The hologram phased to the suited image of Kai Käraian, the Hiodan councilor and aid to the Shitoru.
“Calm yourselves. This is not the place for wild accusations. We have come to discuss the status of the Terran newcomers in relation to the Gaian people.”
“That is a pitiful diversion,” the Nerokan councilor thundered. “The Moloukan threat has gone unchecked for far too long! It is time we commit our full forces to the front.”
Kai Käraian appeared once more, shaking his head in disbelief.
“With all our forces on the line, the Rizen Cluster would be vulnerable to attack from the Sereni Sanctum. The Moloukans outnumber our forces ten to one! It is a war that will not be easily won, if at all. To fully commit ourselves to it would be suicide.”
Ambassador Janosh was growing weary of all the bickering. He had known beforehand that arguing his cause would be difficult, but he had hoped at least that the Council would evaluate his case with more diligence.
“Councilors, I believe firmly that there is no one amongst us who does not truly see the threat that the Moloukan Empire imposes upon us. Yet, lest I digress, the Terrans are a threat of a different sort. Their corruption, their immorality, will infect the very core of the Etherium. To propose that they share a seat on the council with the Gaian people would open a door which I fear may never be closed again.” He raised his voice, allowing his passion to show. “I know, Councilors, that many of you find the Children of Gaia’s stance on morals and ethics sermonizing, even pompous, but the Etherium, when all is said and done, runs on our promises, the strength of our word. When we promise to support each other, we keep those promises, promises of military, financial and political aid and support. The Terrans, however, would not keep such promises. They would leave us overextended, vulnerable, isolated, if they had the chance to make even minor, short-term gains, even at the expense of their friends. Are these the sort of allies you would bring into the Etherium? Are these the sort of morals you would have us take as the basis of our alliance? Councilors, I sincerely hope not.”
Fearfully, he retreated back to his seat, afraid that his plea had fallen on deaf ears.
“This is a sensitive matter, one not to be taken lightly,” Councilor Kai Käraian declared. “I do not believe a verdict can be reached on this matter at such short a notice. We require more time to evaluate the Terrans, proof that your words hold weight. I recommend that we reconvene at a later time and revisit the matter.”
With that, Ambassador Janosh rose to his feet. With his temper beginning to flare, he chose to leave rather than suffer through the remainder of the session.
Chapter 28
The security station was small and cramped, consisting of a series of rooms, the largest of which was the control center. Rows of computer consoles lined the walls, with lights in every color of the spectrum blinking periodically. Marcus couldn’t make heads or tails of all the alien symbols on the ranks of computer interfaces.
The Hrūll operator had surrendered immediately when they’d stormed through the entrance, looking on in expressionless silence as the squad had brought the guard leader in to dress his wounds. Despite his alien anatomy, Doc Taylor had managed stop the flow of blood from his stump.
“Where are the captives?” Captain Mitchell demanded, his sidearm aimed straight at the Hrūll commander’s head.
As soon as he had assured himself that the Hrūll wasn’t going to bleed to death from the injury Jago had inflicted, Taylor focused his attention on the huge clone’s gaping shoulder wound.
“Captive?” the wounded alien moaned with his limited grasp of the Gaian language.
Marcus ran over to help the medic to help remove the behemoth’s chest and shoulder plating.
“The prisoners you took when you commandeered this base,” Captain Mitchell reiterated. “Where are they?”
Taylor reached for his first aid kit as Marcus tore through Jago’s shirt. The towering giant didn’t even flinch as the Doc began poking and prodding the wound in order to assess the damage. Blood flowed freely down his shoulder onto his heaving chest at first, but it gradually began to subside.
“I understand not,” the Hrūll sniveled.
“The prisoners!” Mitchell spat out. “Where are they?”
Taylor began pouring a dark, viscous sterilizing agent over Jago’s wound.
The Ape bit his lip to stop himself screaming.
“No prisoner,” the wounded alien persisted. “We make gas only.”
