Enter the Sandmen

by William Schlichter

  “Never. Never should they be released,” the voice booms.

  Tearing through the tattered curtains leaps a manticore of a creature with tiger legs and bat wings. Claws sink into Ki-Ton as they crash through rows of broken chairs. Ki-Ton grabs the jaw snapping at his face. His biceps bulge as he twists the mandible away from him, punching the bear snout until a goop flows from it. The strange beast recoils as more blood spurts from its nose. Ki-Ton drags it into better light and notes the beast’s chimeric form. It has some of the best adaptive features of a dozen species.

  The creature recoils once more to pounce, sending Ki-Ton plummeting over five rows of chairs.

  It leaps.

  Ki-Ton bats the beast away with backhand movements of his now Icto frost bear arms. The white hairy arms are three times the size of his body, but he swings them as easy as a bat. The paws of the frost bear have no gripping power. Ki-Ton metamorphoses his arms back into that of a humanoid and grips the larger incisor of the chimera. He twists and pulls down at the tooth until it wrenches free.

  Still dazed from the backhand impact, the creature howls. It gathers enough strength to push at Ki-Ton, but weakens.

  Ki-Ton drills the tooth into the soft tissues of the chimera’s throat. “How long have you been awake?”

  “Sulmartin slave traders found the capsule.”

  Ki-Ton slams the giant incisor into the palm of the creature’s hand, securing it to the floor. The claws retract into the seven fingers. He pins the other hand with his boot heel. Ki-Ton flips open the corner of his scanner and rips out an electronic component before he holds the device over the chimera.

  “The Sulmartin domain existed some six hundred thousand years ago in a small cluster of planets near the third hydra constellation.”

  “The historical location.”

  Ki-Ton transforms his right hand into that of a quilled creature and backhands the chimera. The barbed quills impale the creature, cutting deep into its face. It wails in pain, unable to resist.

  “Were you found in the third hydra constellation?”

  “I can’t…let you…revive them.”

  Ki-Ton’s punch leaves a dozen more quills in the chimera’s chest. The hooked points inject a nerve agent designed to discourage predators. “How long since you could shift?”

  The scanner beeps. Ki-Ton smashes it into the ground after reading the screen. He brushes his needled hand over the multi-lensed insect eye of the chimera. “I damaged your eye. You’ve transformed yourself into this abomination, and now you’re stuck unable to create a new one.”

  “I attempted my last transmogrification to merge the most effective qualities of many species.”

  Ki-Ton laughs. “But such freakish abominations of nature are unwelcome in society. You should have accepted the limitations a more humanoid form would give you.”

  “I had three DNA cards implanted. None of them move to the surface of my skin any longer to allow me to escape this planet.”

  “Explains why I was able to find a record with a DNA match to my own.” Ki-Ton transforms his arms, dragging the chimera from the floor and slamming the creature against the wall, pinning it there with harpoon like hands.

  The mutated shape-shifter offers no resistance. Ki-Ton grows a second pair of arms, crossing them in order to pin down and choke the elongated thorax of his opponent.

  “I’ve nothing to offer you. My wounds don’t heal anymore. Don’t hurt…I know not where our home planet was.”

  “The third hydra constellation, did they find you there?”

  “Sulmartin was actually a much grander empire than history recorded. It seems more species engaged in their illicit practices than admit to it. I became quite a salesman. Being able to transform into representatives from every race we dealt with.”

  “Constant transformations weaken us. You were shorting your own life span.”

  “Don’t release them.”

  “I’ve no plans to release them. Of the nine of us I’ve encountered, another attempted to steal my abilities and use them to extend his own life. I’ve been searching for our home planet ever since. I’ll absorb each one of them in turn and continue to exist.”

  “We don’t know how long we drifted in space before the nine capsules were ejected from orbit. Take me with you. I’ll assist in finding them.”

  “You’ve one use left.” Ki-Ton sinks his fingers into the creature’s chest. He pushes past the soft tissue. A green goop oozes around his arm. Ki-Ton crunches what would be a rib in most humanoids.

