by T. R. Harris
Azon turned to his waiting troops, both in the arena and on the sidelines. “Kill the Humans in the lodges. Hurry, before the guards are recalled.”
Adam panicked. He turned to his own team. “Go, help them!”
Sherri took a step toward him. “What about you?” She noticed his bleeding arm, hanging limp at his side. Her expression conveyed the fear she felt.
“I’ll be all right. Just let me take care of the asshole first and then I’ll be along. Now go. Get to the others before the Cadre.”
Azon didn’t make any effort to stop them. Sherri, Riyad and Coop ran off toward the entrance ramp to the arena, as the Cadre force left the stadium from the other side. Adam faced the Nuorean and smiled.
“Now it’s just you and me.”
Chapter 26
The USF Neil Armstrong was located in the back third of the advancing fleet, just crossing the parallel with the planet Silea. Qidos was four light-years ahead, and already they were encountering the leading edge of the huge alien fleet. Flash cannon were firing and the enemy was retreating.
Admiral Nathan Smith was hoping they would. If they did, then it was a pretty good indicator they hadn’t found a counter to the suppressor beam. But with their next move, that belief was put to question. The enemy fleet began to spread out. This could be either strategic or defensive. If they believed the allies only had one beam platform, they could preserve their force by placing their units beyond the spread of the beam. These units could then sweep in from the flanks and hopefully take out the weapon.
Or they could just be lining up for a counterattack, ready to activate their nullifiers on command.
But there was one thing Smith was pretty sure the aliens weren’t expecting. He had three beam platforms in his fleet.
Admiral Smith scanned the threat board at the forward section of the bridge. It was a chaotic mess of red and white lines, along with green and blue dots. To the untrained eye it would mean nothing. To the Admiral, it meant he was in some deep shit.
The enemy had so many ships that herding them all into the range of the beam platforms was impossible without committing half his fleet to the battle. Even if he took it a step at a time—suppressing part of the enemy fleet before moving to the next—there was still a problem. He had to maintain the beam on the suppressed ships until they could be destroyed, and if he only affected half the alien fleet at a time, that left five thousand enemy ships still in the battle. It would take his entire fleet to fight them off, leaving no units available to destroy the suppressed Nuorean vessels. His only option was to bring in all his units and have them engage as many of the enemy as possible, drawing the alien fleet into the relatively narrow spread of the beam platforms.
He couldn’t wait any longer. He looked to the Weapons Officer and nodded. The lieutenant at the station turned back to his panel. Smith could see the man’s shoulders rise and fall…and then he engaged the platforms.
Through the storm of plasma balls filling the battlefield, it was hard to tell if the beams were having an effect. It took several moments for the bolts currently flashing through space to reach their targets before any difference could be seen. Then the crew on the bridge of the Neil Armstrong let out a collective cheer.
Enemy fire had ceased, at least from those units within the beam spreads.
Smith checked the numbers. Almost three quarters of the Nuorean fleet was within the spread. The other quarter was still firing, but when allied forces broke off from attacking the bulk of the alien fleet to concentrate on them, the will to fight quickly evaporated. They began to retreat.
Admiral Smith looked down at the small box resting on the arm of his command chair. It was the trigger for the nuclear torpedoes. It looked like it wouldn’t be needed.
“Captain Drake,” the admiral called out. “Send in your units. Make it quick. Blast every last one of those dormant ships back to the hell they came from.”
“Aye sir!”
********
The enemy fleet was scattered across a quarter of the Fringe, and the allied ships began a methodical weave within it, sending plasma bolts into defenseless hulls and causing tremendous explosions. Fifty, then a hundred Nuoreans ships disappeared from the threat board, followed by another hundred. The phrase ‘shooting fish in a barrel’ came to the admiral’s mind, replaced immediately by another: ‘Thank God!’
Unfortunately, the celebration was premature and misplaced.
With thousands of his ships ensconced with the Nuorean fleet, it came as a shock when the supposedly defenseless ships opened fire. It came nearly in unison, the enemy ships waiting patiently until the allies were within point-blank range. A third of Smith’s fleet disappeared, while the rest began a pitched battle for survival, resembling hand-to-hand combat between starships. There was no organization, no lines of defense. Ships on both sides were being obliterated at an astonishing rate, yet with the enemy still holding a two-to-one numerical advantage.
The bridge crew was frantically going about their duties, but the senior staff would occasionally cast a furtive glance the admiral’s way. They knew of the weapon of last resort. The question was would Smith choose to use it.
********
First-Lead Sanelis (314) watched the readouts with an even temperament—at least outwardly. Inside he was ecstatic. The forces of the Kac had once again fallen for superior Nuorean tactics. In fact, it was even better than anticipated. His decision to let a few hundred of his ships be destroyed by the prowlers had given the enemy even more confidence that their plan had worked. After all, if the Nuorean did have a counter to the influence beam, would not a sensible commander employ it before allowing his ships to be needlessly destroyed?
The keyword was needlessly. To Sanelis, the loss of the ships and crews was a necessity to bring about the greatest victory.
“Master, we have been able to detect the enemy’s lead vessel.”
“It is still intact?”
