Star Brigade: The Supremacy (SB3)

by C. C. Ekeke

  Sam heard Khal’s breath hiss through his teeth, saw his neck muscles tighten with anticipation…

  …and promptly pulled her hand away from Khal’s leg.

  He popped off the desk, rage twisting his features. “Oh, come ON.”

  “Not until the job is done. Now get out,” Sam chided, curt and hard. “I got business to handle.”

  “What kind of business?” Khal pressed in acid tones.

  “None of yours,” she threw back and shooed him away.

  Once she was alone, Sam felt a wild urge to claw her own skin off. But the disgust was more self-directed. She slumped in her chair with closed eyes. Khal had always been swaggering and willful, forcing her to keep him in line with methods some might consider questionable. Even now, Sam saw the CT post getting to his head.

  It almost made her regret picking Khal as her replacement. Almost.

  I’m doing this for Star Brigade, she reminded herself again. Sam’s Brigade family meant everything to her. Khal, loose in morals and insatiable in ambition, knew what he’d signed up for. A tool for an unpleasant task. Any bribes from Sam to see that task through were unavoidable evils, regardless of how it rotted her insides.

  She opened her eyes with a ragged sigh before plunging into surveillance reports, returning transmissions, and other sorts of managerial monotony. After twenty macroms, Sam was mentally fried and ready to escape.

  Outside her office, the intel department ran smoothly as usual, the air filled with a stampede of fingers clacking away on holoscreens alongside short bursts of muttered exchanges. Khal was back at his workstation mouthing off at Surje, who jawed right back with a heated red glow. Macho posturing aside, no one could ever mistake these two as friends. Sam, however, rather enjoyed their little rivalry of professional one-upmanship.

  As long as things don’t get violent. Sam smirked and left the department.

  One long translifter ride later, Sam strode purposefully through the well-lit hallway of Hollus’s living quarters where only Star Brigadiers resided. The second level was reserved only for Brigade higher-ups, herself included. She undid her pulled-back hair and shook it out, waves of tousled blonde spilling past her shoulders.

  Sam passed by her own quarters, stopped at another door further at the corner of the hall. Anticipation rushed through her as she placed a hand on the door’s adjacent ID pad. The door slid open.

  The foyer was dark and empty like the rest of the first floor from what she could tell, except for faint light emanating from the top of the staircase.

  Sam raced upstairs as quietly as possible. On the second floor, a warm halolight glow poured out from a master bedroom on the end of the off-white hallway. There was also a bathroom, a child’s bedroom, and three storage closets. She smiled at the familial nuances, focusing then on the master bedroom and the voices within.

  “The Farooqua’s primitive lifestyle aside,” said a stern male voice in a croaky Galdorian lilt, “the Ghebrekh keep evading the TDF each time they’re targeted, striking, disappearing, then striking again.”

  “And the Ghebrekh are still Farooqua, regardless of how reckless their attacks are. So of course they won’t betray their own,” Habraum replied. “This footage, though…”

  Then silence. Ttaunz Defense Force. A Faroor Mission? Sam wondered, continuing forward.

  The room was spacious, decorated modestly with valued items, past accolades, and holopics of the owner’s family throughout. It had a comforting vibe, like the rest of the residence. Sam tucked her blonde locks behind both ears and artfully slipped into the bedroom. Once inside, she zeroed in on the room’s sole occupant.

  There stood Habraum Nwosu, teammate, superior officer, best friend. He had shaved the stubble, leaving only a well-trimmed goatee that emphasized the rugged bone structure of his face. Rugged yet not rough-hewn, and oh so pleasing to the eyes. Then there was how that white V-neck clung to Habraum’s muscular torso? Sam’s stomach did a cartwheel.

  He looked great. Better than great—amazing.

  A fair-sized holoviewscreen hovered before him, with several smaller screens circling about him in the shape of a large transculent sphere of light. That was how most data spheres looked, Sam recognized. The screens’ combined glow shone off his chocolate-brown complexion as he spoke to a familiar Galdorian onscreen. Admiral Hollienurax.

  He watched something on one of the smaller screens Sam couldn’t see from her vantage point. The way the Cerc frowned with such focus. Too cute.