Marcus kept supporting Jago as the medic produced another vial, this one containing a clear liquid to clean the wound with before it could be sewn shut. As Taylor poured the contents over the sterilizing goo and began to wipe away the resulting concoction with a piece of gauze, he was amazed to see the wound beginning to seal itself before his very eyes. Although he’d seen it before, with the Ape’s bullet wounds on Strom, it was still a miraculous sight. None of them had been able to use their powers since departing the Terran solar system, and they had all begun to doubt whether they ever would again.
Marcus felt both relieved and concerned at the same time. He had just started to feel normal. Even out here, so far away from home, he had been feeling a semblance of normalcy. However, with the return of Jago’s regenerative abilities, he was reminded once more of the terrible ordeals they’d been through. Whatever their origins, their abilities had come at a high price.
“Why the hell can’t I do that?” Reid complained, clutching his knee as he stared at the small scar on Jago’s shoulder, all that was left from the gaping wound that had bled all over the Doc’s hands mere moments before.
“What do you mean, ‘no prisoners’?” Mitchell raged, losing his patience. “You took this refinery from the Sheshen and you’re holding them captive! We demand that you release them immediately!”
The perplexed tone in the guard leader’s voice was unmistakable. “This is Hrūll station. Always Hrūll station,” he said. “No Sheshen.”
Captain Mitchell wasn’t one to give in so easily. If his captive refused to give him the answers he needed, he would have to take them from him by force. He laid his hand upon the alien’s forehead, drawing wide-eyed stares from the others as he focused his mind, reaching out to pierce through his opponent’s will. To his surprise, the task was far less difficult than he had envisioned, though the thoughts he began to see were much more muddled than those of any human he’d read, and required some degree of interpretation. It was as if he were seeing them through a slick of oil.
“I think we’ve been had,” Taz declared from the sidelines.
“Shhh,” Marcus whispered, not wanting to disturb the captain.
Mitchell continued to sift through the Hrūll’s memories, but the more he saw, the more he became convinced that the alien was telling the truth, and that this had only ever been a Hrūll-run refinery. After a brief stint, he removed his hand from the alien’s forehead, a grave expression on his face.
“Why the hell would anyone send us all the way out here if there’s no one to be-” Mitchell began to say, but stopped suddenly, as if struck by a sudden revelation. “We have to get out of here,” he cried, visibly distressed by his epiphany.
“What is it, Sir?” Marcus asked.
“It’s a trap! Get everyone back to the ship,” he ordered, turning quickly to the wounded Hrūll leader.
“Does this base have escape pods?” he demanded. “Escape pods, in case of emergency?”
The Hrūll croaked an affirmative answer, looking at the computer operator for reassurance.
“Get everyone to the pods. Now!” the captain yelled. “Something very bad is about to happen to this base. Get your people away as fast as you can!”
With that, he urged his team out of the security station, rushing them back towards the docking bay where the Tengri lay in wait.
* * * * *
The assault team stormed through the forward airlock, Mitchell already shouting over the comms for Raven to fire up the ship�
��s engines and get the ship out of the docking bay as soon as humanly possible.
“I can’t believe you took that,” Marcus scowled, gesturing to the massive laser cannon that Jago had appropriated on their run back to the docking bay.
Jago shrugged his shoulders in response.
“He won’t need it,” Jago grunted. “Needs two hands to shoot.”
The familiar hum of the Tengri’s engines coming online alerted them that the ship was about to depart. They sealed the airlock and dashed straight for the observation deck.
* * * * *
Marcus stared through the window at the Hrūll gas refinery. The atmosphere on the observation deck was tense, loaded with anticipation. The rest of the assault team had gathered to monitor the proceedings, not sure what to expect. Marcus felt wrought with guilt. They had torn through the station, firing upon everything that moved, for no good reason! The image of the unarmed technician stung the most. Although he hadn’t personally pulled the trigger, the guilt was still his to bear. It was his fireteam, his command.
