As if her death had been a cue for her teammates to reveal themselves, four more soldiers marched into the clearing and pelted him with armor-piercing rounds.
The recruit’s shields flickered and faded, they would only last a few seconds longer. He lunged toward two of the armored men and spun on his toes with his arms outstretched.
One soldier dodged, but his comrade now bore a gaping wound in his side and had lost his left arm.
Another female advanced on the Drahkori and pitched a grenade straight at him. Kenon batted the explosive back to her. It detonated inches from her face and knocked her off her feet. She didn’t move again.
Kenon rounded on the two remaining men and was about to thrust his blades through the chest of the one who had avoided his first attack, but instead of flesh, he ended up driving the long blades into the floor of the simulation chamber.
Kenon deactivated his blades and straightened. The simulation had ended, the jungle was gone and the human soldiers along with it. Why had the final round been cut short? He couldn’t possibly have failed, he was sure he had done much better this time.
“That was impressive,” the instructor said, surprised. “But we have run out of time and you are wanted in the armory.”
So he hadn’t failed. In fact, it sounded as though he had done exceptionally well. He was glad he’d improved but still disappointed with the way he’d performed earlier on. He would just have to try harder during the next session.
Exhausted, out of breath, and wanting nothing more than to lay down and rest, Kenon returned his weapons to the rack, exited the room, and headed for the armory. He made his way down to the far end of the corridor and stopped in front of the heavy door, which then slid opened for him. He entered and looked around, not sure who had asked him here or where he was supposed to go.
The armory was huge—twenty-four meters long and fifteen meters wide. There were three extensive aisles of weapon stores running down the center of the room, each one crammed with a great assortment of firearms. Some Kenon hadn’t had the chance to try out yet, others he didn’t even recognize.
Lined up along the outer walls were tall metal pods, many of which were closed. But in the pods that had been left open the recruit could see suits of armor. Some were more elaborate than others and they differed greatly in design and size, probably built to fit the unique structure of their respective wearers.
Kenon continued into the room calmly until an unusual object floated into his peripheral vision, catching him off guard. Startled, he took an involuntary step backward and leaned away from the thing bobbing up and down inches from his face.
The object was rounded, metallic, and seemed to have no sense of personal space. It had a pair of short metal arms fixed to its carapace underneath a single bright light placed in the center of its face—an eye of some kind. The thing blinked twice at him and clicked its small hands together.
Kenon thought at first that it was an entirely mechanical being, but then he noticed the tangle of turquoise and orange tentacles dangling from its underside.
He couldn’t figure out whether this thing was an organic being concealed behind layers of armor plating or a life form composed of both synthetic and organic materials.
The creature reached out to him with a tentacle and brushed the side of his face. It felt strange—cold and smooth, almost wet. He pushed it away gently and tried to distance himself from the creature to get a better look at it.
The Drahkori raised his hand, giving the creature’s metal shell a curious tap with his claw. It reacted by lifting the lids off two circular openings positioned in between its arms and shooting a pair of red lasers out at his hand. They stung, burned his skin and left a dark line across his knuckles.
He withdrew his hand, and when he growled furiously at the robotic creature, it let out a strange noise that sounded like something akin to laughter.
“You have already met Ayla, I see.”
Kenon turned around to see Levian approaching with a shorter, darker warrior following close behind. He glanced back at the colorful creature beside him and recoiled as it started poking the back of his shoulder with one of its mechanical fingers.
“What is it?” he asked.
“An artificial organism built by the Empire to manufacture and maintain equipment,” the Leh’kin explained, motioning for the AI bot to give the recruit some space. “Ayla is one of two hundred units tasked with the creation and distribution of Drocain body armor. She has been assigned to the construction of your suit.”
A high and joyous hum emitted from deep inside the AI’s body when it—when she—projected a beam of golden light from her central eye and ran it over Kenon’s figure, scanning him.
“Scan complete,” Ayla announced, deactivating the beam. “Subject is Kenon Valinquint. Two-point-seven-four-three-two meters, one hundred forty-five-point-zero-four-nine kilograms. Light-weight armor required. Drahkori Combat Suit will be completed in approximately five hours.” Once she’d finished, she floated upward and disappeared into a hole in the ceiling—likely a passage designed specifically for these AI units so as to allow them easy access to any part of the facility.
Levian shook his head and laughed softly, amused by the eccentric artificial creature. He then drew in a breath and looked at Kenon. “What did you think of your first training simulation?” he asked.
The recruit shrugged. “It . . . It could have gone better.”
It could have gone much better if he had taken just a moment to ponder the probability that this ‘war for worlds’ would be far more challenging than the mere tournaments held between students back at the academy.
“I see. I will have a look at the reports later on. As for now . . .” Levian swept his hand in the direction of the Digred warrior standing beside him. “This is Major Suro Katspara. I have entrusted him with the task of running you through the technicalities of the equipment the Empire provides us with. He has also offered to give you a tour of the facility, if that meets your interest. Moreover, you have a flight simulation to attend later this evening,” he finished. And with a swift nod to the warriors, he walked to the door, adding to Kenon as he passed by, “I do hope you have a good memory, Drahkori. You will be needing it.”