  Habraum turned slightly, spotting her arrival. Those beautiful hazel-gold eyes of his warmed. Sam smiled back, her stomach now in knots.

  The Cerc turned back to the main holoscreen, all business.

  “There is nothing alleged here, Habraum,” the Galdorian replied. “You see these Ghebrekh displaying levitation, teleportation, feats of super strength and speed, possible climate manipulation.”

  “Which is right up Star Brigade’s alley.” Habraum nodded. “I’ll have a CT out to Faroor by week’s end.”

  Hollienurax’s eyestalks curled upward in satisfaction. “May the Obsidian Oceans protect you, Captain Nwosu.” He saluted the Cerc, who stood at attention and saluted right back.

  “Hey Sammie,” Habraum said after the call ended, shifting around two small holoscreens.

  “Hey.” She gave him a toothy white grin. “New mission?”

  “Yep. Just sent the intel package to you and Khal.” He straightened to his full height, waving both hands out dismissively. The entire data sphere dimmed and vanished. “Some nasty superpowered radical’s making life difficult for the Ttaunz. CT-1 heads out in five days.”

  “So soon?” She pouted, knowing she wouldn’t be joining this mission. “We just got back.”

  “No need to fret. Faroor’s a few days away. Should be a quick in-and-out.” He made an inappropriate pumping motion with his fist.

  Sam blushed and laughed. “So that’s what I’m in for this afternoon?” she sassed.

  Habraum shrugged. “We got two orvs before Jeremy’s transport arrives and Dani picks him up,” he said in that Cercidalean drawl, using his special nickname for Tharydane. His eyes, sparkling like twin pools of gold, raked her up and down. “That’s a long time. Lots can happen before then.”

  Sam found herself drowning in those eyes again, her willpower cratered.

  How. Does. He. DO That? Forcing herself to breathe, she was already picturing the things she wanted to do to Habraum. Ferocious, dirty things. “Come here and fuck me already,” Sam ordered, her voice husky with need.

  He crossed the room in three strides, towering over her like a skyscraper. Habraum took Sam’s face in his large hands, leaned down and brushed his lips across hers. In an instant, all that messy self-loathing from earlier was scorched away. The Cerc teased her with soft, slow kisses, taking his sweet time. Sam had no such self-discipline. She wrapped her arms around his waist and pulled him closer, her mouth hungry for his. Now their tongues were touching, tasting, entwining.

  Habraum made a contented noise and responded more forcefully. Sam let her arms fall limp and just drank him in, feeling light as air. His fingers feathered their way down Sam’s chest, slowly unzipping her crimson hoodie. His touch was electric. In her haste, she grabbed the hem of Habraum’s shirt, yanking it up and over his torso—almost pulling the Cerc’s head off as well.

  “Shit!” Sam clapped a hand over her mouth to hide a bawdy cackle. “Sorry!”

  “Thanks, Goldilocks…” Habraum smiled and staggered around a bit. “Think I’ll sort out the rest of my wears.”

  Sam barely heard him, too zoned out on the visual feast she’d exposed. God-damn! She had seen Habraum shirtless hundreds of times, yet never got tired of the view. The Cerc’s torso looked lean and powerful, every muscle seemingly chisled out of dark mohagany rock.

  Sam reached for him, gliding a pair of admiring hands across his broad chest, then down his arms, feeling hard and corded muscle beneath her fingertips. A ragged, lustful sig
h escaped her lips.

  Sam’s daze was broken when Habraum lurched forward with a woflish grin, and began nibbling on her earlobe. That made Sam purr with dizzying pleasure, and immediately their baser instincts took over again. Off went Habraum’s pants, followed by her hoodie. His hands were traveling along the curves of her waist and hips, grabbing handfuls of her bottom, hoisting her up like she weighed nothing.

  She gave a small whoop in delight, wrapping her legs around Habraum’s waist. His lips found hers again and lingered, while one hand began groping through Sam’s mop of golden hair from behind. Habraum gave it a hard yank to pull Sam’s head back, and searched the length of her neck with his mouth, kissing a trail down to her chest. Then he began nibbling harder.

  Sam groaned low in her throat, lost in excruciating bliss. A good, hard fuck always helped ease her off the high of a successful mission.

  But with Habraum, it had become more. Sam was safe. Sam was home.