“Yes. Their remaining forces are clustered around it.”
“Command the fleet. Close on that position. Do not let any ships escape. Squeeze them tight, Lead-Player. It is not often we get such easy victories. Let us make this one count.”
********
“They’re coming, Admiral,” said Commander Edward Guthrie. His voice conveyed a solemn sense of resignation.
“Very well, Commander. Let me know when they’re within optimal range.”
Admiral Nathan Smith fingered the small control box. It was linked to the CW comm and would send out a signal that could reach halfway across the galaxy in a matter of milliseconds. It was an amazing feat for such a small device.
It wasn’t necessary to sacrifice his entire fleet. He could disperse the fleet, allowing some units to live to fight another day. Yet by any military standard, it was considered a victory when you could defeat an enemy twice your size, with both forces eliminated and unable to continue the fight. This was the decision Nathan Smith was about to make.
He flicked open the cover over the keypad within the small box. His commanders back on Earth had made the code simple to remember. He punched it in: 666.
********
Twenty-four light-years away, a series of massive generators spun up. These weren’t normal gravity generators used for propulsion. Instead, they were stronger, more concentrated. They tore at the fabric of space and time, opening a hole that revealed another universe only the width of a helium atom away from the Milky Way. The ship slipped into this otherworld, and then quickly repeated the process. It all happened in less than thirty seconds.
********
The object appeared three hundred thousand miles off the starboard quarter on the contact board of the Neil Armstrong. Programming the location had been simple for Admiral Smith; just send it to his location.
Once the ship stabilized in the universe of the Milky Way, it immediately opened forty launch ports. Almost before they were clear, long cylinders erupted from the openings, streaking off in all direc
tions using miniaturized gravity-drives. Within two minutes they had reached operational distance.
All forty torpedoes exploded at once.
Chapter 27
Adam had dropped to one knee, his weight resting on the sword he had planted in the ground. His right arm hung limp at his side, blood still streaming from the poisoned wound. Azon had made no attempt to strike him, content to the let the deadly toxin do the work for him.
The alien shook his head. “I truly regret the opportunity not to join you in unblemished competition. Your name has been prominent through all our preliminary plans for the Kac. Yet even as I say these words, I revel in watching you die slowly before my eyes. Refer to me as a complicated being because of my conflicted feelings.”
Adam used the sword to help him struggle to his feet, wobbling slightly as he gained his footing. The blade was now a crutch, not a weapon.
“Well, asshole,” Adam strained to say, “I would really hate to disappoint you.” He pulled the sword from the ground and made a feeble attempt to wave it at the alien. “En garde.”
Azon frowned. “That did not translate. What is the meaning?”
“It means your ass is mine.”
Slowly, Adam Cain straightened his back and squared his shoulders. He shifted his head back and forth, hearing the neck crack. Then he lifted his right arm, using the thumb to crack all the fingers in his hand. Finally, he transferred the sword from his left hand to his right and squeezed hard on the grip. He whipped the blade around using a twist of his wrist—as Azon had done earlier—then brought it straight up in front of his face.
The silly grin vanished from the alien. “I do not understand what has happened, but matter it does not. You will die, if not by the toxin, then by my sword.”
He came at Adam, using exquisite steps like those of a dancer. His blade came down in perfect union with his approach. Adam parried the strike, stepping back as he did. Azon continued forward, the arcs from his sword creating circles of light from the reflection off the metal blade. Adam countered each blow, with almost ridiculous ease.
Still Azon did not lose his composure. He continued his dance with hypnotic and fluid motions, his blade now merged with his body and movements. Adam wasn’t so graceful, but he was effective. He didn’t produce any counter strikes during this latest engagement, content to the let the alien wear himself down. After a minute of constant strike and parry, Azon backed off, breathing heavy, a shine of sweat now on his gray face.
“I admit you are stronger and faster than I, of which I’m perplexed. Yet I see you bleed, so you are not a surrogate freak of nature. You can die.”
“That’s right…just not today.”
Now Adam took the offensive. His technique left a lot to desire, but it was effective. The alien was forced back, but unlike Adam earlier, he didn’t simply defend. Every other parry was followed by a strong counter-strike. Adam may be stronger and faster, but Azon was more skilled.
The match was quickly becoming a draw, unless one succumbed to exhaustion before the other. Adam seemed to have the most stamina, even in the heat of late afternoon on Qidos. It was just a matter of time.
The contest continued for another two minutes, before both adversaries lifted their arms to shield their eyes from a blinding flash from above. They looked up to see a brilliant swatch of light covering almost the entire expanse of the sky. The light grew for a moment before slowly shifting from white to red.
The artificial lights in the arena went dark, and an eerie silence fell across the stadium. Azon continued to look upward, his mouth slack, expression conveying confusion.
But Adam knew what had happened. He’d seen it before.
The alien looked at Adam, surprised to see him smiling.
“Well, well, how things change,” Adam said.
“What is it?”
“That, my friend, is a nuclear bloom, a little something I’ve actually had the pleasure to use in the past. It looks like there’s more than one way to skin a cat.”
“I do not understand. What does that have to do with the flash of light?”
