“… alright?” he was asking, though comprehension still eluded her. “Keryn, are you alright.”
Slowly, she nodded, though the movement caused more stars to dance in her vision. She opened her mouth to speak, but only a croak came from her hoarse throat. Keryn swallowed roughly, feeling the little moisture burning down her esophagus. Opening her mouth, she tried again.
“I’m okay,” she croaked, her own voice sounding like stones clashing together. A coughing fit overcame her, but she quickly recovered. Reaching up, she gently squeezed his hand and gave him a weak smile. Brushing his hands away, she pulled herself up into a seated position, cringing as pain lanced over her broken rib. “I’m fine. How is everyone else?”
Alcent looked around furtively. Most of his vision was obscured by smoke and fire, but what he could see was not promising. Bodies littered the piles of rubble, their bodies tossed and forgotten like rag dolls. Many still burned freely, though the individuals were far beyond feeling the flames.
“We’re still alive,” he said promisingly, rubbing soot from his face. “That’s what matters.”
Keryn pulled herself up until she was standing. Crestfallen, she looked at the damage caused by the volley of rockets. In the back of her mind, she heard the Voice call out in amazement that they were still alive at all. However, Keryn couldn’t shake the feeling that, even knowing that many of the revolutionaries would die during their insurrection, the loss of life seemed too high a price, even for their freedom. In the distance, she heard the whine of engines turning over the buildings and fighters realigning for a second pass.
“They’re coming back,” Keryn said quickly, her own nervousness showing through her normal mask of composure. She wasn’t sure she could survive a second attack. Looking around, watching silhouettes emerge from the acrid smoke as more of her surviving soldiers approached her position, she tried to call out a warning, but her voice wouldn’t come. Alcent laid a hand comfortingly on her arm and shook his head
“Trust that our men have done their jobs,” he said soothingly. “If we can’t trust that, then we’re already as good as dead.”
Standing together, the growing group of revolutionaries watched the dark sky as the burning engines of the Terran fighters quickly approached, their noses aimed threateningly at the survivors. Breathing difficultly, Keryn could hear a few hitched sobs of those behind her; these were people who had already endured so many hardships, only to be faced with their own demise among the same rubble in which they had slaved for three long weeks.
As the fighters grew closer, many in the group clutched hands, finding strength in each other’s touch. Keryn, however, stood stoically at the front of their cluster of soldiers. She held her head high, knowing that if their plan failed, it would only be seconds before their memory was erased from the universe.
The Terran fighter pilots switched their arming system to the second set of rockets held underneath their wings, readying their second pass. As they began a quick dive that would bring them closer to the ground for their volley, spats of fire erupted from the towers around the field. The turrets, come to life as their newly programmed targets were acquired, threw molten metal into the advancing squadron, shredding through the armored plating of the fighters and slamming into the pilots inside. The lead craft spun haphazardly as a round shattered the cockpit view screen and vaporized the pilot’s head, a red mist settling over the ship’s controls. The fighters fell from the sky, one after another, as the turrets continued their unrelenting assault. The ships, flaming and out of control, fell far short of the revolutionaries, showering the Terran ground force like improvised bombs.
Watching the annihilation of the Terran squadron, Keryn held her pistol high above her head and yelled to her gathered group. “No quarter to the Terrans! Kill them all!”
She turned and, ignoring the lancing pain in her side, charged toward the burning rubble of the once deadly Terran ships. From amongst the flames and smoke, other groups like her own emerged, hollering wildly and chasing down the Terrans who were, once again, in full retreat.
Commander Lucience checked his magazine before sliding it back into his pistol. His bodyguards were packing the last of the communications equipment into carrying cases in preparation of their evacuation of the planet. He had watched in horror as his fighters vanished from the display, hearing their explosions even from the Black Void. That, if nothing else, had sealed his decision to leave the planet. Even if he had no solid communications with the Ballistae from the ground, he would still be able to give the order to destroy Miller’s Glen once he was onboard the Terran Destroyer.
“Let them enjoy reclaiming their city,” he muttered to himself as he turned toward his guards, his cape fluttering behind him. “They can enjoy it all the way until I glass the entire place.”
The guards locked the last of the cases and loaded them on a hovering loader; its flat surface and directional controls able to carry and maneuver even the heavy communications equipment from the Void to the warehouses where they would be loaded onto awaiting ships.
All three turned with a start as the doors flew open to the front of the former bar. The Commander eased his grip on his pistol, however, as one of his men staggered through the door, closing it behind him. Obviously fresh from the front lines of battle, the soldier’s armor was bloodied and he hadn’t even taken the time to remove his helmet. From across the dark room, Lucience could see the green glowing lights from the facemask.
“What is the purpose of this intrusion?” Lucience asked venomously. His nerves were shot from this ordeal and he had no time for petty interruptions. He held up a hand and the two guards behind him lowered their weapons as well.
“A thousand apologies, my Lord,” the soldier said, breathlessly. “I’m here to warn you that the insurgents have nearly reached this location. Your shuttle is ready, but we have to hurry.” The soldier stepped further inside, eager to be away from the sounds of battle that seeped from beneath the front doors.
