Star Brigade: The Supremacy (SB3)

by C. C. Ekeke

  They all retreated in the same direction, giving the Cerc an idea and a chance to deal with them permanently. “Khrome, toss me at them.”

  The Thulican, not alone in his disbelief, greeted this order with a stare. “Captain, why—” he began.

  “Disobeying all my orders, then?” Habraum snapped. “Do it.”

  Khrome stiffened and did as ordered, hoisting Habraum up and chucking him forward like a football.

  The Cerc hurtled toward the retreating jusha, letting the biokinetic energy inside flood every blood vessel, limb, and extremity. Soon, as he began to descend, the air around him rippled with energy.

  Just as expected, the jusha beasts halted their mass exodus and dashed over to where the Cerc would land—biting and clawing to reach their next meal. That was exactly where Habraum wanted them.

  He dropped into a ring of snapping jowls and swiping claws, barely holding in the flood of kinetic power.

  Then Habraum stood up and forced it all out—a bright crimson biokinetic explosion from every iota of his body. The Cerc could count the times he unleashed his powers like this—always taxing, scary, exhilarating. The shockwave’s radius never reached CT-1, but its expanse was extensive.

  As soon as it started, the biokinetic shockwave ended.

  Habraum fell to his knees, exhausted but satisfied. He looked up at his handiwork. Every jusha beast in the blast’s wide range was destroyed, the closest disintegrated into sparking dust motes. Khrome floated a few feet above him. He glanced at the carnage of Inorskii Fields them, lacquered with hundreds of gooey and shattered carcasses. “Show-off,” the Thulican teased.

  Habraum glanced at his tech officer. “Says the guy who catches ships like beach balls?”

  Khrome smirked.

  “UYULL?!” Fiyan’s scream catch Habraum’s ear, even from afar.

  Without being asked, the Thulican snatched his field commander up and flew back to where CT-1 waited. When they arrived, the source of Fiyan’s distress was as clear as day. And Habraum’s heart ached.

  A few metrids away, Corporal Uyull’s massive body lay sprawled on a patch of earth soaked in his own blood. Closer inspection revealed chunks of his right arm were missing and his left leg torn off at mid-thigh. He twitched and spasmed, spouting blood oozing from multiple puncture wounds. And Habraum didn’t need a closer look to see how the jusha beasts had made such gruesome work of Uyull’s face. Byzlar kneeled at Uyull’s side, frantically trying to staunch his comrade’s cartoonish blood loss.

  Khal stepped back looking sick. “I pulled as many jusha off as I could, but...it was...” he trailed off.

  Liliana was already on her knees at the Nirandian soldier’s side. “Vaas, go support his head,” she ordered calmly, all business. So caught up in the gory scene, it took Habraum a moment to realize that “Vaas” was Byzlar’s first name. Liliana tapped the sleeves of her uniform, immersed her hands in a pair of forcefield gloves, and pulled vials of aguasalve from her utility belt to stop the bleeding. “Marguliese, my kit—” she began.

  The Cybernarr spun and sprinted back to the ruined transport. Less than two macroms later, she emerged with Liliana’s medical-supply case. The Star Brigadiers and Fiyan watched silently as the doctor calmly yet urgently worked. Anyone could see she was in her element, saving lives. Cortes pulled out several jagged pieces of carapace with large tweezers and patched over the puncture wounds concisely before moving to the next injury.

  Habraum heard Uyull’s ragged excuse for breathing, sounding like razors were lodged in his lungs. He ignored his rising unease, placing faith in Liliana.

  Byzlar panted with dread, the only noise that could be heard besides Uyull’s pitiful wheezing.

  Somehow, the young Aesonite held it together as he followed Liliana’s orders, continuing to slather aguasalve over Uyull’s chest and the bloody stump that used to be his left leg.

  But as more bleeds sprouted up from other wounds on the Nirandian’s ruined body—and there were several—Habraum’s heart began to sink, seeing how little their help actually did. Uyull now spasmed violently, his wet, strangled coughs telling a gruesome tale of asphyxiation.

  “Fluid buildup around the lungs is crushing them,” Cortes quietly stated to Byzlar. The doctor grabbed a laser scalpel from her tools and made a small incision into his chest at the site of the fluid swelling. In her other hand, she directed a needle in to drain fluid from out of the cut.