Suddenly a blinding flash of light blew through the underbelly of the gas refinery. A massive jet of flaming gas spewed from the ruptured tank, slowly sending the station into a spiral. In a matter of seconds, the fire spread to the remaining tanks, causing a chain reaction of catastrophic explosions which quickly engulfed the entire refinery. Marcus wasn’t sure, but he though he saw two small escape pods silhouetted against the fiery inferno. Then again, for all he knew, it could have been nothing more than debris.
What made it worse was that with no other means of returning to Semeh’yone station, they were forced to return to the Sheshen freighter. As they set course for the rendezvous point, Marcus felt so ashamed. They had been used as pawns in a sick game of rivalry between the Sheshen and the Hrūll. Although he was desperate to seek revenge for what they’d been made to do in the name of the Sheshen, he knew that he would have to hold his tongue when he met Roshana, or the whole crew of the Tengri could pay for it.
They were at an impasse. Their existence relied on the Sheshen vessel bringing them back to Semeh’yone station. They’d made a deal with the devil and there was no turning back now.
* * * * *
The dark, foreboding hull of the Sheshen freighter slipped into view. Desperate to call Roshana for his lies and bloody deception, Captain Mitchell ordered Navigator Wei to establish communications.
“Ah, Captain Mitccchell. I am ssso pleasssed that you were able to complete your missssion,” the shrill voice of Roshana hissed over the ship’s comms.
“Cut the crap,” Captain Mitchell snapped. “You used us and you know it!”
“Ssshould I take it that you no longer want your reward?” Roshana snickered softly.
Mitchell glared at the Sheshen freighter, half hoping that his anger would set it aflame.
“If that will be all, then I sssuggest you dock, ssso we can proccceed to Nos Ssshana,” Roshana sneered. “I have confirmation that your new engine isss ready to be inssstalled.”
“Fine,” Mitchell snapped, his brow twitching with rage.
“You did well Captain,” Roshana smirked. “Much better than I-”
His message was cut short as the captain cut the communication off.
Having striven against corruption and abuse of power in his work for C-CORE back on Beta Terra, there was nothing that Mitchell liked less than being used.
As the Tengri slid back into the gaping black hole of the freighter’s docking bay, he palmed a fresh pair of painkillers and threw them down his throat, all the while rubbing his aching knee.
Chapter 29
The journey to Nos Shana was far shorter than the crew had anticipated. After only a few short days of milling around on the Tengri, a short burst of disorientation and nausea told them they’d arrived at their destination. Shortly afterwards, one of Roshana’s subordinates informed them in broken Terran that the Mitushi Nalphalo’s cargo bay doors would soon open, and the Terrans were to bring their ship to a designated shipyard on the surface of the planet below. Captain Mitchell cut of the comms with a snarl as soon as the masked underling had stopped speaking. As they undocked from the Sheshen freighter, still without a word to their host, Navigator Wei input their landing coordinates into the ship’s computer.
Marcus was sitting at a table in the Tengri’s galley, enjoying a drink with Serena as they observed the scene unfolding before them. A massive dreadnaught kept watch over the busy space lanes above the Sheshen home planet, its sleek, shadowy form easily dwarfing any of the approaching ships. A small dogfight off the Tengri’s starboard bow drew their attention. A pair of streamlined fighters had teamed up against a clunky freighter, picking off her primary systems one by one with strategically-placed shots as the agile smaller ships looped around the clumsy cargo hauler. A sudden buildup of energy in one of the dreadnaught’s protruding siege cannons hinted at the impending doom awaiting one of the combatants. A few seconds later an intense beam of energy shot from the huge warship’s weapon, ripping the helpless freighter apart.
