by Z H Brown
Tread had gotten roped into a conversation with the Barbot, who seemed eager to have a fellow machine to confide in.
“Know how long I’ve been here, serving unbearable beings in this dreadful bar?” he asked his voice heavy with self-pity and sorrow.
“How long?” asked Tread, who was apparently willing to humor the depressed bot.
“Sixty years. I’ve been serving drinks here since before it was known as ‘Imperial Military Center Epsilon’, which by the way, is a dreadful name for a planet, though I can’t say I liked the old name any more. Do you know what this place used to be called?”
“I’m afraid I have yet to come across that information,” said Tread, taking a drink from his glowing, pink cube of Energico.
“Dirth; planet Dirth. Terrible, isn’t it? Just one letter removed from ‘dirt’, Planet Dirt. Of course, I can’t say I particularly enjoyed what I did before this…”
Slog, meanwhile, had gotten a mug-full of the coldest, strongest brew they had on tap, and was busy chatting with a voluptuous Cephalapor.
“We don’t get many soldiers here; most of them stay in the centers up north. What brings such a hunk of a trooper here mister....?” she asked, her head resting on two tentacles while another stirred her drink.
“Private Slogulus Krunkle the Fourth, at your service. As for what brings us here, well…all I can say is that my squad is on a mission from the Emperor himself.”
“Oh, Private Krunkle, are you playing with me?” she asked, one tentacle coming up to rest on Slog’s arm.
“Not at all. Course, I can’t give any details, at least not yet, but I wouldn’t be surprised if in a few days, our names are all over the Net.”
Ansaria drained the last of her drink and signaled the bartender for another. She was feeling relaxed, with a warm glow starting to suffuse her. She figured she would allow herself one more drink before cutting herself off; after all, she’d earned it. She’d just taken her first sip when a familiar voice came from behind her.
“Well, well, well…Ansaria Dormus, as I live and breathe.” Ansaria smiled at the sound of the voice before turning around.
“Tor. Of all the backwater bars, who’dve thought we’d run into each other here?”
Tor smiled back at her. The Utaran was a head shorter than her, with reddish-brown scaly skin, a long tail, clawed hands and a muzzle full of sharp teeth.
“How long has it been, Sari? Three years?” asked Tor. Ansaria moved to make room for him at the bar.
“That it has. And before you ask - yes, I still have the scars,” said Ansaria. Tor grinned even more broadly before signaling the bartender for a drink. “What in the universe are you doing here, Tor?”
“I could ask you the same question, Sari. Last I’d heard you’d been assigned to some Saurus-forsaken dust-ball in the middle of nowhere.”
“That I was. I was promoted to sergeant, and they gave me my own squad. Unfortunately, that was the end of the good news, since I was assigned to the ‘dust-ball’ as you called it.”
Tor’s grin became a bit forced. “So, you’re still in the military -course you are, with that outfit. I guess hoping you’dve woken up after only three years was wishful thinking.”
Ansaria sighed and set her drink down. “Really, Tor? The first time we see each other in ages and you’re already starting?”
“Three years might seem like ages to you, but to me it seems like yesterday. My pain is as fresh as it was the day it happened.”
“Tor, what happened happened. It’s happened a hundred times before that, and it’ll probably happen a hundred times more again.”
“And that seems right to you? Of course it does, being Xenlongian; must seem like the natural order of things.”
“Tor, you’re never going to get over this unless you let it go.”
“Would you be able to let it go so easily if your precious Emperor had killed your father?”
Ansaria sighed in exasperation again. They had had this conversation too many times to count, and indeed it had been the last thing they had discussed before they had ended their relationship. “Your father made his choice. He choose to face the Emperor, and in doing so, died. Your father is no different than any other challenger that chooses to represent their planet; it just happens that he had to pay the ultimate price for it.”
“How many ‘challengers’ has your emperor killed? How many people have lost loved ones at his hands, to satisfy his bloodthirsty conquest?”