  The response was a forceful spout of blackish blood, more potent than from any other wound.

  “Jesus!” Liliana swore not so quietly. She dropped everything and clamped both hands over the gusher, but that barely impeded the dark blood from leaking through her gloved fingers. Habraum heard Fiyan’s breath catch. Khrome, still hovering in the air, recoiled at such unchecked bleeding.

  The peaceful night carried a stink of death—the ruined jusha carcasses littering the field had already begun to reek terribly. But no one cared.

  Uyull let out another pathetic gurgle, and went silent. Cortes applied more aguasalve over the incision to finally stem further blood loss.

  “Start compression on the middle of his chest,” she ordered Byzlar. “I’ll…” The doctor went silent.

  To Habraum’s surprise, Cortes then let both hands slide off her patient’s torso and stopped trying. Byzlar, engrossed in pumping his friend’s chest vigorously, seemed oblivious. But Liliana just stared down the length of Uyull’s ruined body in muted horror. A moment later, she seemed to visibly deflate. Habraum frowned in confusion, until he noticed Uyull no longer even twitched, involuntarily or otherwise. The Nirandian’s eyes were glazed over, worms of dark blood flowing steadily from his eyes, nose, and ears.

  Then the Cerc knew. He knew before Liliana stood up, turning to him and Fiyan, looking sick as she shook her head subtly.

  Habraum’s breath rushed out in a pained groan. As Fiyan absorbed the fact that her subordinate had died, she turned a sickly pallor. The Nnaxan regained a modicum of composure and mutely stumbled off in the other direction. Her craniowhisks hung limp with unspoken grief.

  Uyull, who served with Fiyan and Byzlar for years, dead.

  Another soldier under my command, dead. “Fiyan, I’m so sorry,” Habraum murmured, but she was beyond hearing.

  Marguliese stared at the dismal scene, her gaze unusually blank. V’Korram and Tyris both looked weary and winded. The Star Brigadiers all looked shaken in varying amounts, despite not knowing Corporal Uyull well.

  But Specialist Vaas Byzlar was the only one who didn’t grasp it, who wouldn’t accept this.

  “Doctor Cortes, DO something!” The Aesonite stubbornly kept pumping his friend’s broad chest. “He’s dying…”

  “Vaas,” Liliana said quietly, maintaining her calm as she addressed the soldier, “Uyull is gone—”

  “He’s not!” Byzlar shook his head stubbornly and kept compressing Uyull’s chest, hysterical. The Aesonite fought the truth from sinking in. “We have to keep trying!”

  Liliana, despite her composure, reached out to stop his CPR attempts. “It’s over, Vaas.” The doctor removed the Aesonite’s hands from the corporal’s body, remaining firm but never raising her voice. “His injuries were too massive to handle without a legitimate medical facility.”

  For a long moment, Byzlar stared at her like she were the vilest thing. When he noticed everyone’s rueful looks, he could no longer deny the truth.

  Lily could not mask her pain either as she added gently, “I’m so sorry.”

  The Aesonite slowly stood up, eyes glazed over. Lily rose with him. He took a few steps away from Uyull’s body, away from all the eyes witnessing his grief—and doubled over. He clutched at his chest, his gasps coming out in tortured noises. Habraum had to turn away. The youngster’s reaction to this loss hit too close to home. Memories of the team he had lost almost two years ago chaffed at his resolve.

  When he looked again at a shaking Byzlar, Liliana was tenderly rubbing his back and speaking soft w
ords of comfort that Habraum couldn’t make out. V’Korram watched the pair with an odd, fixed expression. From the corner of his eye, Habraum spied Mhir’ujiid moving away from the group, staring into the dark. But the Cerc’s primary concern was to move the rest of his team out of Inorskii Fields. He looked up at Khrome hovering above the grisly scene. “Khrome…”

  The Thulican understood before the order was issued. “I’ll call for an extraction team—”

  “NOOO!!” This time Mhir’ujiid was the one who screamed, but more from anger than fear. Whatever frightened her also caught V’Korram’s attention. The giant Kintarian took one look into the darkness and roared ferociously, making Habraum’s skin prickle in shock.

