“I’ll spare you the long and boring story of my thirst for revenge.” Ki-Ton grips the last electrode.
Reynard hop-skips on his left leg to avoid a third spike. Blood oozes from his wounds. Durasteel shells impale the shape-shifter. “It can’t be a satisfying revenge, if I don’t even know why you want me dead.”
“Your telepath knows. She won’t tell you. She’s known since before I set foot on your precious Dragon. I was going to destroy you.”
“If JC knew, then she would have warned me,” Reynard staggers to the scaffolding rig to climb to the platform.
Ki-Ton’s hand expands into the size of a giant’s hand and scoops Reynard from the floor, slamming him down on the platform next to Ki-Ton. “I seek revenge on you for what you will do to me. The great Admiral Reynard and his teenage telepathic whore.” The fingers shrink to a manageable size, never leaving Reynard’s throat.
Ki-Ton’s fingers harden, preventing him from crushing Reynard’s trachea.
“Know, Commander, these are my people. I was sent from this planet in order to return once the devastation abated. Surrender my life essence in order to revive them. I won’t end my life for these elitists. What I will do is drain what’s left of their life back into me and destroy you.”
Reynard fires durasteel shell after durasteel shell into Ki-Ton’s solidifying flesh. Some exit the mass, releasing a gelatinous substance blackening upon contact with the air. Others deform the humanoid further. One electrode sparks. Ki-Ton touches the controls. Energy surges from the coffins.
A Sandman screams past Reynard, tearing away its mask in order to feed on the growing life force inside Ki-Ton.
Reynard fires at the arm until it shatters. He rolls from the splintering mess, slamming a fresh clip into his weapon. He empties fifteen rounds into the structure under the platform, hoping the streamlined, simplistic-looking edifice houses vital controls to the machine.
Smoke billows from the fresh holes.
Reynard limps from the platform.
Ki-Ton loses focus from a trifecta of energy surging into him, the now-smoldering equipment, and the Sandman ripping into his thoughts.
The sounds of overloading equipment permeate his ears as he hobbles from the chamber.
••••••
JC CUTS REYNARD’S pant leg. Blood seeps from dozens of tiny holes.
“What did he hit you with?”
“Some kind of bone spike. It splintered on impact.”
In an attempt to take his mind off the pain, Reynard says, “Ki-Ton had a super-villain riff moment. He wanted revenge on Admiral Reynard and you—a teenage age—you. You’re in your thirties.”
JC keeps her eyes on his wound. “You’re no admiral, and we’re dealing with a dying shape-shifter. You’re going to cook your brain trying to decipher his logic.” She digs her nails into his flesh, pulling free a bone piece buried just under the skin. “I need a med kit.”
“Bloody hell. That’s not healthy.” Reynard scans the field outside the cave entrance.
Michelle draws her knees against her chest, hugging her legs in a near-fetal ball. Considering her past few days, she allows the tears to flow. The small parrot-sized lavender dragon hovers to her eye level.
“Are you sad?” Demure in tone, it brings her comfort she’s not felt since being forced to join the crew.
“I’m more scared than sad. I’ve never been so far from my home before. I thought these people wanted to harm me, but they want to protect me.”
“They freed me. I come with you?”
“It’s not my decision, but I welcome you.” She pets the creature as it lands on her knees.
The dragon’s tiny mouth turns upward, baring a canine tooth in an attempt to smile.
Scattered across are the bodies of both tiger and bear riders. Joe inspects the saddlebags of each dead mount. He steps over the dead king, bringing JC a bundle of rags.
Australia activates the headset eyepiece, allowing her to view the recorded images.
“Caring for the wounded was not a priority.”
She takes bandages. “He won’t be able to hike back to the Dragon on this leg.”
“Numerous tiger mounts fled once their riders fell. The bear riders were stronger.”
“I’ll strut out of here.” Reynard smiles.