  “Brother, please! I can’t heal!” He struggles to escape his imprisonment.

  “Despite being unable to learn the location of our home world, I discovered certain enzymes prolong our abilities. I think our planet was ripe in such chemicals.” Ki-Ton wraps his fingers around the chimera’s heart. “Returning there should restore our natural gifts.”

  In a last desperate attempt to save his life, the chimera pleads, “They found my life pod in Golandres system. I was being pulled toward the gravity well of the fifth planet during the Sulmartin season of the snow bear.”

  “Given a dozen other planets did change your trajectory, I might narrow it down a bit if I knew how long you floated before they found you.” More green coagulating goop rolls from the wound. Ki-Ton draws back his arm, bringing the heart with it.

  “Returning home will restore both our abilities.”

  “It could take me years to find the home world, and I won’t end as you have. I find the enzyme in some species, but never in enough quantity to restore me. Your heart will keep me from turning into you.”

  ••••••

  KI-TON OPERATES FROM a control station. The image on the main view shifts from the encroaching solar system and pulls back to a larger view of thousands of stars. The crew awaits his debriefing.

  “This is what I’ll share from the operative on the surface. Most of what we pass around as fact on the Throgen Empire is actually theory and board speculation. Conservative estimates. We know little about this Empire infringing on the edge of known space.” He raises his right hand gloved in sensors that work like a computer mouse.

  A bulky red line draws around a large section of stars. “The Tri-Star Federation.”

  Ki-Ton flicks his pinky finger. A blue, much smaller line draws around stars adjacent to the Federation. “The United Confederation of Planets.” He swirls his pinky again, and a green line draws around a group of stars just above the UCP territory. “Tibbar-controlled systems.” With an air tap of his third finger, three rectangular boxes flash yellow, each with one end overlapping the Federation border. “It seems that whoever controls the Throgen Empire thinks they own the entire galaxy. This mysterious ruling class behaves much like a feudal system delegating sections of space to a General, who controls each assigned section however they wish, as long as they pay tributes and taxes.”

  “Explains why Throgen battle tactics shift in each one of those sections,” Amye says.

  “If the Mokarran were to pull back and abandon those planetary systems at the tips of those rectangles, the Throgen Empire would cease any attacks on them?”

  “A lot of planetary systems to just relent.”

  “Until they assigned a new General to a new square inside Federation space,” Ki-Ton says.

  “How long?” Australia asks.

  “This was all I learned about Throgen practices. My contact served another purpose.”

  “It’s more than we knew before,” Reynard says.

  “It doesn’t explain why the Empire involved itself during the Battle of the Twin Suns. A system beyond any of the territory Throgen claims to own.”

  “Those studying their tactics are unable to figure out their battle strategies,” Amye remarks. “With multiple Generals allowed free reign, no wonder tactics make no sense.”

  Australia points out, “Presuming how each individual General operates could change Mokarran defense tactics as well.”

  “The Mokarran won�
��t listen to our findings. Let them fall. The only good Mokarran’s a dead one,” Scott sneers.

  “The Mokarran stand between UCP and defeat at the hands of the Empire. When they expand again—”

  “Why is there a solar system unclaimed by any of the four dominions?” Doug breaks his silence.

  “Sulera. It seems to be functioning as a natural neutral trading world where all four ascendancies conduct business.”

  “Quite profitable until the Throgen Empire claims their next section of space,” Doug says.

  “Putting them into the heart of the Tibbar Empire.”

  “Those lizards may be more willing to return to the negotiation table.”

  “I hate politics,” Reynard mumbles.

  Ki-Ton ends his presentation. “I’ll pass this and the other information to Admiral Maxtin allowing his experts to reanalyze Throgen tactics.” He struggles with remaining the dutiful crew member while needing to escape his team’s curiosity. His time on Delnes Prime serves personal purpose, and he must analyze what he learned—alone.

  “I MUST COMPLETE my hibernation, Commander.”

  “Get enough rest, Ki-Ton. We’ll return to the UCP in order for you to make your report to the Admiral in person.” Reynard waits until the dismissed alien has left his bridge. “Aus, set a course for UCP territory.”