  “Jakadda, wha—ARRRRRGGH!!” An intense ringing punctured both ears before Habraum could finish. He covered his ears, which did nothing to halt the ringing wherever it came from. The next thing he knew, Habraum lay crumpled on the ground. A brutal, omnipresent sound consumed all thought, reducing him to a singular feeling of agony. Through his blurred vision, Habraum saw Marguliese sprawled beside him, shuddering as if electrocuted.

  Khrome dropped from the sky like a stone. Cortes clutched at her head, shrieking before she finally crumpled. But Habraum heard nothing over the ringing…felt nothing but the pain.

  V’Korram was already facedown. The rest of Star Brigade and the TerraTroopers either lay spasming or motionless.

  Marguliese stopped convulsing. Her eyes, blue as deep oceans, stared at nothing, lifeless. That was the last thing Habraum saw as blinding pain dragged him into the abyss…

  Chapter 40

  Bright halolights stabbed like knives into Haemekk’s eyes, forcing him fully awake.

  It had been orvs, days maybe, since the former Defense Minister had seen true light. His world since imprisonment now consisted of a small, dim, and dingy cell stinking of excrement—no doubt his own.

  Haemekk was naked, his pelted skin bruised and bloodied. His limbs were pulled into an X formation by floating manacles, stretching the Ttaunz’s tortured frame until it felt like his arms and legs would rip off.

  The cell entry slid open. Cold fingers of wind brushed over his newly shaved scalp, making him shiver. The memory of his flowing scarlet locks being shorn off, marking his criminal status, wounded Haemekk more than any current torture could have.

  Despite the brutal interrogation techniques they had tried, the Ttaunz remained silent. Except for the screams, he remembered, and cringed.

  Haemekk swallowed his shame for crying out. No Ttaunz could have withstood such torment for long, as intended when he had devised every tactic used on him. Only after they had gotten nothing out of him did his interrogators let Haemekk pass out. How much time had elapsed since was a mystery.

  He forced his head from lolling, despite the blinding pain coursing through his spine. That was when he noticed a figure standing before him in the cell, partially shrouded. At first Haemekk didn’t recognize his visitor. Then the figure stepped into the light, frail beneath his lavish robes and leaning on a cane, silvery white hair unbound. A knowing smile pulled at Haemekk’s tattered lips, hatred blossoming anew in his heart. “Our Maorridus Magnus in all his diminished glory.” Because his throat was so parched, the former Defense Minister’s words came out dry and whispery.

  “I figured it was time for a more direct approach to your interrogation,” Maorridus Magnus stated, his voice thin and brisk.

  Haemekk barked with humorless laughter. “That disease clearly damaged your brain if you believe any torture method that I designed would make me talk.”

  “True.” The Magnus cocked his head to one side…smiling? “I learned one thing. You sound like a dying bird when you scream.” For some reason, that tickled Haemekk. He chuckled, as did Maorridius Magnus. Before long, the two were seized by boisterous, convulsive laughter for several macroms.

  When the shared mirth finally dwindled, the Magnus watched Haemekk sadly and shook his head. “Look at us.” He sounded drained and gravelly. “We’ve known each other for nearly three decades.”

  Haemekk bowed his head, saddened by the memory of the Ttaunz he once called brother despite their class differences. The former Defense Minister lifted his head with a wince, seeing no trace of that brother now. “The Merchant Prince and the TDF solider from his personal guard.”

  “Our rule was to be legendary, governing this world together until our dying days.” The Magnus gave a heavy sigh. “Returning the Supremacy’s splendor to Faroor.”

  “We would have, Taorr the Elder,” Haemekk admitted, calling the Magnus by his true name. The constant pain of restraints and injuries made it hard to think straight. But clinging to his hatred for this misguided fool reignited a flickering strength. “If you hadn’t started siding with your idealistic fool of a son regarding the Farooqua. If you didn’t keep allowing more Union politics to influence your rule and the Ttaunz way of life.”

  Maorridius Magnus’s face turned contemptuous. “So instead of rational dialogue, you betray me and try to assassinate me? Me?” He pounded a fist on his chest to emphasize his disgust.

  “I lost count of how many times I tried reasoning with you,” Haemekk replied, his whispering retort sharp as a laserwhip, “and how many times you cast away my advice, to our species’ detriment.”

  The Ttaunz known as Maorridius Magnus shook his head fervently, jostling his snow-white mane. “You were only out for your own gain, not our species’.” Bitterness flowed freely between them, stronger than Haemekk was expecting. He welcomed the candor.

