Eye of the Dracos ec-3

by Ian. J. Smethurst

  “I spoke with Eldathar about that, it turns out these aliens call themselves, the Dracos.”

  “Huh, nice name.” Nikolai grunted skeptically.

  “It gets better, these Dracos were once a part of the Solarians, in fact they are Solarians, they were a radical sect promoting violence, extreme pain, and torture. The Solarians, kicked them off their homeworld, and systematically hunted them down like dogs, throughout their space.”

  “A little harsh for the Solarians,” Nikolai interjected, “they must have really pissed them off.”

  “From what I have been able to gather, three hundred years ago they attempted a coup of the Solarian government, when it was defeated, they chased them away.”

  “Well, that’ll do it alright.” Nikolai shrugged.

  “These Dracos have been living in isolation ever since, slowly re-building themselves, strengthening their own military. They only showed up to destroy the Copernicus after that base activated, the facility has been shooting massively powerful streams of energy out into space ever since it first powered up. I’m pretty sure it’s no coincidence that what happened at the base attracted them. It seems very convenient that within the space of a couple of hours they show up, despite being unheard of for three hundred years.”

  “Like a giant, come get me sign?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Thing is though, where that one ship has come, there might be more of them out there.”

  Michael passed Nikolai his cup, “thanks,” he said as he took a sip. “It looks to me, like the odds of finding anyone alive down there are slim to none, and these Dracos like inflicting pain and torturing those they come across.”

  “It’s more than that, Eldathar says that, to them they treat it as an artform, they revel in it.”

  “So, we are dealing with an isolationist, probably paranoid fledgling empire, who just love to maim and torture, and possibly using some form of old Solarian technology.”

  “That about sums it up.”

  “I would say the odds of finding anyone alive after three days of being up against that, would be along the lines of, slim, to, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me. Do you even know just how screwed we are?”

  “I know, but we have to try anyway.” Michael sighed deeply.

  Vargev studied him for a moment, “There’s more isn’t there?”

  Michael paced the room, peering out through the oversized window into the translucent swirling multi-hued mass, that was the plasma wake. “Things have changed Nikolai,” he stared out from the viewport. “Since peace broke out, it seems that there is less and less need for a dedicated warship like the Liberty anymore, apart from the occasional escort run or anti-pirate sweep. We’ve just been upgraded with these new graviton shields, great! I thought. Until I realised it was just as a test bed for a new secret project. It’s as though the Liberty has become little more than an afterthought, a glorified lab rat, so that its technology can be disseminated through the fleet”

  Nikolai studied Michael, feeling his frustration. “The Liberty is still, the most advanced and one of the most powerful ships in the entire navy. This ship is absolutely unique because it was not built by human hands, we don’t have the skill or the technology to make more Liberties. That is not to say the fleet cannot benefit from her; this ship became a legend throughout the Krenaran war, its crew heroes. The memory of this ship and its crew will never fade in the minds of the people. Peace is never a good time for a soldier, especially ones who are forged in the fires of the battlefield. When the time comes, the E.D. F will need good, strong troops once again, and the navy will need the Liberty.”

  Vargevs lucid response got Michael thinking, his features softened as he turned back to face the colonel, “you know what, you’re right.” He said with a gentle smile, “thank you.”

  The two men headed out onto the bridge, Michael re-took his seat from Kinraid.

  “I see you still haven’t gotten a haircut,” Vargev teased as he eyed Kinraid’s neat pony tailed ginger curls.

  “Get away wi’ ya’, ya’ cheeky old bugger ye’,” Kinraid replied, smiling back at the colonel.

  “Oh, I almost forgot to mention, we have set up temporary quarters for my men in the main cargo hold. We’ve also brought aboard a couple of crates of heavy weapons and ammunition for the mission.”

  “No problem,” Michael replied.

  Vargev left the bridge and headed to the cargo hold himself, to brief his men on the new intelligence he had just gleaned from Michael.

  “Come on, we’d better keep on moving.” Kathryn said as she got back to her feet.