  “We get ordered into Throgen space in order for Ki-Ton to collect some intelligence we don’t even get to evaluate. We’re here. We’re cloaked. We should investigate more,” Scott says.

  “Priority information to Admiral Maxtin,” Australia says.

  “He never said it was time-sensitive.”

  “The time-sensitive nature was implied in our mission. Why else send us to get it?” Australia questions.

  “The guy would only speak to Ki-Ton. We still know nothing about the Throgen Empire. We should look further.”

  “Aus, you’re the voice of reason.”

  “Correct. Learning more about the Throgen Empire is conducive to the UCP course, but Admiral Maxtin sent us to retrieve data from an agent. We should return it posthaste.”

  “If we can’t decide what we’re doing, Joe was going to instruct me in a new kata.” Amye rises from her station.

  Doug sends an incoming transmission to Reynard’s monitor at the main control station.

  He glances at the messages and orders, “Amye, assume the weapon’s station.”

  “We’re not on alert status,” she protests.

  “Doug detected coded Tri-Star battle communications along with distress transmissions.”

  “I’ve no concern for wounded Mokarran.”

  “I second,” Scott chimes in.

  “It’s smerth’n garbled.” After he reassesses the transmission, “Engagement with a Throgen battle cruiser,” Doug reports.

  “Eyewitness information on Throgen battle tactics would be quite valuable,” Kymberlynn whispers to Amye.

  “Information on Throgen battle tactics would be invaluable to the UCP,” Amye repeats louder, noticing Australia ignored her sister.

  Australia waves Amye to take her seat at weapons.

  Amye considers slapping Doug in the back of the head. Australia’s mother-hen glare prevents her. She fastens her seatbelt after plopping in the chair.

  “The Dragon has a working cloaking shield,” Kymberlynn reminds her. “She’ll want to get us too close to that battle.”

  “With the cloaking shield activated, we are capable to get close enough to visually record the battle instead of simply examining distance sensor readings,” Australia suggests.

  “Move into a battlefield without benefit of defensive shields,” Amye says.

  “Actual recorded battle tactics would be effective to analyze over scattered reports stolen from Mokarran logs of the battle,” Australia states.

  “This won’t end well,” Reynard mumbles to himself. “Athena, plot a course to bring us into visual range, but keep us out of the battle zone.”

  “Plotting course,” the Dragon’s computer responds.

  Reynard buckles his seatbelt harness. He grips the joystick controller. “How close?”

  “Let the sensors capture most of the battle at long range.”

  Amye whips her head around to Kymberlynn. The tiny girl pulls her legs into the seat, wrapping her arms around her knees in a fetal ball.

  “Why didn’t he ask you to pilot?” Amye whispers.

  “It’s just reparking the ship. Don’t spaz out. Besides, Miss By-the-Book Regulations there needed the captain’s permission to take us that close to the battle.”

  “She didn’t ask his permission.”

  “Caught that, did you? Perfect example of why to never trust peace-loving Nysaeans. They’ll trick you into doing exactly what they want. She wanted to record the battle and got the captain to do it without asking him.”

  “Rather brilliant of her.” Amye has a new respect for the first officer.

  “Yes, it was and she didn’t even have to spread her legs to get what she wanted from a man,” Kymberlynn taunts.

  Amye ignores her sister, avoiding punching her. All her concentration must be on her duty. Spying during a firefight doesn’t mean slacking off on monitoring the tactics of the Mokarran. A stray plasma bolt or a retreating ship could fly right into the Dragon. Cloaking shields only render the ship invisible—they offer no protection against energy weapons or projectiles.

  “Australia, are you detecting any life signs from the Throgen fighters?” Amye asks.

  Australia types at her control station. “Scanning all Tri-Wing fighters. They’re all non-Mokarran humanoids.”

  “She’s still looking for other Nysaeans,” Kymberlynn notes.

  Amye knows Australia could be the last of her people. She searches for any other survivors scattered by the Tibbar invasion of her planet.

  “Confirm. No life signals are present in the Throgen fighters.”