“It means we had more up our sleeve than just the beam platforms.”
“Up your sleeve?” Azon shook his head. “It seems the toxin may have finally reached your brain. You are speaking gibberish.”
Adam let out a deep sigh. He’d been looking for a clever way to tell the alien how screwed he was, but it wasn’t working. “Your fleet’s just been consumed by a gigantic ball of nuclear fire. Does that translate?”
“That is not true.”
“Do the Nuoreans have a weapon that can produce such a large explosion?”
Azon’s silence told Adam the alien had finally got the message.
“It matters not. It was but one fleet.”
“Dude, it was over ten thousand ships! I don’t care who you are, but that’s gotta hurt.”
“You do not understand Nuoreans, so I will explain,” Azon began. “I have studied Humans—as well as many other races in the Kac—and I see the same thing. Yes, you have a player class; however, the vast majority of your populations are not fighters. So even though you outnumber us, you do not have the players to match what we have. You fail to realize that, although we are a single race, the Nuoreans live for combat. Every Nuorean is a player—a warrior to you. We have vastly more resources than just those we have brought into the Kac, vastly more.” He waved his sword at the glowing sky. “You may have achieved victory during this one challenge, but we will not stop. Nuoreans accept defeat—just as we do victory—as a challenge unto itself, as an opportunity to create new game plans, new strategies. In fact, without defeat we would not learn and progress. You think you have scared us with your nuclear game plan, and that we will flee. All you have done is firmed our resolve to win the larger game.”
Adam had heard enough of the alien’s bloviating. Sherri and the others were somewhere else nearby, probably in need of his help. Azon was just wasting his time.
Adam came at him, stabbing with deadly thrusts of the blade. Azon reacted quickly, returning to combat mode. During his short speech, he’d recovered from the fatigue and was more effective with his parries and attacks.
That changed when Adam smashed down with a powerful two-handed hit with his sword. Azon’s grip on his weapon broke away and the sword flew off to his right. The alien shuffled back, assuming a defensive hand-to-hand combat posture—or at least what he thought was a defensive hand-to-hand combat posture.
Adam laughed, his long-held suspicions now confirmed. The Nuoreans—both in their personal challenges and immunity contests—fought only with swords…or spaceships. They didn’t have any experience with fist-a-cuffs, since all animosities were settled in the arena, assuming there were any animosities between the Nuoreans. He hadn’t heard of any. This was great. Riyad had told him about Azon’s encounter with a Human shoe salesman. Now he was about to find out what it’s like going up against a SEAL—yes, an aging SEAL, but still a SEAL.
Adam tossed his sword aside.
Azon straightened up and cocked his head quizzically. Then he reached behind his back and withdrew the small, curved blade he’d used to slice Adam’s cheek. The alien assumed a different stance, this time one featuring the deadly knife.
Adam wasn’t expecting that. He looked to where he’d thrown his sword, but Azon jumped before he could find it.
The Nuorean was easily eight inches taller than him and with an arm reach clearly beyond Adam’s. But Adam was quicker and stronger, even with the weight-belt locked around his waist. The combatants came together, with Adam slapping away Azon’s knife hand, just as the alien laid a shoulder into him. Adam was knocked off his feet, but he continued to roll backwards and popped back to his feet just in time to avoid another swipe of the Nuoreans’ blade.
Adam stepped in and grasped the wrist of the alien’s knife hand. He brought his other hand onto the forearm and turned, forcing Azon onto his back. Then Adam bent over, sending the Nuorean tumbl
ing over his shoulder and to the ground. Adam maintained his grip on the wrist as he placed a foot on the alien’s chest, and continued to twist his hands until the knife fell away.
Azon closed his body, bringing his long legs up planting a pair of huge shoes into Adam’s face. He stepped back, barely maintaining balance; but still held onto the wrist. Adam began dragging the alien through the dirt, until he managed to regain his footing and ran forward, tackling Adam around the waist. Adam clasped his hands together and brought the balled fist down on Azon’s back. The alien’s body was ill-prepared for the impact. He dropped to the ground, stunned.
Adam took Azon by the shoulder and flipped him over. He straddled him, knees pinning the alien to the ground. A quick right cross rattled the Nuorean, while another sent eyes rolling back in his head.
Adam Cain was feeling no mercy at the moment. He reared back with his right fist and slammed it straight into the center of Azon’s face. As had happened many times before, alien bone succumbed easily to Human power, allowing the fist to break through to the depths of the Nuorean’s skull. There wasn’t much recognizable when Adam withdrew his fist. No amount of reconstructive surgery could fix the mess Adam just made.
********
Adam climbed to his feet and stared down at the dead Cadre player. It took a moment for him to draw his attention away from the body, but when he did he noticed two things.
First, there were explosions and the sounds of flash weapons being discharged coming from the direction of the barracks. Someone was putting up resistance, hopefully under the leadership of his friends.
The second thing he noticed was the ethereal glow shimmering in the early evening sky. The Qidos sun had set only minutes before and now a waving wall of green, blue and red light painted the heavens. Radiation from the massive nuclear explosions in space were creating aurora the likes of which had never been seen on the planet before.