He lashed out at her and the energy blade cut clean through her neck, killing her instantly.
As if her death had been a cue for her teammates to reveal themselves, four more soldiers marched into the clearing and pelted him with armor-piercing rounds.
The recruit’s shields flickered and faded, they would only last a few seconds longer. He lunged toward two of the armored men and spun on his toes with his arms outstretched.
One soldier dodged, but his comrade now bore a gaping wound in his side and had lost his left arm.
Another female advanced on the Drahkori and pitched a grenade straight at him. Kenon batted the explosive back to her. It detonated inches from her face and knocked her off her feet. She didn’t move again.
Kenon rounded on the two remaining men and was about to thrust his blades through the chest of the one who had avoided his first attack, but instead of flesh, he ended up driving the long blades into the floor of the simulation chamber.
Kenon deactivated his blades and straightened. The simulation had ended, the jungle was gone and the human soldiers along with it. Why had the final round been cut short? He couldn’t possibly have failed, he was sure he had done much better this time.
“That was impressive,” the instructor said, surprised. “But we have run out of time and you are wanted in the armory.”
So he hadn’t failed. In fact, it sounded as though he had done exceptionally well. He was glad he’d improved but still disappointed with the way he’d performed earlier on. He would just have to try harder during the next session.
Books One to Three Omnibus (Armada Wars) Page 96