  Rachthausen hefted his weapon and began to make a move with her, the doors slowly opened to reveal the dark form of Drax stood before them, the scarlet light from the lenses on his helmet seemed to glow with an almost crazed light. “Going somewhere?”

  Both Kathryn and Rachthausen froze in horror, as their pursuer made ready to level his eviscerator pistol. Kathryn dropped to her knees and shone her torch directly at the Dracos commander. The beam of light was enough to temporarily blind the delicate eyesight of their foe, although he had managed to fire off a single shot. The small eviscerator disc whipped through the air, but the light was enough to distract him, his aim was off, and it embedded harmlessly into a computer console with a cracking of glass barely inches away from Rachthausen’s head.

  Kathryn fired her own pistol in response, but Drax had already dived into the cover of darkness on the other side of the wall. The energy pulse thumped into the wall of the corridor, causing a small spray of sparks.

  “Come on!” Rachthausen shouted, as the two of them sprinted out of the control room, and down the long corridor to safety. Drax was nowhere to be seen.

  As they ran, Kathryn managed to ask between breaths, “How did you know he wouldn’t attack us?”

  “You blinded him, at least temporarily, he’ll hide now until his vision clears again, which could take a while if he is sensitive to bright light like Kalschacht said he was, he can’t attack what he cannot see.”

  That was exactly what Drax was doing, he had taken cover amongst a small recess, near to the second set of blast doors, while he waited for his sight to clear.

  His eyes burned, fluid streamed from them, he cursed under his lips in a maddened rage. He knew he had to remove his helmet, albeit briefly, to allow the cool air circulating around the base to cool his streaming eyes. He pressed a small catch just under the chin, and the fully enclosing black helmet separated down the centre via a pair of tiny hinges hidden beneath small armour plates above his crown. Grasping the front of the helmet with one hand, and the rear with another, he slowly pulled the helmet out wide enough in order to release his pale skinned head.

  The cool air was welcoming to his black almond shaped eyes, though he cursed his luck that he had not been able to end the hunt right there. If that pitiful female hadn’t blinded him, he would have already been on his way back to the lander, having eradicated the taint of the interlopers.

  He wiped at his irritated eyes with his gloved hand, managing to clear away some of the tear fluid, blinking as his vision slowly began to return to normal, and could just begin to make out the delicate etched panelling of the corridor wall opposite him. Snapping back into action, he clipped his battlehelm back on, and ran a cursory systems check on the display attached to his right arm. He was glad he did, it showed just over one percent of power remaining from the power cells contained within his suit, they were designed to last for seventy two hours without the need to recharge. That gave him around one hour before his suit shuts down completely, and would need to be recharged from a Dracos docking station either on the lander, or on his ship.

  If the suit did shutdown, he would lose all the functions of his helmet, together with the silencer attached to his wrist, and the magnetic charge that allowed him to cling to walls and ceilings, rendering him suddenly very vulnerable. He would have to finish this hunt quickly, there was no longer any time
for games. His vision had now cleared sufficiently so that he could see properly again, so immediately set after his quarry once more.

  Kathryn and Sergeant Rachthausen made it to the end of the corridor where they came across a second elevator.

  “Maybe it will take us to the surface?” Kathryn asked.

  “I doubt it, underground facilities like this usually only have one way in, and one way out, it’s easier to defend that way. There is an emergency escape hatch though, to be used in the event of a fire or some other disaster. It’s on the floor above us, according to the map I saw anyway.”

  “It’s worth a try.”

  “We have to get off this floor anyway,” Rachthausen looked nervously over his shoulder, he could see nothing in the pitch blackness.

  The elevator automatically stopped in front of them, exactly like the first one, they stepped inside.

  Drax however, had taken a different route, throwing caution to the wind he raced up the facilities air circulation ducts, and, using the magnetics within his suit, was climbing swiftly up an air shaft that supplied oxygen to the floor above. The gentle breeze buffeting his suit was soothing, produced by powerful pumps within the oxygen storage tank over a hundred metres below him. He knew where his prey was heading, and was determined to cut them off.