Lucience turned to his bodyguards, motioning them forward. “We’re leaving. Get the equipment and hurry.” He stepped from the raised dais that had once held a bar and walked passed the exhausted soldier without so much as a nod of recognition for his warning. His cape trailing behind him, Lucience advanced on the front door, eager to be gone from Othus once and for all.
Behind him, the Commander heard one of his guards reprimand the weary soldier. “You will remove your helmet when addressing his Eminence.” Lucience didn’t break stride as he approached the front door.
“Who the hell are you?” his guard asked in surprise before two gunshots rang out from behind him. Stopping in his tracks, he turned quickly toward the back of the bar, pulling his weapon. As he spun, he stared at the shaggy-haired blond Terran who stood, pointing his weapon at Lucience.
“I’d drop the gun if I were you,” Adam ordered as the two bodyguards slid slowly to the ground, clutching wounds that poured blood onto the already slick wooden floor.
Lucience growled in angry defiance. “I will kill you, Pilgrim.” Spittle flew from his lips as he spoke, his rage causing his barrel to bounce wildly.
Behind him, the front door crashed open once more. Lucience spun, ready to fire on the person coming through the door regardless of whether or not he was one of his own soldiers or a revolutionary. As he turned, Lucience raised his weapon toward the new target far too slowly. Adam fired his shot first, the round tearing into the Commander’s exposed abdomen. Lucience staggered backward and tried to bring his own pistol to bear on the Pilgrim, but Adam had already fired again. His second bullet tore into Lucience’s chest. The air knocked from his body and his strength quickly failing him, the Commander slumped against the wall and slid slowly to the ground.
The Terran who had just walked through the door kicked aside Lucience’s pistol, letting it slide across the smooth floor. The Commander raised his eyes weakly, his breath already failing as his lungs filled with blood, and stared into the fa
ce of the second shooter. Raising his gun, Siros, the former bodyguard to the Uligart Alcent, fired round after round into the inert Commander’s body, continuing to fire until the bolt on his pistol locked to the rear and smoke rolled from his barrel. Lowering his pistol, Siros turned to Adam, a sneer painted on his face.
“I warned him,” Adam said with a shrug.
As Adam stripped out of the Terran Empire uniform, Siros retrieved one of the hand-held displays and began accessing the files. Nodding in appreciation as he heard Siros’ fingers fly across the keyboard, Adam removed the heavy armor and helmet. By the time he was pulling his own coat from the pack on his back, Siros looked up from the display with a smile.
“Got them,” he said, the excitement apparent.
“Both codes?” Adam asked.
“I can get us into the hangar and send the correct codes to get into the hangar bay on the Ballistae,” Siros explained. “Once we’re there, it’s your show again.”
The pair of Terrans grabbed the discarded rifles from the bodyguards and ran back out the front door without so much as a glance of disdain of the slain Commander.
The gunfight continued even as Keryn and Alcent approached the warehouses. The Terran forces had been slaughtered, leaving only pocket resistance. However, many had the same plan that she and her forces did: escape from the planet. Even with their defenses, though, they were quickly overcome as Adam and the rest of the Saboteurs approached from different angles, trapping the Terrans in a crossfire.
Siros entered the code into the first warehouse and, with a rumble, the large bay doors slid open. As the shafts of light from the revolutionaries’ flashlights danced into the large bay, a stifled cheer erupted from the remaining. Docked within the bay, two large Terran transports sat like solemn metal giants, dwarfing the survivors as they ran inside. Keryn flipped the light switch once the group entered, bathing the ships in warm halogen light. She had waited until everyone was inside not just to ensure the doors were sealed behind them, but to find out how many remained in her force. Her estimates said that there were nearly two thousand Othus survivors when Penchant killed the first Terran earlier that morning. Less than two hundred revolutionaries passed through the large warehouse doors in order to board the Terran transports. Keryn knew that many more remained in the rubble fields, either wounded or unwilling to advance across the ruins out of fear. For those that didn’t make it to the warehouses, they would surely die. Again, she felt the weight of responsibility rest heavily on her shoulders.
Turning away from the door, Keryn ran toward the nearest ship, whose personnel hatch was now opened. Adam stood by the entrance, smiling broadly. As she approached, he engulfed her in a powerful hug. She let herself melt into his embrace, but pushed away as he squeezed too hard on her broken rib. Sucking in wind, he stared at her, concerned.
“Don’t worry about it,” she said, waving her hand in dismissal. “Go get the overhead doors open and let’s get off this planet.”
Adam ran off, finding the controls and engaging the retractable ceiling. As the two halves of the roof retracted, snow cascaded into the lit bay. Keryn watched it fall, magically sparkling in the halogen light. She hoped that once they were off Othus, she never, ever saw snow again.
As Adam climbed aboard, Keryn gave the thumbs up to Alcent, who piloted the second transport. Feeling the engines rumbling underneath, Keryn settled into the pilot’s chair, feeling at home as her hands slid across the console and control panel. Activating the displays, Keryn watched as Alcent’s ship vanished through the roof. Igniting her own engines, her transport lifted off from the concrete floor, flying gracefully through the retracted ceiling and quickly gaining altitude.