1800 Hours, November 29, 2438 (Earth Calendar) / Drocain Royal Empire Training & Ordnance Facility, planet Si-Gheila
Once the young warrior had settled into his daily routine and grown accustomed to life at the training facility, the days began to pass much more quickly, turning into three weeks before he realized it. He couldn’t believe how much he’d accomplished.
He’d completed nineteen training sessions, seven flight simulations, and a number of other military exercises—and with all of that, he still managed to retain most of the information he’d gathered from history lessons regarding the war.
And now here he was, standing in full armor upon the lift’s metal platform heading up to ground level.
The matte black combat suit Ayla had constructed for him was unbelievably comfortable. It fit nicely, and though it only weighed thirty pounds, it was remarkably durable. Kenon had no idea what matter it had been crafted from, but it was incredible.
In addition to the new armor, the blood transference tubes he wore had been refitted and recreated from a regenerative material that could repair itself as long as the damage wasn’t too severe.
Another thing he’d learned about were the neural implants that many of the warriors at the base had been fitted with. The tiny implants provided holographic displays for their users, however Kenon preferred not to have a device surgically rooted into the back of his skull. As an alternative, his helmet had been fitted with a slightly larger appliance that would project a single screen in front of his right eye.
The lift came to a stop at the top of the shaft and an icy breeze flowed over the Drahkori warrior. It was dark and frigid out here. Night had fallen over the planet and the gas giant, Athe, had risen into the black to accompany Si-Ghei
la’s three moons: Capta, Roh, and Ocion. In spite of the low temperatures and stormy weather, Kenon had come to like this place. It had a pleasant feeling to it.
It was peaceful.
Alas, the tranquility will not last for very much longer, he thought with an inward sigh. Kenon hadn’t suited up just for the sake of it. No, he’d spent the hours prior to this outing preparing to head out for war—to travel to the human colony world “Anahk” where he would fight his first true battle.
He had come out here to meet up with his new squadron and board a dropship. He was a bundle of nerves, excited and scared at once. This was the moment he’d been waiting for since he left Dyre.
Trying to force himself into a calmer state, he scanned the area in search of his squad’s leader.
Two dropships hovered four meters above the ground, their gravity lifts were already active and Drocain warriors were beginning to board with supplies in hand. There had to have been at least twenty of them in the clearing, quite a few more than Kenon expected to see. He’d thought that his squad was the only one traveling off planet today, but it seemed he was mistaken.
Kenon finally caught sight of a large warrior gesturing towards crates and pointing at the ships as he talked to two other Drocain. He appeared to be the one issuing the orders.
Taking in a quick breath, Kenon walked over to him.
The Khael’hin captain regarded the young Drahkori with a sideways glance before telling the other warriors to get moving, then he turned and said, “Greetings. You must be the new recruit. Valinquint, yes?”
“That is correct,” he said tensely. He couldn’t help but feel intimidated by this warrior—he was massive! And the hefty suit of armor he was wearing only added to his size.
“I welcome you to Alceta Squad. My name is Phero Jherkin, and I am in charge of this mission.”
“It is a . . . pleasure to be on your team,” Kenon tried to sound confident, but instead ended up sounding even more unsure of himself.
Phero gave him a slow nod. It was fairly obvious that he was wondering whether the Drahkori was about to become a burden to him and his team. Then with a jerk of his long head, he motioned for the recruit to follow, and escorted him to one of the dropships.
Kenon entered the lift behind the Captain, took his place on one of the circular plates by the wall, and watched the large warrior as he swept his impassive amber gaze over his squadron before giving a satisfied grunt and taking the last vacant plate in the cabin.
Not long after the dropships left Si-Gheila, they docked with a Drocain assault carrier called Legacy of Night—an elegant vessel of noteworthy stature.
Kenon was surprised when he discovered the ship’s commander was none other than Levian ‘Nher—the Leh’kin who had come to Dyre in a dropship. He couldn’t imagine the Empire would have sent such a high-ranking warrior to carry out a task as simple as picking up a new recruit.
It was possible that Levian could have been promoted since their first meeting, but he seemed far too comfortable in his commanding position for it to be a new thing.
Unfortunately, Kenon hadn’t had the chance to ask questions.
Almost as soon as the dropships settled, the Legacy of Night entered slipstream space and when it emerged in the Sol System, the warriors of Alceta Squad were hustled into single-occupant drop pods—also known as “exoatmospheric insertion crafts”. They were heavily armored and equipped with a shielding system.
Kenon stood before his pod, worrying about what kind of nasty situation he was about to get stuck into, knowing that once he was in he wouldn’t be able to escape the confines of the pod until it had landed.
But disobeying orders due to anxiety was not an option.
Kenon climbed inside the craft and tried to relax as he sank into the gel-filled padding that covered most of the pod’s interior. The heavy metal door closed down in front of him and clicked as it locked down tightly. Several displays appeared on the fore wall showing shield strength, thruster power, and armor status.
On the bottom of the main screen, two videos streamed. One displayed footage from the cameras fixed to the outside of the pod, and the secondary feed was transmitting from the bridge of the Legacy of Night where Levian could be seen sitting in front of his command console.
