The Battle for Tomorrow (Ilon the Hunter)

by Frederick Bell

  “Unknown. There were no survivors.” Speaking slowly, choosing her words carefully, Malhasbus revealed every detail of the ambush, everything she knew, though when she was through she had no solid answers, only uncertainties. “I believe we have seriously underestimated their intelligence. I can only hope now that their intention is to remain on the streets, otherwise the killing will escalate.”

  Her anger increased. Pulima Cos looked coldly at her and wanted her dead. She was furious with Malhasbus’s efforts so far and did not disguise her contempt for her ineffectual and incompetent leadership.

  “Then you had better be quick in your task to exterminate them and bring about order, commander. I expect nothing less. Now if that is all then I leave this matter in your charge.”

  Her dismissal could not have come at a worse time. Across the street a fiery explosion suddenly ripped through the building. The sheer force of the blast smashed into the front wall and sent a deadly hail of metallic shards flying into the startled crowd.

  Struggling to her feet Pulima Cos looked over the bodies. She heard screams of pain all around her. Blood was dripping from her own fat face. “Where did that blast come from? Who fired it?” As if in answer to her question several dark forms leapt past—and then it was horrifyingly clear. “The segathars have weapons!” She could no longer control herself. Seizing Malhasbus by her scrawny neck she started to throttle her. “Our weapons!”

  While the wounded were being attended to, a soldier came running, panic-stricken and too confused to speak. After they gave her some water and calmed her with words of encouragement, she managed to talk.

  “We are losing the battle. Even now our city is on fire, people are dying.” When her next words came her eyes were wide with terror. “The segathars have lag guns. It is just a matter of time before—”

  Suddenly, overhead the lights flickered, then the room faded to darkness. There were loud gasps, shouts of alarm.

  “They’ve cut the power.” A communications officer rose from her desk and flung down her dead headset. “They’ve cut the power! We’re all going to die!”

  “This is a catastrophe,” Malhasbus shouted over the confusion. While she was struggling to see in the darkness the emergency lights cut in and the room glowed an eerie green. She felt only despair, yet still maintained her stance of authority lest Pulima Cos know what she was thinking. “Did I not warn you that something like this might happen?”

  “Shut-up!”

  “No. Why die unnecessarily? It is obvious our city is doomed. Unless we evacuate without delay all is lost.”

  Before she could give the order a single gun shot rang out and Malhasbus slumped to the floor. Pulima Cos stood over her smoking corpse, her gun leveled at the stunned onlookers. “The next one of you who disobeys my commands will die just like her. Now get back to your stations.”

  There was no time to waste. She had to leave the city at once before disaster struck. “You and you,” Pulima Cos ordered the two dregs. “Come with me.”

  With the elevator out of service it was a long, slow climb to the top of the building. Panting, her face dripping with sweat, Pulima Cos finally reached the end of the stairs. It was here she posted her armed guards at the door.

  Outside the whole city was blacked out except where the streets below were lit by the light of the fires. Sparks were beginning to spread from one building to the next. Looking across the skyline she heard several more loud explosions, saw the red mushroom clouds rising upwards. Her city was burning.

  As instructed, her shuttle was waiting on the rooftop so she climbed aboard and took her seat. “Pilot, take me to city Tykrerek at once.”

  This simple command was greeted by silence. As she started to angrily repeat her order the chair swung around and the pilot faced her. The pilot who was unmistakably Poxiciti. Pulima Cos was aghast.

  “You! How did you get into my city?”

  “You’ve become rather unpopular, Pulima Cos. It seems a lot of people want you dead.” He lifted his gun and trained it on her. “I, especially. But that would be too easy, killing you here. Instead we will go downstairs together and join those who you were ready to abandon.”

  “Idiot!” she roared with rage. “Can’t you see we’re under attack?”

  Poxiciti paused, listened. “Yes. Wonderful, isn’t it?”

  “Have you lost your mind? If we don’t escape from here we’ll both be killed, torn to pieces, eaten.”

  “Then it is my dying wish to see you killed first.”