  The ruler of Faroor barreled onward. “And you thought that decadent halfwit Gaorr would be a better Maorridius Magnus than me or Taorr? Gaorr is weak. Ruled by his baser instincts, loyal to whichever friend can score him the best narcotics,” Maorridius snarled, as if pointing out the deficiencies in a flawed product instead of his son, “the Ruling Merchant Families would devour him.”

  The Magnus’s disregard for his younger son was well known, even though his beloved heir Taorr had been far wilder years before his “enlightenment.” In the Magnus’s eyes, Gaorr was just a disappointing spare should anything happen to Taorr. So it fell upon Haemekk to be the father that the Magnus would not.

  Perhaps that was when Haemekk’s once unshakeable love for the Magnus began to curdle? “I am well aware of Gaorr’s shortcomings,” he threw back. “Unlike you, I saw his potential. If he was made Magnus, the boy would have been more pliant than Taorr, and done his duty for the Supremacy.”

  “Potential,” the Magnus spat with surprising venom. “You saw only his genetic lineage to further your treachery.” The angered rant seemed to tire Maorridius Magnus, as he leaned heavily on his cane for support. That did nothing to diminish the hatred smoldering in his eyes.

  “If Gaorr wasn’t my blood, you two would share a cell. But he is not my concern right now.”

  That rankled Haemekk. He attempted to scoff, but a spasm of pain brought out a violent coughing fit instead. “When has Gaorr ever been your concern?” he wheezed.

  The candid barb gave the Magnus pause for a moment, his wizened features unreadable. He straightened up, stately and precise. “Despite the influence you were allowed to have as Defense Minister,” he continued flatly, removing any emotion from his quivering voice, “you couldn’t have deployed this sabotage alone. Name your co-conspirators and no harm will befall your family. Incomes, titles, properties, and their reputation will remain untouched. You will live out your days exiled from Union Space, unable to return.

  “Say nothing, and your family’s reputation on Faroor will be ruined. Your sons, daughter, and wife lose everything.”

  Haemekk winced at the latter option, knowing such a fate was worse than death for a highborn Ttaunz. He almost divulged out of spite, just to pit the Magnus into a fight against a foe he could not conquer. Nevertheless, the former Defense Minister knew his family would suffer regardless of his choice. That made his answer unavoidable. “Even if you manage to identify my back
ers, you will never reach them. But they already reached you,” he gave a trembling nod at the Magnus’s fragile frame, “and look at the results. All your power is nothing before theirs.”

  The response staggered the Magnus as if he’d been slapped. Just as quickly, his anger faded before a sad, understanding smile. Then Haemekk knew it was truly over. And suddenly, he wanted to weep. “Defiant to the end. I expected no less.” Maorridius Magnus turned his back on Haemekk. “Defense Minister Jaoffa,” he barked to the comms systems, “status on finding Taorr the Younger?”

  “We have a possible location, Lord Magnus,” Jaoffa replied evenly. “But Union Command ordered the Ttaunz Defense Force to not take any hostile action until their special forces handle the Ghebrekh first.”

  “My son,” the Magnus interrupted the simpering new Defense Minister, “is out there in the hands of those savages. I will turn this world upside down to find him! Get it done.”

  He looked over his shoulder one last time. “Farewell…old friend.” Maorridius Magnus turned his head to some unseen spectator and nodded.

  Forks of pain lanced through Haemekk, setting every nerve in his body on fire. Pain-receptor stimulation, he recalled, writhing in agony.

  At the same time, sight, hearing, and taste all fled, leaving the former Defense Minister in a world of dark and anguish. Partial Sensory deprivation. He couldn’t hear his own screams this time, but felt them roaring out of his parched throat. Ages seemed to pass before unconsciousness swept Haemekk away.

  Chapter 41

  Early morning was always Thaomé’s favorite time of the Terra Sollan day, as Rhyne rose to dapple the majestic buildings with dazzling rays. The Korvenite sat outside a chic coffee shop in Conuropolis’s affluent Westport District. The off-white short-sleeved turtleneck sweater with matching pencil skirt and knee-high boots contrasted well with her albino purple complexion and snow-white hair. From her table she sipped a small cup of steaming naropa red tea while observing the pedestrian traffic, beings of varying species wrapped up in their own petty universes.