“Xandarius is doing this to help people, just like he helped our people. If I’d been born a generation earlier, I’d probably have been sold to someone as a servant, just so my family could afford to eat. He saved my world, and now he’s saving countless other worlds from ever experiencing what mine did.”
Tor was beginning to get angry. This conversation had always been one of his short fuses. “And who asked him to save us? My world wasn’t in the same state as yours was, neither were countless other worlds that he’s attacked, either by himself or with the war machine that you’re so proudly apart of. Face it, Sari: he might claim that he’s doing this for the greater good, but it’s only about satisfying his lust for power. One world wasn’t enough, so why not a hundred? Or a thousand? Or half the galaxy? How many more people are going to die in the name of safeguarding them?”
Ansaria knew there was no use arguing. Neither of them was willing to concede to the other, and she knew from experience that they’d just end up going in circles if this kept up.
“I’m sorry you haven’t been able to move on, Tor, I really am; but this is my Empire, and I’m not going to stop fighting for it for you, or for anyone.”
Tor stared at her for a few seconds before replying. “I’d really hoped that the next time I saw you, you’d have learned better.”
“I could say the same about you,” she said simply.
Tor shook his head, downed the rest of his drink then stalked away from the bar. Ansaria turned back to her own drink, though the confrontation had robbed her of her buzz. She wanted nothing more than to order another, much stronger drink, but she knew she had to stay level-headed. They were so close to the end.
She wasn’t sure how much time had passed before she felt a hand on her shoulder. She turned to see it was Alvara.
“Please tell me you’re not here to argue, too. I’ve had enough bickering with my exes tonight to start one with you.”
Alvara gave her a sympathetic smile. “I recognized Tor as he was leaving and came to find you. I’d figured the two of you would’ve run into each other. You OK?”
Ansaria considered the question for a few moments before answering. “Well, our conversation left a bad taste in my mouth, but yeah, I’m alright. Ready to get this damn mission over with, that’s for sure.”
Alvara was going to reply before she was interrupted. The band had been cut off and a tall biped with a shock of red hair covering his head and face took the stage. He cleared his throat before speaking into a microphone he was carrying.
“Ladies and gentlemen, bots and beings, I am pleased to announce that the flagship has just arrived over our fair planet! In honor of the Emperor’s all-too-brief visit, drinks are on the house for the next half hour!”
The bar filled with a roar of approval. The sound of applause, stamping feet and fists pounding on tables followed the announcer has he left the stage. The bar area quickly became crowded as the patrons tried to get as many free drinks as they could, while the staff circling the room became overwhelmed with orders.
Ansaria couldn’t believe her luck. It was finally time to turn over their evidence and put this craziness behind them. She didn’t know what would come next for herself and the others, but whatever it was had to be less stressful then what they had all been through.
She activated her comm. “You heard the man, everyone; time to go. Meet me outside the bar ASAP.” She used her TIG to pay for her drink before heading for the exit, followed closely by Alvara. Before they’d gotten
halfway across the room, she remembered Critter.
“M, could you grab Critter? He’s near the bar on a table with a bunch of his ilk. Just follow the squeaks.”
“You got it, Sarge.”
Ansaria proceeded to the exit by herself. When she got outside, she found that the crowd that had been milling about had vanished; probably taking advantage of the free drinks. Alone outside, she took a deep breath, feeling some of the tension that had filled her for the last few days ease away.
Almost done. They were almost done.
Alvara was the first to arrive outside, with Critter in hand, followed closely by Tread. “Honestly, that bot needs a good de-bugging. Never have I met such a miserablemachine,” muttered Tread.
“Did you see Slog?” asked Ansaria.
“It looked like he was extracting himself from a very intense conversation with one of the locals, but he should be here soon,” chuckled Alvara.
“Good. As soon as he’s here, we can rendezvous with the Emperor and--”
“Rendezvous with the Emperor?” said a voice from the darkness. A voice Ansaria recognized.