  “What is it you really want? Money, power? I can give you all that and more. Anything you desire.”

  Poxiciti laughed hysterically. “Your city is falling. That is what I desire, to see you pulled down with it. May I be cursed for all eternity for the day I set foot on this world, for allowing you and your profiteers to come here to plunder and slaughter at will. Enough. It is ended now. Since you know these segathars bring death here to Anaxerxes I see no reason to think that they will stop when there are other cities to conquer.”

  “Why not stop them?” she pleaded. “Do our people deserve this kind of death?”

  “Stop them, from taking back what is rightfully theirs? I have no intention of doing that. It is over, Pulima Cos. Your reign, your city, your world. Those of us who survive will return to Epiphiline to be where we belong. But you—you go downstairs to face the death you deserve.” He waved his gun. “Move.”

  “No,” Pulima Cos cried out in anguish. “Not like that.”

  She had no other choice. With Poxiciti behind her, his ready gun jammed in her back, she stumbled along the pathway to the door, all the while thinking of possible ways to escape. When she pressed the switch and the door slid open that was the moment she made her move. Seeing the two armed soldiers suddenly appear in the doorway startled Poxiciti, but was all the time Pulima Cos needed to lunge inside past the guards.

  “Shoot him!” she screamed. “Shoot him!”

  Before the first dreg could get her weapon up Poxiciti took aim and fired. She emitted a muffled scream as she took the full blast in her chest, then stumbled backwards and disappeared down the stairs. But by the time the second guard recovered enough to return fire he was gone.

  “Go after him,” Pulima Cos ordered. “Search the rooftop. When you find him—kill him instantly.”

  While she stood waiting in the doorway, looking outside and wondering why it was taking so long, the dreg finally returned.

  “Nothing. He is gone.”

  She was outraged. She would order her soldiers to search for him, find him and bring him back. She would leave no stone unturned, would scour this city until he was found. Her thoughts were on what next to do when the guard swung around in her direction and cried out a warning.

  “Fire!”

  By the time they reached the shuttle thick smoke and flames were pouring out the hatchway. She stood by helplessly and watched it burn. There was no doubt in her mind whatsoever who had done this. Pulima Cos stared at the burning wreckage and cursed his name over and over.

  Trapped here in her own city, with thousands of rampaging segathars on the loose, fires burning out of control, and only one sure fate now awaiting her.

  She was going to die.

  Chapter Forty Four

  The battle was going poorly for the Iranha.

  Fires were cropping up everywhere—and no one was stopping to put them out. Ripped apart bodies offered grave evidence of the city’s imminent collapse. There was no longer a skirmish line to separate the opposing forces anymore. Instead, those Iranha soldiers who still remained alive were scattered throughout the streets and buildings, effectively cut off from anyone who knew what was happening. As soon as they walked out into the open their attackers would leap from out of the darkness and sink their teeth into the nearest before leaping away. The Iranha were unused to waging this kind of guerrilla warfare within their own city. They were better adapted to fighting in the open against a civilized enemy. Unlike the Iranha,
the Egris knew nothing about organized warfare. They were tenacious predators who knew everything about stalking and killing prey. This was their realm, where their front line simply charged in, attacking and killing as many as they could before the soldiers’ concentrated gunfire cut them down. Regrettably, some of them were killed, but the swarms behind them kept coming and coming until every last Iranha in their way was dead.

  From the beginning it was the Egris who were the better equipped army. The sorilox rifles which the Iranha soldiers used were no match against the much bigger lag guns. Few Egris possessed them, though the volume of damage they produced was incredible. Whole city blocks were ripped apart; buildings were engulfed in flames, while smoking rubble rained down onto the streets. Then it was no surprise that the Iranha reacted with horror and shock when they learned it was their own weapons being used against them and their city.

  The destruction was glorious. The sheer magnitude of the damage far exceeded even Ilon’s expectations. He was running well ahead of the others; Krugjon was leaping high as he steered him down a deserted street. They reached a spot on the road where many corpses were strewn about. The battle here must have been fierce, for there were as many Egris as Iranha piled together, silent and unmoving. So many dead. A hunter lay sprawled out in front of them, her jaws closed tightly around an Iranha soldier’s midriff. Ilon saw her glazed over eyes and knew she was dead. He suddenly felt a great revulsion and fought to control the flood of emotions as he pulled on the reins and jumped away.