  The elevator stopped on the floor above, Kathryn and Rachthausen exited and looked around this new unexplored floor. It had basically the same layout as the others, one long wide corridor, with a plethora of rooms tailing off it for various purposes.

  “If I remember the plans correctly,” Rachthausen said thinking aloud, “The emergency escape hatch was located around here somewhere, it was how those Dracos managed to get in, try looking for a panel or a large hatch.” The sergeant suggested.

  The two of them searched frantically for the panel covering the hatch that would guide them to safety on the surface, though in the darkness they could find nothing. Eventually, while they searched, they found their way into an elaborate plush office with a thick black granite table, and began searching there.

  Two black armoured boots slammed heavily into the sergeants chest, sending him sprawling to the ground. Kathryn tried to bolt for the door, however a tiny metal spike like projectile attached to a thin wire wrapped itself around her arm.

  Drax retracted the silencer as he jumped and clung back onto the ceiling. The wire shot back with such force it threatened to tear Kathryn’s arm from its socket, she screamed aloud in pain as she was forcibly hurled to the floor, landing heavily.

  Rachthausen was still dazed from the blow he received to his chest.

  Drax hissed his anger at the pair who had eluded him; the device uncurled from Kathryn’s arm and affixed itself back into his weapon.

  Rachthausen got to his feet and drew his combat knife, he knew he was hopelessly outmatched by Drax. Nevertheless, he might buy just enough time for Kathryn to escape.

  “Kathryn, get out of here!” He shouted more forcefully than he intended.

  She got back to her feet again, hobbling from a bruised hip suffered from the fall, “what about you?”

  “Don’t worry about me, just run!”

  Kathryn turned to leave, watching the sergeant square up to the vicious black suited alien ahead of him, the red eyes shone menacingly in the darkness.

  “Kathryn, I will always love you.” Rachthausen said softly.

  Sorrow welled up from deep within her, a tear ran down her gentle cheek as she realised that Rachthausen was sacrificing himself so that she may live. She was torn asunder as the two combatants stabbed and sliced at one another. Her love, the single person she really, truly loved was destined to die for her, at that point, that very second she wanted to die too.

  “Get out of here!” Rachthausen repeated as he grappled with Drax.

  Kathryn could say nothing but whisper a faint, almost imperceptible, “I’ll always love you,” before running headlong down the corridor, away from her nightmare.

  Rachthausen was the stronger of the two, yet significantly less agile than Drax, the sergeant managed to hurl the Dracos commander to the floor, he landed heavily in a crumpled heap. Rachthausen followed up his attack by trying to stab the Dracos warrior.

  Drax however was far quicker and deftly swept the sergeants legs from under him. The heavy, burly sergeant toppled backwards over the granite desk himself.

  Drax hissed again, pure hate in his voice as he advanced, slowly, purposefully toward the sergeant, who struggled to get back to his feet. The maddened Dracos commander slashed his wristblades at him with such speed they could scarcely be seen, though Rachthausen managed to parry the frenzied attack with his own blade. The sheer force of the clash of blades sent them both staggering backwards.

  Drax swiped his blades at him again, hacking and slashing in a whirlwind of deadly blade strikes, he launched himself acrobatically into the air, latching onto walls and ceilings to launch yet more blows. Rachthausen was putting up a brave defence, he had managed to parry the worst of the onslaught, though Drax was fighting like a madman, a rabid wolf, launching attack after attack, ultimately however a few slashes had made it through the sergeants desperate guard, he was bleeding from several nicks to his chest and arms, and was gradually weakening.

  The Dracos aimed a vicious roundhouse kick, catching the sergeant square in the chest again, and sent him tumbling to the ground, his fatigues now stained and torn in several places from the cuts he had sustained.

  “This is too easy,” the Dracos commander jeered, “this is no sport.”