JC rolls the bone chunk between her thumb and forefinger. “They are porous. Unlike your bullets, they don’t act as plugs, more like spigot. You’ll bleed out before you reach a half-mile.”
Australia removes Reynard’s ocular headset. “I have never seen those symbols. They are different than the ones on the entrance, or the ones the female alien claimed were a warning.”
“According to the cat we’re now a threat to these Sandmen. It could be useful to trap them the way Ki-Ton’s people did.”
Static crackles from the commlinks.
Reynard presses his watch. “Scott. Amye.”
“Smerth’n hell, Commander. About time you smerth’n answered,” Doug swears. “I’ll triangulate your position. Did you locate Michelle?”
“And then some. My ship still fly?”
“Scott has her in the air. It’s a debate if what he’s doing is smerth’n flying.”
“Will she reach orbit?”
“Hyperspace engines function.” Doug adds, “ETA five minutes, Commander.”
JC leaves his bleeding wound and marches toward the dead tiger riders. She finds the fallen shaman. “Joe, I need your assistance.”
With the help of the warrior she cuts off the breastplate of azure opals. He has to carry the hundred pounds of stone for her. She picks up the staff. “Whatever these rocks are, they enhance telepathic abilities. We may need them if we have to face creatures capable of entering our thoughts.”
••••••
REYNARD FINDS THE shuttle cramped with Scott, Doug, and Amye in the chairs while Australia and the others crowd behind them.
“Shuttle isn’t built for all of us.”
“It was the best I could do to get instant control over the engines. The rear of the ship was undamaged. The main bridge took the brunt of the blast.”
JC rolls one of the azure opals in her palm. “It was a blast of mental energy. These stones enhance telepaths’ thoughts. The shaman brought us down with mental lightning.”
“Magic lightning. Great.”
“Take it seriously, Scott. If we encounter more Sandmen, we’re going to need mental energy to fight them.”
“Leave out Doug helping,” Amye quips.
Reynard ignores the banter. “Weapons?”
“I trust the wing cannons. I wouldn’t fire the forward array until I’ve checked them. The blast did cut through there,” Scott says.
Reynard activates the targeting computer. Crosshairs align on the main view screen just above the image of the cave entrance.
With the click of a button, twin plasma bolts shatter the rock face.
The dust and smoke clear, revealing an undamaged cave.
“They designed it to withstand a comet impact. I doubt we have the blast power.”
“If I don’t bury him in his tomb, we may encounter Ki-Ton again.”
••••••
UPON HOBBLING INTO the tiger king’s throne chamber, Reynard’s approach scatters the women into hiding at. I wondered where the females were during the ceremony. They must be some kind of second-class citizens in the tribe. I won’t impose on them longer than necessary.
He cuts open the fabric of a shroud over an Osirian-sized corpse. They prepared Leahla for burial. Had they completed their task, he might have left her remains on this backwater world. Reynard won’t leave her unburied—to be forgotten. The first death among his crew. New to her tasks, yet distinguishing herself among her fellow cadets.
Death should never be so meaningless.
Reynard scoops Leahla’s remains into his arms. Interring her properly will be his first act toward being captain.
••••••
“COMMANDER, I RESPECT your crew doesn’t have a ship to ride into battle on, but there are UCP soldiers dying. I have a duty.” Mark balls his right first.
“You have no support. A lone Mecat in battle won’t last, and you have no vehicle.”
“The Dragon’s going to need a month in dry dock. You purchase a Mecat, and I could be on the next jumpship to Summersun. Act as my gunner, you’re of no help to your engineers. Help me, help those people, Commander.”
“We’d be lone mercs.”
“Not alone, Commander,” Hauser chimes. “I’m a certified Mecat pilot. I’ll serve as wingman. We have to stop the Mokarran. Those they determine as undesirable are turned into compost for the fields.’”
“You saw this?”
“I witnessed refugees gathered, escorted to ships designed to fertilize crops. I’ve no question as to what was going on inside those ships.”