  It had been a long night of killing and Krugjon was eager to keep on killing more. Though he was blind he was an adept killer nonetheless. Blood stained his teeth where earlier he had bitten into his enemy—and still he was not yet finished, so great and powerful was his hatred. Even now as he was leaping forward he heard something off to the side and veered straight toward it despite Ilon’s orders to turn back.

  The sharp crack of an Iranha gun echoed in his ears and the next thing Ilon knew, he was being thrown sideways, falling out of control. The force of hitting the ground must have knocked him unconscious because the first thing he remembered was blinking his eyes open to see the full moon directly above him. Struggling back onto his feet he felt a sharp pain spear through his arm. Krugjon lay motionless on the road; Ilon hobbled forward to reach him, fearing the worst.

  “Krugjon, can you hear me?”

  “I can,” he answered weakly, but it was a short while before he was able to speak again. “My leg. I cannot move it.” And then came the grim words, “I fear it is broken.”

  This was not good news. To a hunter like Krugjon who relied on his jumping skills a broken leg meant he was as good as dead. Most Egris just simply chose to be killed on the spot rather than face a life of immobility. He knew exactly what Krugjon would want him to do.

  “You understand,” Krugjon told him. “Now you must kill me, Ilon. Do it quickly.”

  Tears welled up in his eyes. “No. I cannot. Once long ago I let that happen to someone else. You are my friend, and I will not kill you here in the city of the Iranha.”

  “The Iranha will die with me!” he roared.

  Deep down he knew Krugjon was right. It was what he would have wanted for himself. Still, even if it was death that Krugjon wanted, what happened next would never have been his choice. Coming out of a building, the sound of the heavy feet, the outline, was unmistakable. Alone, weaponless, trapped, Ilon pushed hard against Krugjon as the Iranha soldiers stalked closer.

  One of the soldiers stopped abruptly when she spotted them. The sight of Ilon must have surprised her because her gun arm slackened, but it did not remain there for very long. Lifting her weapon she took aim.

  For Ilon the end could not have been any closer when two hunters landed behind him so suddenly that he scarcely noticed them until the ear-splitting sound of a lag gun erupted in his head. When the smoke cleared there was nothing left of his attackers, just a mound of smoldering ash where they had once stood. Gangahar pulled on Ilon’s arm and tried to shake free the great fear that possessed him.

  “Are there other Iranha?”

  “I . . . I don’t know. These ones came out of that building over there.”

  With his lips peeled back, Gangahar fired off round after destroying round. Targasesk soon joined him, both their guns blazing as each new explosion ripped into the metal structure and sent flames and debris shooting out in every direction. Within moments the entire building collapsed into a ruin of rubble.

  “They must be dead now,” Targasesk said with immense satisfaction. She kept her weapon ready, hoping there would still be more to kill.

  “What of Krugjon?” Gangahar asked gravely. “Can he move?”

  Ilon turned to face him, his voice crackling with emotion. “No. His leg is broken.”

  “Then he wishes to die?”

  “That is not my wish,” Ilon said forcefully, positioning himself so that he was now standing between them. “If you kill him then I will kill you too. Is that clear?”

  “You are making a bad choice. To not kill him when he chooses to die.”

  “I know. But you must let me do this for him. There is still one thing that can be done. So until tomorrow comes will you obey me?”

  Despite what Gangahar believed was best for Krugjon he obeyed only because the battle was not yet finished. Beating the Iranha was of greater importance, and so he allowed Ilon to make the decision and simply agreed.

  Gunfire echoed sporadically up and down the street. Targasesk listened intently. “Their armed forces are withdrawing. Their city is on fire. We have won.”