  Chapter 9

  “GAAAAH!” In the pitch-black sewers of Conuropolis, Kingston Reyes clung to the side of a rancid waterway, gasping for air. That biomech abomination had tossed him into this filth. For lengthy orvs of time Kingston had been flushed deeper into this tubular maze, the powerful river pulling him under several times.

  Thankfully, the sewer flow slowed for a brief moment, allowing him to grope around and grab on to a ferroment sidewall that kept sewage from overflowing. The moment his grip found purchase, the river flow exploded into motion. His fatigued body all but drained, he nearly got swept away for good.

  Somehow Kingston found that last reservoir of strength to hold on and drag himself onto dry land.

  On the damp ferroment ground, Kingston lay wheezing for breath, limbs burning from exhaustion. He could barely see a thing, but was too tired to care. The sewage river roared right next to his ears, and Kingston finally gave into his exhaustion…

  …only to awake with a jolt. Reyes had no clue how many orvs had passed, willing a NeuroNano chronometer to appear at the corner of his vision. Half a day practically. Kingston sat up, recalling where he was and his predicament. Anxiety flooded him, until his past training kicked in.

  Give in to the fear and Children of Earth’s enemies win, he recalled. Kingston would never give in.

  He gingerly stood up, another NeuroNano app adjusting his vision to the surrounding gloom.

  Kingston figured this tunnel hadn’t seen many visitors in years, spotting the river oily-slick below and the rusted arches above him. Far down to his right was a sign of hope, a faint glow.

  He was soaked to the bone in putrid sewage. The air rising from the river practically suffocated him. Kingston’s mind now worked furiously. His cell compromised and captured, that Thulican monstrosity nearly killing him.

  “But I survived,” he hissed spitefully. Exfiltration was the only way out.

  Kingston began walking toward the faint glow, keeping his distance from the sewage river, which roared louder than before with its turbulence. His thoughts now centered on an escape. Some of the other Children of Earth cell leaders who owed Kingston a favor could smuggle him off Terra Sollus. The thought of leaving his new homeworld pained him greatly. But how else could he continue serving the CoE? Kingston rubbed his hands and shivered, the tunnel’s drafts getting colder the further he advanced.

  Kingston frowned and quickened his pace, but the faster he walked, the more further any escape felt. Moreover, any contentment he had known began to fade from memory.

  That was when a soft hissing noise filled the air around him. Kingston froze. “N-No,” he stammered. “Star Brigade killed that…thing.”

  Then he heard it again, closer now—hollow, venomous…and hungry.

  Now Kingston deduced why the cold had intensified, spreading an unnatural despair. His cell had captured the monster months ago on Bimnorii, tortured it into subservience to kill the Korvenites they hunted. The beast was free, and near, and hungry.

  Kingston broke into a dead sprint toward the light.

  Chapter 10

  Since childhood, Taorr had known that he would be targeted by enemies of the “Supremacy.”

  “The Supremacy’s been dead for centuries,” the son of Maorridus Magnus had scoffed, never taking those words seriously, even when visiting hostile Farooqua tribal lands to broker peace. He dismissed these warnings as the typical Ttaunz’s inflated sense of worth.

  Now those warnings struck Taorr harder than his captor’s blows.

  Ghebrekh insurgents dragged him beaten and bloodied across desiccated plains, like some piece of meat.

  Only two days had passed since his and Zojje’s capture at Yanjon Vale. Since then, Taorr had barely slept. And his captors had been on the move. To where, Taorr knew not. He’d been blindfolded on some caravan the whole time. Adding to the veil of mystery, Farooqua dialects were based on physical movement—kineticabulary—so he could not see what they communicated during the trek.

  Many times, Taorr asked, “Where is Zojje?” and many times met silence or a backhand to the face. After he wouldn’t shut up, the beatings grew more thorough. Yesterday, several Ghebrekh took turns savagely kicking him in the stomach, nearly breaking his ribs. These Farooqua even knew where the tracking device was in his leg, implanted in all royal Ttaunz family members, cutting it out with a jagged knife. The Ttaunz had to marshal all his resolve not to cry out, never giving them the pleasure of his agony.

  Fighting the fear kept Taorr’s mind active. Better than mulling over the butchery two days ago—living beings he had befriended, sliced to pieces like meat in front of him.