I’ve no ship. I can’t pilot a Mecat. I just lost a cadet under my command. I swore to protect Michelle with my life. How many millions are dying? “We’re in no condition to be a part of the planetary assault. There’ll be plenty of liberating to do.” Why does such a correct course of action turn my stomach?
“Dropships are arriving in force on Summersun. I won’t stand by…”
“Cadet, your commander has spoken,” Scott reminds the soldier.
“Go to Aldomos VII. Purchase what we need from the Tri Mecatatronics and Hologenerations Company. Re-evaluate the situation on Summersun with a fully functional ship.”
“Return to your duties. If you need something to do, I’ve got plenty of burnt systems needing to be cleared.”
Once his crew disperses, Reynard asks, “Just how bad is she?”
“Your ship needs a complete bridge overhaul. We pilot with the shuttle, but I don’t trust the connections. We have limited shields. Now would be the opportune time to strip out the rest of these rooms for components and gut this section, turning it into a launch bay for Mecats. Mercenary units require proper facilities.”
“What’s it going to take?”
“Unless you want to hire a complete maintenance crew for each Cat, we’ll need fully automated repair bays. Tedious maintenance is the core of most Mecats even on new craft. It will take some sixty hours of routine maintenance before a battle. After battle reloads and damage repair, the battle units need constant phase inspections for metal fatigue, engine inspections. Not to mention environmental refits. Desert conditions require a sand filtering system. The same system could overheat on an ice world. At thirty feet high for most Cats, I’ll need rigs to…
“I get it. It takes a village.”
“We need top-of-the-line equipment. We’re committing a lot of the Dragon’s space.”
“Get the most advanced but reliable systems.”
“Current technology? I’ll use what’s not damaged on the second deck to refit the main systems. The Dragon’s still not going to be the same. No way to restore the advanced alien systems. Even the common systems were run on more advanced technology.”
“The transporter and the cloaking shields?”
“They require the most power. I’m going to fill the space where the shuttle was with power cells to compensate for the damage. It’s going to take about six cells for each one we lost. Power consumption should balance. The transporter use will be questionable. The power consumption will drain cells fast. We should use the two-pad system as much as possible. I’ve rerouted the cloaking shields. Whoever built this ship solved the energy consumption issues allowing small ships to cloak. It takes major battle cruisers half its mass in power cells to gain a cloak.”
“We’re not a small ship.”
“No, and the cloak gives us an advantage. I want to keep it, as I’m sure you do. I’m sealing off the second deck. Most of those rooms were unaffected by the crash. Once I get all the bulkheads open, I could replace and repair the ship faster. Replacing some systems could self-repair. We’re far from combat ready.
“Recommend you don’t go to Summersun?”
“There’ll be plenty of battles to build our reputation as a Merc unit. You still haven’t logged enough time on the simulator to legally pilot a Cat.”
“I won’t stand by while those people suffer. We’ve to get to the surface and figure out what happened to Admiral Maxtin.”
“Wait until the battle’s over. Commander, you’re not ready. Only a fully trained pilot should enter combat. Even then, life expectancy will be short.”
“I won’t hide while others die.”
“Let me build the Mecat storage bay. I’ll fly right alongside you. I just want to be in the best possible equipment with a fully trained Lance.”
“A lot of good people will die fighting the Mokarran today.”
“And you don’t need to be one of them. I want nothing more than to be a party to the extermination of those monsters. They wiped out my home planet, but we’ll do no one any good if we die, Commander.”
“I’m just your engineer, but buying a Mecat and flying off to do battle is insane. Mark may be the best pilot in the academy. Summersun’s no Academy training simulation. Who does he compete against outside controlled laboratory conditions? He’s never faced hardcore Mercs living for the thrill of death. Nor has he faced off against Mokarran who give no quarter. How do I explain to my immediate ranking officer the stupidity in combating with a Cat you haven’t flown before to understand her flaws and quirks? Bulky armored crafts will pull in flight. What kind of trigger do you have? Do you touch it and it goes off, or do you have to depress it all the way back? Skill is no match for the science, the natural instinct pilots gain the more they fly their craft.”