  “Only this one battle,” Ilon said. “We must keep up the offensive. Do not give them the chance to regroup. Now it is quiet. But that could mean they are preparing to launch an attack of their own. Can we be so impetuous to quit now when total victory is just around the corner?”

  “You are right, of course.”

  “Take your hunters up that street. Death is everywhere, so be careful to look,” Ilon warned them. “There might be other Iranha hiding in those buildings too.”

  After issuing quick orders four other gun toting Egris soon joined them. “You will stay here with Krugjon?” Gangahar asked him. Ilon’s solemn nod affirmed what he had already surmised. “We will soon return.”

  To a large extent the battle had already been fought and won. Now only a few pockets of resistance remained, though this was the deadliest part of the hunt so the hunters proceeded with utmost caution. Those who accompanied Gangahar and Targasesk now concentrated their guns on either side of the street where the Iranha might have entrenched themselves. Their teeth clenched, guns blazing, they continued with the onslaught. Together their combined firepower leveled much of the adjacent streetscape; crumbling buildings exploded into flames. Even long after their weapons were silenced the walls were still collapsing. Nevertheless the fighting continued. Those Iranha who managed to escape outside were gunned down; anyone they saw was chased after and killed on the spot.

  From where he stood Ilon could see the destruction unfolding, the flattened buildings, the dead bodies. He wanted very much to join his companions now. Of course he couldn’t leave Krugjon here by himself, so he knelt back down beside him and continued with his work.

  Krugjon grimaced intensely while Ilon felt with his hands where the two broken bones had separated. “What is it that you are doing?”

  “Hold very still,” he ordered. “Can you do that?”

  “I will try,” Krugjon promised, although he felt a little trepidation of what was coming.

  What Ilon did next was so painful that Krugjon screamed in agony as he first pulled then twisted his broken leg. After repeating this excruciating procedure again he felt himself slipping into unconsciousness.

  Later, after Krugjon awoke he gradually became aware that the throbbing pain in his leg did not hurt so much now. He was curious so he started to pull himself up only to feel Ilon’s hand pushing him back down.

  “What is this
you have done?” Krugjon asked him, feeling the two straight lengths of metal lashed to his leg.

  “It should hold your leg steady for now, until the bones mend together,” he explained. “Understand, that for this to happen you must not move too much.”

  His mouth widening, Krugjon said, “Then I will be able to jump again?”

  “Yes,” Ilon told him confidently. “I believe you will.”

  It was at that exact moment when he caught sight of two figures scurrying away. One of them in particular attracted his attention. Had he not recognized the flowing purple gown it might have been just another ordinary Iranha running for its miserable life. Searching through the rubble he found what he was looking for, then started off in quick pursuit.

  Pulima Cos was running as fast as she could, though her gross weight limited her speed to almost a plodding pace. After running as far as she could, it was too much,she suddenly ground to a halt and spat out a mouthful of foam. Huge drops of perspiration dribbled off her fleshy face. She bent over, wheezing and gasping for air. When she regained some of her breath, only then did she hear the fading footsteps and look up.

  “Wait! Wait! Come back! I order you to come back here!”

  Still unable to move, she stared helplessly at the fleeing soldier. She was being abandoned. Furious, she wanted to kill her. Drawing her sidearm she fired in the soldier’s direction—missed. Possessed by rage she hurled her gun at the wall as hard as she could. It made a sharp crack as it struck and dropped in pieces. As the haze of anger began to clear from her head she realized her stupidity. Suddenly horribly afraid, Pulima Cos was alone on the streets of her city. Without a gun.

  What she had not noticed was that now there were two shadows on the wall, hers, and someone else’s. Something else. Spinning around Pulima Cos recoiled and screeched in absolute terror.

  Roaring in rage Ilon drove the metal shaft’s jagged point deep into her. Blood spurted when he pulled it free and struck again. The more times he stabbed down, the more difficult it was to restrain himself. All the bad memories flowed through his arm. It was this same creature who had imprisoned him, who had brutalized and tormented him. For all the destroyers, for all those who came to take what was not theirs, for all the Uta and the Iranha, and the others on worlds unknown to him, this was his bloody vengeance for all of them.