From a small ally between the buildings stepped Tor. As he emerged, a half dozen other figures also appeared from out of darkened entry ways and other alleys. A brown-scaled Gorgonian, the same one that had disdainfully eyed Alvara in the bar slithered up next to Tor. A Mandorian, recognizable by his orange skin and heavy armor was accompanied by a pair of heavily-muscled Myrthalians. A bronze-skinned Acropolin with one missing eye rounded out the group. Ansaria stared at Tor.
“So, that’s why you’re here Sari - to meet the Emperor in person,” said Tor, who held her gaze.
“Sorry, Tor, but I’m afraid our mission is classified,” said Ansaria.
“Why are you bothering talking with thesssse foolssss,” hissed the Gorgonian, who was looking at daggers at Alvara. “We should kill them now, esssspecially that abomination Medussssa.”
Ansaria tensed at the word. Alvara’s face was blank, and she showed no recognition of the word that had hounded her her whole life.
On Gorgona, the people were all reptilian semi-bipeds with skin that ran the gamete from sandy brown to blood red to ebony black. But every generation, a Gorgonian is born with pinkish skin, golden scales and a head with light colored hair. This individual is labeled as Medusa, the greatest monster in Gorgonian myth, said to be so hideous to look at that to do so would turn the viewer to stone. Most Medusas live a life of an outsider, constantly spat upon and cursed unless they are killed outright, whether at birth or in a moment of hate-filled bloodlust.
Alvara had lived her whole life as an object of hate. She had joined the Imperial military because it had offered the only means of escape from her life that she could find. When Ansaria had met her, she had been unaware that the name she carried was in fact a badge of contempt. It was only after many weeks of friendship that she had found out her true name was Alvara. Ansaria had been aghast at referring to her by a name that marked her as a monster, but Alvara had explained that she had come to terms with it over the years, though she still preferred her friends to use her real name. Now, the only remnant of that part of her life was Ansaria’s nickname for her: ‘M’.
Ansaria knew that Alvara had come a long way since her days on Gorgona, but she also knew how old wounds could be ripped open when you least expected it. She needed to diffuse the situation before things got out of hand.
“What do you want, Tor? I have more important things to do right now than have another debate with you in front of an audience.”
“I’d really hoped you’d changed, Ansaria. When I saw you tonight, I took it as a sign that we were doing the right thing, that when we struck a blow for all the oppressed peoples in this sickening Empire, that you would join us. I see now that I was wrong - it was a sign that I needed to let go of my hopes for you, and free you from your indoctrination, the only way I can.”
His words hung in the air. Nobody moved, all of the subordinates waiting to see what move their respective leader would make first. The moment seemed to stretch for an eternity.
“Guess who got the private number of the most beautiful creature in the Empire? This guy!” Slog came out of the bar, swinging his arms and marching confidently before seeing the standoff.
“Oh,” was all he said.
“Enough! If you won’t kill thissss mutant, then I will!” the Gorgonian hissed, snapping toward Alvara, his hands outstretched, his mouth wide open, fangs extended.
Alvara reacted in a flash. One moment she was standing stock still, the next she had extended her power staff, the end of which caught the Gorgonian in the mouth with an ‘ulp’ sound. Everything froze for an instant, before she twisted the handle on her weapon and the Gorgonian’s head disappeared in an explosive flash; the smoking, headless corpse collapsing to the dusty ground.
With the first shot fired, everyone exploded into a flurry of action. Critter launched from Alvara’s shoulder at the Acropolin, aiming for his one, good eye. The bearded insurgent screamed as the diminutive soldier tore into the vulnerable flesh. When he finally pulled Critter way from his face, his remaining eye was replaced with a mass of shredded flesh, and he took off blindly into the darkness.
Tread headed straight for the Mandorian, his weapon system quickly changing out his armament. The Mandorian pulled out an energy pistol, but before he could use it, Tread hit him with a blast from the Zapper. The rebel warrior convulsed as the electrical current coursed through his body, before Tread dropped him with a solid punch to the jaw.