  Today, for whatever reason, his blindfold was removed. The hairless Farooqua had tied Taorr’s arms behind his back with an itchy rope and dragged him along still. It looked like mid-morning, Herope’s bright crimson rays blazing down mercilessly.

  Shaking sweat and blood-caked hair from his eyes, Taorr took in his surroundings. The stretch of barren landscape sported a few thick grassy patches here and there, barely noticeable against endless rows of enormous stony fangs. Brownish-grey and cracked, the slanting rock formations jutted out menacingly at near 45-degree angles.

  “I know this place,” Taorr whispered. The Suthron Wastelands, an arid region belonging to the Narii Tribal Nation close to the Kurrey and Wejbe city-states. Why here? Taorr wondered. And how are we so deep into Farooqua territory so quickly? Even at high hovercar speeds, travelling from Thasque to here would take two or more days.

  I was asking the same thing.

  Taorr immediately looked to his right, seeing tall and genteel Zojje about a metrid away, communicating telepathically. Two Ghebrekh guards flanked each side of Zojje, guiding him along courteously, yet the Kudoban appeared to have suffered some abuse, as evidenced by light facial bruising.

  Taorr opened his mouth to speak…

  NO! Zojje looked away from the Ttaunz as he walked. Stay quiet. It is safer to converse this way.

  Taorr did as ordered and lowered his head again, but he smiled at seeing Zojje alive. The two were taken past numerous stone fangs before a healthy gathering of Farooqua appeared beyond the downward slope. Taorr was still too far away to determine if the crowd were actually Narii, but the bare-skinned Ghebrekh Farooqua were obvious from any distance.

  As his Ghebrekh guards dragged him closer, Taorr felt a sharp anxiety. Zojje, he pondered. Use your telepathy to disable them so we can escape—

  I cannot, was the Kudoban’s calm reply.

  Taorr looked up again at Zojje in surprise. Why not?

  Zojje continued staring ahead, calm and collected as usual. I made an oath of telepathic nonviolence years ago when I decided to traverse the stars. Even now, I intend to keep that oath.

  Easy for you to say, Taorr shook his head in frustration. Farooqua consider it a bad omen killing a Kudoban. Any Farooqua that kills me becomes legendary!

  Curb your petulance, Zojje frowned fleetingly. You are in no immediate danger. Ghuj’aega loses all leverage should you die
.

  Taorr gritted his teeth, sincerely wanting to strangle Zojje. Like anything has stopped Ghuj’aega before? He and his ilk murder my race without any fear of reprisal. As long as more Farooqua keep joining his tribe, that’s all the shielding he needs.

  The telepathic argument raged back and forth in their minds, but only shuffling feet could be heard across the dusty plains. Taorr was breathing hard, angry and dispirited. Then he noticed Zojje and the Ghebrekh guarding them had stopped. They all stood several metrids away from the Narii and Ghebrekh gathering.

  Taorr glanced around in confusion. “What—”

  “Silent, Ttaunz,” one of his captors hissed in Standard, slapping him hard upside the head.

  They are waiting for something, Zojje answered. He looked around with renewed urgency.

  Abruptly, everything around Taorr flashed bright blue and rushed forward. An odd sensation tugged at his sternum. Before Taorr knew it, the tugging stopped, his ears filling with the sounds of several surprised gasps. Taorr looked about blearily and almost jumped.

  Somehow, he, Zojje, and their captors went from a distant ridge to right in the midst of the Narii and Ghebrekh gathering. He gaped at Zojje, disbelieving. Did we just…transmat? Without any technology?

  Seems to be, Zojje thought back, equally shocked. But outwardly, the Kudoban hid any reaction. Each Narii stared at the newcomers, their upturned mouths slack in fear and wonderment. The Narii were rough looking, with blunt features, bulbous blood-red eyes, and patchy dark fur covering their bodies. They all were taller and wirier than most Farooqua on average. Taorr had never met with this tribe, only knowing their reputation as nomadic warriors and staunch believers in the “Zenith Point.”

  Standing unaffected among the group were a dozen more Ghebrekh. But as Taorr got a better look around, the young Ttaunz could have sworn that his heart stopped briefly.