“Landing zone established. Signals acquired. Warriors, we are approaching the drop zone. Brace yourselves for release,” the Ship Commander said over the intercom, then added to Kenon on a private channel: “Protocol dictates that I am required to warn you of the dangers that come with these pods. It is a rare occurrence, but there is a chance that the pod may be blown off course. And if your pod happens to land face-down or in water, there is an emergency switch on the ceiling that will eject you from your seat. Alternatively, you can simply kick the door off—if you have the strength, that is.”
“Understood,” Kenon acknowledged.
A loud metallic thunk rattled the pod when the locking mechanism holding it in place released, and a shiver coursed through the framework as it flew from the bay on the carrier’s portside.
Glancing at the radar on the holographic screen, Kenon saw the signals of the other twenty-six pods plunging through the atmosphere alongside him. Amongst them he could also see the purple marker that represented the drop zone—the center of a city called Masahi.
The Drahkori’s pod unexpectedly jerked sideways as it entered Anahk’s atmosphere and the displays faded from blue to orange and finally to red. A pulsating tab appeared on the primary screen and an alarm rang.
Kenon reached out to activate the tab, but before he could touch it, the pod kicked back, throwing him forward in his seat. He barely managed to stop himself from smacking into the inside of the door.
Heat began to rise beneath his feet. He looked down and saw that a small spot in the center of the floor was starting to radiate a deep red glow. The outer shell was beginning to burn up from entry . . . but the pod’s shields were supposed to stop such a thing from happening.
“Warning: critical system failure,” the drop pod’s artificial intelligence announced. “Insertion craft shielding systems offline. Failure to activate emergency generators. Armor holding at sixty percent.”
That was not something Kenon had wanted hear. He checked the display, hoping to see that he was not far from the landing zone, but the purple marker was nowhere in sight, nor were the other pods.
“Armor holding at forty percent . . . T-thirty p-per—” the AI’s warning crackled and died in waves of static, then the pod started to shake violently. The holo-display flickered, disappeared, and the rest of the systems shut down immediately after.
The pod rammed into something at high speed and turned end over end, spinning as it plummeted through the air. Then, with a thunderous noise, all movement ceased, leaving the young warrior upside down.
Kenon heaved a sigh of relief, glad to still be alive, and tried to banish the aching pain in his skull. Regaining his bearings, he pulled his knees to his chest and kicked out strongly at the pod’s door until it popped off.
Heavy rainfall welcomed him to the alien world. Cold drops of water pinged off the pod’s exterior and fell upon his armor, sending shivers down his spine.
Kenon turned upright, gripped the doorframe and climbed out. He staggered sideways, feeling awfully light in the head, and thought for a second that he was about to pass out. When the lightheadedness wore off, he looked around.
The pod’s landing had caused some serious damage.
In the wake of the crash were shredded trees, sheets of armor plating, and other smaller fragments of metal. What appeared to be some kind of coolant trickled from the pod’s underside, pooling in the muddy gouge that led to its resting spot.
Kenon followed the trench over a hill and came to the edge of the forest that he’d landed in. The bank he stood on dipped down into a wide, rushing river. On the other side he could see the towering structures of a massive city shrouded in thick smoke. A red-orange haze emanated from
within the metropolis, lighting up the tiny silver shapes of evacuation craft attempting to flee.
The landing zone was somewhere within those concrete towers, and here he was on the outskirts.
Returning to the crashed pod, he retrieved his equipment and checked his helmet-mounted display. His tracker was clear, no signs of enemy activity in the immediate area. Right next to the tracker was the curved bar that told him the status of his energy shields.
The bar was empty, his shields had depleted and were failing to recharge.
Perhaps the pod had been hit with an electromagnetic pulse of some sort on the way down through the atmosphere—that could easily have taken out both his armor’s and the pod’s shielding systems.
A bout of static came through the young warrior’s headset, followed by a voice: “Kenon . . . ! –is your –ocation? . . . lost your signal –you dropped off the radar. Are you injured?”
It was Levian. His words were scarcely audible over the interference on the channel.
“My shields are down and will not recharge, but I am fine—no injuries. But my pod has crashed near a river on the city’s outer limits and I’m not sure where to go from here. Would it be possible for you to transfer the landing zone coordinates to my display?” He listened for a response. The other end of the channel stayed quiet for a long time and he wondered if the Ship Commander had heard him.
“. . . No. It was troublesome enough to establish this connection. However, what I can tell you is that when your signal disappeared from the radar, you were already three miles off course. I hope this information helps you.”
Kenon would have answered but as he was about to, he heard a sonorous, mechanical rumble. He recognized the noise from his combat simulations—It was a sound produced by a human vehicle, though he could not remember which vehicle it belonged to.
Whatever it was, it was closing in on his location.
Kenon logged off the communications channel and slipped into the trees a few meters from the drop pod, crouching behind the leaves of a bush so that he could peer over the top. He stared at the river bank and watched as a large, bulky transport rolled to a stop at the top of the hill where the debris trail began.
The Calypsis Project Page 3