“Entering the atmosphere,” the radio called as Alcent’s craft passed beyond the gloomy clouds that encircled the planet.
“Prepare for atmosphere burn,” Keryn called to her own bridge crew, which included Adam and a couple of Avalons she didn’t know.
The ship shook as the forward displays turned red from friction. The blockish transports caused such heavy gravities as they passed through the atmosphere that even the inhibitors couldn’t compensate. Keryn groaned as she felt the pressure on her chest as the weight pushed downward on her broken rib. Shortly after, however, the transport broke through the atmosphere and the starlit void of space dominated the view screen. Keryn couldn’t hide her smile as she looked upon the view. She had almost forgotten how much she loved the freedom of space travel. Glancing to her right, she saw the same exhilaration mirrored on Adam’s face.
As Keryn turned the transport and began following Alcent, another view dominated the screen: the Terran Destroyer. The smile quickly faded from Keryn’s face as she saw the countless missile ports and rail guns bristling along the elongated ship.
“Sending access codes,” the radio said. Almost as an afterthought, Alcent added, “Wish us luck.” He left the communications channel open as he sent the codes, and Siros’ voice rang over the radio. “Ballistae, this is transport vessels AX-04 and AX-05 requesting immediate docking. We’re carrying countless wounded from Miller’s Glen that require immediate medical aid. I am forwarding the access codes for our vessels.”
The crews of both ships held their combined breath as the seconds ticked by and the Destroyer grew ever closer. She was close enough to see the dark black letters of the word Ballistae on the hull of the ship before they finally got their answer. On the port side of the ship, a hangar bay hatch slid open, inviting both transports.
As the two ships entered the side of the Terran Destroyer, Keryn turned to Adam. “Let’s go claim our prize.”
CHAPTER 26:
“Spin number two,” Warrant Iana Morven yelled to the fighter pilot as she stood in front of the craft. The second of the two automatic weapons spun without its ammunition loaded, an audible whir filling the cubicle in which the fighter sat.
Iana flashed the thumbs up. “Looks good. Go ahead and power her down.”
Turning, she ran headlong into Yen, who had been standing behind her with his arms folded behind him. Stepping back, she braced in a quick salute, which he returned before a wide grin broke across his face.
“You really are a jerk,” she said, playfully punching him in the arm. “You could have warned me that you were there.”
“And miss out on that irritated expression?” he replied. “Not in a million years.”
The Uligart pilot left the fighter and walked up beside Iana, laughing to himself. Reaching out his hand, he shook Yen’s, nodding in respect to the senior officer.
“And you could have warned me too, Gregario,” she said, punching him as well.
“He told me not to,” answered Warrant Pelasi, gesturing toward the Squadron Commander. “You don’t really expect me to disobey a direct order, do you?”
“Men,” she grumbled to herself as the trio stepped away from the fighter and walked through the cavernous hangar bar.
“How are the ships looking?” Yen asked as they passed a line of the dart-like Duun fighters.
“They’re immaculate,” Iana responded, “just as they always are. You wouldn’t have expected any less after ordering me to do another inspection, would you?”
Yen shook his head as the trio stopped. He watched as one of the lifters loaded crates of ammunition into the back of one of the Cair personnel carriers. Large enough for an assault team, the Cair transports were some of the most instrumental ships in the Squadron. Yen, however, still found pleasure in flying one of the more heavily armed Duun fighters.
“Do we have enough ammunition and fuel to sustain a multiple-staged assault on the Terran Fleet?” he asked, running through a checklist of questions in his mind.
“Yes, sir,” Iana said. “Current storehouses of supplies will allow us to conduct three or four prolonged maneuvers in deep space.”
“Good, good,” Yen replied absently. He had barely heard the response, focusing instead on the complex tactical formations he was planning for their firs
t attack on the Terran vanguard.
“Sir, if I may,” Gregario interrupted. “You wouldn’t have us conduct such a thorough refit of all the ships unless we were finally ready to engage the enemy. Am I completely off base?”
“You’re not wrong, Gregario,” he said, turning toward the Uligart.
“With all do respect, it’s about damn time.”
Yen smiled and shook his head, disapprovingly. “You’re too enthusiastic for your own good,” he replied, cuffing Warrant Pelasi across the back of the neck. “Don’t let your trigger finger get in the way of your common sense.”
Gregario leaned closer to Iana. “Does the Squadron Commander really think we forgot about his application of common sense during the Earth invasion? I’m not quite sure where dropping a world landmark on top of an opponent falls into the family of common sense, but I’m guessing it’s somewhere around creepy uncle status.”
“Or maybe kissing cousin,” Iana helpfully added.
“Maybe you both would like to discuss genealogy while scrubbing debris from the hull of the ship?” Yen offered. “Seriously, though, I need you both focused. You’re two of my best pilots and we’re going to need all your skill over the next few engagements.”
“We joke, sir,” Iana replied, “but we’ve been preparing for this ever since we left Earth. We’re ready to kill Terrans.” She put her hand in between the three pilots.
“Kill Terrans dead,” Gregario said, adding his hand to hers.
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