“I note your concerns.”
“But you’re not listening, Commander. You wanted the best in your crew. I’m the best. Let me strip those Cats. Actually make sure all the brand-new systems function. We go blow the hell out of all the Mokarran we find. But not this battle.”
“Scott, something tells me I have to be a part of this battle.”
Scott marches away, shaking his head. His captain will have to live with his decision and the deaths of his crew—if he lives long enough to know they were killed. “You survive; I want transferred back to an actual UCP ship. I’ll return to scrubbing hydroports on engine coolant systems if I have to.”
“I don’t want you to resign.”
“I doubt it matters. You want to kill yourself, fine. I’ll be back as an intelligence operative within a week when you go die on Summersun.”
“I don’t have an ego in this. It’s the right thing to do.”
THE LOCKER ROOM style quarters berth four, but the bunks are too short for Amye.
“You get spoiled on the Dragon.”
“My quarters are as big as this four-person room,” Amye says.
“I understand why Lances eventually buy their own dropships and modify them with better living quarters and repair bays,” JC says.
“Why did you come along?” Amye gazes into the storage locker with enough space for just her Silver Dragon jacket if she wanted to leave it. She slides it over her jumpsuit.
“I’m cleared for combat in a Mecat. But I’ve never…Our captain needs us,” JC confirms.
“Medic, telepath, Mecat pilot. I didn’t know your sisterhood practices such diverse training,” Amye sneers.
“I studied the medic course after I was sold from my sisters. And piloting became a necessity.” JC hates remembering her last days at Eir Basilica.
“Don’t fence. I know you have secrets about this crew, and not from scanning us.”
“Amye, you hold just as many secrets.”
“William shouldn’t be doing this. He’s not ready,” Amye closes the door to the cupboard, leaning her forehead against the door. “Couldn’t you just put a thought into his head? Make him see how bad this will go.”
“Even if I wanted to—no.”
“He’s the first man in my adult life to not pursue me to my b
edroom…I don’t want him to die.”
“I don’t want him to die either.” JC steps out the door. “I’m going to preflight my Mecat. You have a few minutes before we jump. Tell Reynard how you feel.”
Scott slaps the berth door. “We got a minute until launch.”
Amye has no idea how long she has been lost in her thoughts of her captain.
“You were against this mission.”
“My time would be better served repairing the Dragon, but I won’t miss a chance to kill Mokarran. You get killed and I go back undercover, I miss my chance to kill more,” Scott orders. “Prepare to launch.”
“I’m not the one who needs to be prepared.”
DROPSHIP OR JUMPSHIPS are tubular spacecraft with massive thrusters on each end and little armor plating. The crazy pilots calculate hyperspace jumps within the planet’s atmosphere and use the thrusters to stop. In those seconds, they eject all Mecats before blasting out of the atmosphere for the rejump into hyperspace maneuvers, possibly stranding them as molecules in an interdimensional space.
Mark runs his preflight check again. “You didn’t have to buy the most expensive Mecat on the lot.”
Reynard defends his choice. “I didn’t buy it for the price. I bought it for the armor rating.”
“I’m not too impressed with the drive system. It needs to be run outright to loosen her up.”
Something Scott warned him in choosing to move forward with this mission.
“We’re a large heavily armored target unlike the small craft your telepath bought,” Mark says.
“She felt comfortable in it.”
“She has no armor. She’ll need to stay behind us. Function as cleanup and eliminate any ground troops on the field.”
“Ground troops? In a tank battle?” Reynard questions.
“Sabotage teams attempt to damage leg joints with rocket launchers, others provide medical relief and recovery for those lucky few pilots who eject.”
“Ground forces weren’t covered in the simulations.”
“They don’t want you thinking about stepping on people or even the structural damage done to buildings in urban areas. When buildings collapse from the vibration given off by the Mecats, civilians die.”
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