  Rachthausen; panting heavily staggered back to his feet, through the haze of pain filling his mind, he hoped he had bought enough time for Kathryn.

  Drax kicked him hard in the ribs, sending him sprawling across the ground once again, tumbling over and over. A pain like fire spread through his side, then another kick landed, and another, a deadly torrent of blows rained down on the badly weakened sergeant, and Drax threatened to kick him to death. Blood streaked down Rachthausen’s face from a nasty cut on his forehead, the pain in his side was agonising, and he feared that several ribs were broken. Yet still fixed the Dracos commander with a defiant stare, even though he was beating him to a bloody pulp, the longer he was taking to finish him, the more time he was buying for Kathryn.

  Drax kicked him hard again, and the sergeant let out a small whimper of pain, a sound that delighted the Dracos warrior, “this is starting to be amusing after all.”

  He kicked him one last time, causing the sergeant to gasp as he crawled along the floor in an effort to get back to his feet; and, dropping his guard for just a second. Drax took full advantage and slammed his fist into the sergeants injured arm, Rachthausen screamed in agony.

  Drax smiled, delighted to hear the scream of his enemies torment and anguish, this was his time now, this was one of the things he loved about being a Dracos commander, it made him feel alive to hear his enemies screams, just as it did his ancestors.

  Finally the kicks and torture stopped, Rachthausen was a bloody mess lying in a foetal position on the floor, his combat fatigues sodden with blood, the floor slippery. Drax gripped the sergeants matted hair, pulled his head back exposing his neck, and whispered, “playtimes over.” Before slicing open the sergeants throat with his wickedly sharp wristblades, and shoving the body to the ground.

  He left the office with a maniacal laugh, as Rachthausen’s corpse slowly bled to death across the office floor.

  “We are entering the Auriga system,” Eldathar pointed out, after studying the real-time data from the star map laid out in the console just in front of him.

  “Understood, prepare to drop out of plasma drive on my mark, we need to get as close as possible, before we re-enter normal space.”

  The Solarian pilot silently nodded his understanding, a tense few seconds passed as Michael waited to give the order.

  “Now!”

  A blindingly bright flash of energy heralded the re-emergence of the Liberty into normal spac
e once again. The deep beige coloured sphere that was Auriga III was clearly visible ahead of them, together with its twin moons.

  “Excellent work,” Michael smiled with praise for the crew, at least now he hoped they wouldn’t be blasted into space dust before they even reached the planet.

  “I’ve got some bad news for ya’ cap’n!” Kinraid said as he studied his sensory console, “we ‘ave ‘tree unknown alien ships orbiting the planet, so we ‘ave. Not just the one; and they all match the one ‘tat destroyed the Copernicus.”

  So Nikolai was right, there were more of them out there, “any chance they have detected us?”

  “Two of them are breakin’ orbit, heading straight for us, the other is maintaining its orbit.”

  Damn, it looks like they can see through the stealth abilities of the hull, Michael thought as his features screwed up into a slight wince. “Looks like we are going to have to fight our way through this one.”

  “I would advise caution,” Eldathar replied from the pilot’s chair, “even though those ships are based on old Solarian technology. They are still powerful, and it looks like they have been doing a few upgrades of their own over the years.”

  “Enemy ships ‘ave now broken orbit, and ‘r’ changing course ‘t’ intercept.”

  “Full alert status, full power to main engines and thrusters, charge main fusion cannon, and activate the high energy launchers. Initiate graviton shielding system.” Michael barked out his orders with customary ease, he had been in this situation many times before.

  “Aye sir,” Logan Jones replied as he frantically worked at the tactical console, the bridge darkened noticeably, and red alert lights reflected off the various darkened consoles, bathing the entire command centre in a deep ruddy glow.

  “Fusion cannon is powering up, torpedoes are standing by, main engines and thrusters are at full power, graviton shields are charging.” Logan informed Michael, who watched the dark shapes of the enemy craft approach intently. Their command sections swept forward, sharp and angular like a serpent poised to strike.