The Myrthalians charged at Slog, the pair each grabbing an arm. They hurled him against the wall, while one of them drove his fist into Slog’s stomach. Slog gasped, and doubled over, but before they could hit him again, he drove his heavy booted foot down on one of the attacker’s foot. The blue skinned assailant howled and released his hold on Slog, who quickly head-butted the other Myrthalian in the gut. When he doubled over, Slog followed it up with a two handed strike under his chin, knocking him through the air before he landed on his back. The remaining Myrthalian tried to come to his brother’s aid, but Slog intercepted him, striking his knee with his boot, before grabbing him by the collar and flipping him over his back. The thug landed hard, the wind knocked out of him, and Slog followed up by driving his elbow into the fallen adversary’s chest, putting him down for good.
Tor dove at Ansaria, eschewing weapons for his own claws. He snarled as he swiped at his old lover, aiming first at her face then trying to catch her in the leg. Ansaria danced away from the strikes, keeping out of reach of her insane ex’s attacks. Tor lashed out again and again, trying to land a hit on the Xenlongian, and each time she managed to avoid. She struck Tor in the side of the head with her fist, leaving him dazed. She followed that up with a kick that caught him in the chest, sending him flying backward. She thought that was the end of it, but was a little surprised to see him struggle back to his feet, clutching his chest. He let out a roar of rage before flying at Ansaria, his teeth bared, aiming for her neck. Ansaria had just enough time to gather her energy before telekinetically blasting Tor away. He struck a wooden wall and crashed through it, his legs dangling out of the hole.
Everything became still as the fight ended. A few people who had been close to the bar’s entrance poked their heads out to see what the noise was. The Myrthalians were gone, apparently having recovered enough to flee while everyone’s attention had been on Ansaria’s fight. Slog raised an arm in triumph.
“That’s right, nobody messes with the best soldiers in the Emp--” his words were cut short as a large, curved blade descended and sliced off his raised arm at the shoulder.
Time seemed to freeze as the soldiers regarded the new attacker. Its body was sleek, with a large, curved blade in each hand. Its head had a fanned crest, but despite its unusual shape, there was no mistaking its face.
Reno had found them.
Ansaria, Tread and Alvara reacted at the same time. Ansaria threw a telekineti
c wave at the hunter, which deftly jumped to the side to avoid it. Tread dashed over to Slog, scooping up his severed limb before wrapping a protective arm around his comrade. Alvara whipped out her rifle and fired off a shot, which the machine also avoided.
“Back to the ship!” Ansaria cried.
Tread pulled Slog along as fast as he could. The shock was beginning to wear off, and Slog howled in agony as his wound bumped against Tread’s body over and over. Ansaria brought out her own rifle, firing off a volley to distract Reno before turning to follow her troops.
They ran as fast as they could, the steady sound of mechanical legs pursuing them. Ansaria kept turning to fire behind her, not wanting to risk blindly shooting over her shoulder and hitting a civilian. Reno dodged every shot, its new form quick and agile.
A new sound from behind them caused Ansaria to look back and see their pursuer had disappeared. She came to a halt, scanning the area. A glint in the moon light above her alerted her to Reno’s reappearance; the hunter had jumped to the top of a building to attack from above. She rolled to the side, avoiding the blade which struck the dirt. She saw that her squad had stopped running and was turning around.
“Get to the ship!” she hollered. She could see the uncertainty in their faces even from this far, but they turned to continue their escape. She barely had time to dodge the next strike, but as she did, she slung her rifle, deciding to once again to fight blade-to-blade. She brought her sword to bear just in time to block a blow from Reno, before being driven backwards as the machine unleashed a flurry of attacks. Ansaria was just barely able to keep up with the bot’s movements, leaving no time for a counterattack. She tried to use a telekinetic attack to drive the hunter back, but she couldn’t concentrate enough to gather the energy and deflect the constant attacks.