The Tengri swung around on a course towards the planet’s surface, sliding past countless holographic billboards floating lazily amidst the lanes of traffic, displaying images of exotic drinking containers and scantily clad females of all species. Nos Shana itself drew nearer, its form shrouded in an iridescent green mist, only a few mountain ranges jutting up from the enveloping clouds, specks of black rock on an otherwise engulfed world. The system’s orange sun set the planet’s horizon ablaze with sickly golden tendrils. As the Tengri began her descent, cleaving into the thick layer of clouds, a brilliant network of lights came into view.
“How are your language studies coming along?” Marcus asked Serena, attempting to steer their conversation away from recent events.
“Well,” she feigned a smile. “I’ve hardly left my room these past few days. Not much else to do with my time.”
“You should teach the crew,” Marcus suggested. “If we are to survive out here, we’d all better learn the language.”
“There’s more than one,” she smiled. “Sheshen’s probably not the most useful if we’re going back to Semeh’yone.”
Marcus smiled shyly back at her. He really had taken to the slender linguist, and not only due to her dark, smooth hair and dark eyes, but also – mostly – due to her compassionate nature. He found her empathy deeply touching, not to the soldier he was bred to be, but to his core being, his very soul.
The network of lights below them transformed into a towering cityscape of decrepit slabs of steel, glass and concrete, most of which loomed over still-thicker banks of swirling green fumes. Shimmering force fields kept the mist at bay, sealing off certain districts of the city from the planet’s open atmosphere. A vast network of walkways and platforms dotted the skyline above the mist, teaming with life. It was early evening, yet the splendor of the city’s neon lights and holographic projectors filled the city with a permeating glow, tinged a yellowy-green by the ever-present mist.
“They call it Sheijan,” she informed him, “the city. It’s their capital.”
They cruised past an enormous slow-moving cruise liner on a departure course. Through its massive windows, Marcus could see the silhouettes of its occupants as they drank, dined and danced the night away.
The Tengri swerved towards a series of open platforms a short distance from the city’s center. Marcus felt the familiar rumblings of the docking thrusters firing in rapid succession. As he looked at the decaying structures rising up to engulf the ship, he hoped their stay would not be a long one.
* * * * *
When the Tengri landed in one of the narrow, high-walled compounds that comprised the shipyard, Captain Mitchell led the contact team to the airlock, where they were joined seconds later by Raven, who was apparently only willing to leave the ship long enough to ensure that the refit would proceed properly. They were greeted by three dock workers, all of whom, to their surprise, were Banthalo, the same race Rodan
had warned them about outside the gang-run bath house on Semeh’yone. A rank odor accompanied the aliens’ presence. They were an odd bunch, one was missing a hand, another an ear. Their skin tones were as different as those of humans, ranging from a deep brown to yellow and greenish hues, fitting the ambiance of Nos Shana. Their black reflective eyes, sat beneath a protruding brow, studied them carefully for any signs of malice. Hovering off to the side of the sullen workers was a spherical drone the size of a human head with a range of antennae jutting from its shell, and a focal lens set into its front.
“Sheijan ventosso kar,” the Banthalo with the missing ear grunted in its guttural tongue, and the hovering drone immediately began to interpret its words.
“Welcome to Sheijan,” it recited in a dreary, monotonous voice.
“Well, that’s handy,” Doc Taylor noted, eyeing the drone.
“We should get one of those!” Taz blurted without thinking, drawing a concerned glance from Serena, who wasn’t too thrilled about the possibility of being replaced by a drone.
“Where’s Roshana?” Captain Mitchell demanded, thinking it high time the two of them had a serious discussion.
“Roshana serequie chemo,” the drone recited, only to receive puzzled looks from the group of Banthalo.
“Roshana’s presence is not required,” the drone began to interpret their response. “You are instructed to leave the ship while we tend to the installation process.”
“Leave the ship?” Raven flared. “For how long?”
“Seven day cycles,” the drone explained.
“Captain, there’s no way we’re leaving the Tengri with these… things for a whole week without supervision!” Raven yelled.
Merillian: 2 (Locus Origin) Page 20