  “So they use robotic pilots or drones?” Reynard asks.

  “Drones would be controlled by remote signal frequencies. The signal could be interfered with or jammed.” Doug scans through all communication frequencies.

  “I detect organic tissue on the Throgen fighters,” Amye reports. “But no…life.”

  The cylindrical Mokarran battle cruiser offers some supportive fire to the Tri-Wing fighters. The broader cubed forward section of the Throgen cruiser maliciously targets and destroys Tri-Wing fighters.

  “Commander, am I seeing the battle correctly?” Australia asks.

  “The Mokarran offer no cruiser support to their fighters. Allowing the slaughter of their own people.”

  “No.” Amye whirls around. She understands better than anyone as tactical officer. “Not their own people. Throgen forces are hammering only non-Mokarran humanoids.”

  “If you send the undesirables to the front lines, the odds are they will be destroyed,” Australia says.

  “They suffer the hero’s death defending the Federation from the invading Empire and no one catches onto their elimination.”

  “The Mokarran keep their species strong this way.”

  “The Mokarran commit genocide, and no one notices.” Reynard rubs his chin. “Would a full dispersal of our wing missiles do any damage to that Throgen gun embankment?”

  “We’ve no information on the Throgen military capability,” Amye reminds her captain.

  “We’re unable to fire while cloaked,” Kymberlynn reminds Amye.

  “The plasma cannons won’t function while cloaked. Missiles require no drain on ship board power to launch. So the power required to make us invisible won’t be affected by the power needed to fire the blasters.”

  Everyone on the bridge gives Reynard a glance as if he just carried down tablets from Mt. Sinai.

  “Attracting attention you do not want, Commander.”

  “Then we fire. We scan the expulsions for the data and we slip into preprogramed hyperspace coordinates.”

  On the main view screen the crew
witnesses the battle. Explosion crackle as fighters engage, but both cruisers seem to be avoiding using any main guns.

  “They’ve full target lock with main cannons and are well inside the Mokarran cruiser’s optimum range,” Amye reports.

  “The Mokarran are not supporting their own fighters with covering fire,” Australia says.

  Shaped much like a shark, the Mokarran battle cruiser launches even more Tri-Wing fighters. The flame-orange crafts streak across the darkness from the underbelly of the cruiser. Strange spiderlike crafts attach themselves to the Tri-Wing fighters, crushing them until they explode. Not all Federation fighters detonate. Some power down due to extreme damage and will have to be towed back to the Throgen battle cruiser.

  Kymberlynn leans over to Amye. “I want the Mokarran defeated, but the Throgen Empire…” She buzzes too close to Amye’s ear. “Run your sensor scans—there.” She points at the Throgen battle cruiser on the screen. Amye swats her hand away.

  The cruiser, also an elongated craft with a square front of nothing but cannons, has what looks more like a central city with skyscrapers in the epicenter of its bulk. Before the many towers a three-story oval window pops out to Amye more than any other part of the structures. Her scans reveal nothing except extra power flows to the section of the ship’s deflector shields.

  “If we’re going to launch those missiles before we’re discovered, we need to do it soon.”

  “Commander, you’ll want to launch those missiles into those cannons,” Scott suggests. “We don’t know the weak point of the ship. We might get lucky and set off whatever generates weapons power.”

  Amye pipes up, “I doubt it. Most ships put extra structural shielding around the weapons emplacements. I would target the oval window. It’s the bridge of this craft.” Kymberlynn will scold her for contradicting the chief engineer, but she knows she’s correct.

  “Amye, we know nothing of Throgen designs,” Australia points out.

  “You get some kind of reading on the window?” Reynard won’t dismiss any reasonable observation.

  “No. No sensor readings. Some extra shielding. I just know it’s the bridge.”

  “It’s an observation window.” Scott adds, “It should have extra shielding if blast screens don’t lower down over it. Those rockets will do little structural damage to that part of the ship. Where those towers all meet the frame system won’t feel the impact of a blast. If it’s not the bridge you’d barely tickle the cruiser. You’re better off to hit the weapons. Probabilities are better of a lucky shot.”