Homefront: Portal Wars III

by Jay Allan

  Taylor looked around the group. He could see Young and Daniels both smiling. Clearly, they liked what they were hearing. And it made sense to him as well. “Very well, Captain Wickes,” Taylor said. Though we didn’t not meet until just now, it appears we have been fighting the same war against the same enemy for a long time. Let us now work together to see that victory is not lost…is not wasted.”

  He forced a smile. “Captain Stan Wickes, you are hereby appointed Brigadier Wickes, Army of Liberation. Your first orders are to coordinate contact with all Resistance groups. I want you to vet them all, General Wickes…we will have no vigilantes, no local vendettas, no power plays. Groups that wish to join us must be cleared by you, and they must be sworn into the AOL. I want no rogue groups…we will come down hard on anyone pursuing their own agendas.”

  Taylor took a breath, fighting back a wave of nausea. He didn’t like how easily, how naturally, he snapped out political orders…the rigidity, the brutality with which he spoke of suppressing groups that stood in his way. He told himself he was fighting for what was right, that he would stand aside as soon as he could.

  The battle cry of every brutal dictator who has ever lived…

  “You will also find as many of the old veterans you spoke of as possible, offer them a chance to help us rebuild this world. They must also join the AOL.”

  Wickes nodded. “Thank you, General. You have my solemn word I will do my best in your service.” A short pause. “And thank you. Thank you for everything.”

  Taylor turned toward another of the officers gathered around him. This one wore a different uniform, one Taylor’s people had fought against. “General Akawa, I would also appoint you a general in the Army of Liberation if you will accept.”

  Akawa nodded. “I would be honored, General.”

  “And your first order will be to seek out all the UNGov soldiers who were conscripts, men like us, forced into military training and destined for a life of battle on a Portal world somewhere. Their place is with us. But the enforcers, the security troops and the others who had willingly served as UNGov’s terroristic thugs…they must pay for what they have done.”

  “Understood, General. I give you my heartfelt promise, I will see it done.”

  “Very well, General Akawa. Welcome aboard.”

  “Jake, there is one last thing.” Hank Daniels had a strange expression on his face. Anger, hatred…and a touch of uncertainty. “We have all but two of the Secretariat members under guard. What should we do with them?”

  Taylor looked back at his friend. Hank Daniels had been the most aggressive, the angriest of his officers. But now he could see his friend’s fatigue. At some point, there is too much death and suffering, even to sate the wildest rage. But some times mercy is just out of reach. He no longer felt the desire to dole out draconian punishments…but there was no choice, and certainly not for those who stood at the top of the machine that killed so many.

  “They have to die, Hank. You know that.” He looked at the others. “If we are to show mercy, to pardon those we’d never thought to spare during our long marches and bitter struggles, it cannot begin here, not with these self-appointed elites who ruled over the world with lies and brutality. No, they cannot live. They must die. Publically. Sic Semper Tyrannis.”

  Taylor felt the hypocrisy of his words. What would he and his officers be besides a new elite claiming power for themselves? What was he but a tyrant?

  “Yes, Jake,” Daniels said, nodding. “You are right, of course. They must die.”

  * * *

  “People of the world, I am General Jake Taylor, commander of the Army of Liberation and temporary military governor of Earth.” The words sounded unreal to him, like he was listening to someone else, not speaking them himself.

  “I will speak to you of much today, of the lies that allowed UNGov to seize worldwide power, of the true nature of the alien Tegeri, of how and why my soldiers and I returned to Earth, to destroy an unclean government and to help mankind move boldly into its future.” It had been a week since the climactic fight in Samovich’s office, four days since Taylor had checked himself out of the field hospital. He had worked like a madman over that 96 hours, redeploying troop formations, organizing new recruits from the old militaries and Resistance forces, and issuing a blizzard of edicts and laws. He’d embraced his role, his new power, all the while fighting the part of him that screamed from deep within, called him hypocrite, tyrant.

  “But first, I must urge you all to remain calm, to wait and allow us to restore order and maintain economic activity. All cities and provinces are under martial law, and they will remain so until further notice. All citizens are instructed to stay home whenever possible, except when working or out obtaining needed supplies. For those needing assistance, AOL teams will be distributing food, medicine, and other necessities.” Taylor’s voice was firm, commanding. He couldn’t show weakness, not in public. He didn’t like it, but he realized fear was as powerful a tool as any other, and now he needed everything he could muster.

  “The remaining members of the Secretariat were executed this morning, and soon, the last traces of the old government will be gone, wiped clean from the rolls of human history. We begin anew now, all of us, and we commit ourselves to build a new future, one with greater freedom and enlightenment, one offering a better world to our children and grandchildren.”

  And a new war, one more terrible than any that has come before. They’re not ready to hear about that, not yet. But how long can I wait? How much time do we have? It is all well and good to speak of bright futures, but the Tegeri are counting on us. And unless we stand together, we will all be destroyed.

  Taylor knew little about the coming Darkness, save that he trusted T’arza, and the wise old Tegeri was clearly scared to death. For all his desires to quickly give up power, he knew that wouldn’t happen—couldn’t happen, not until this final war was won. But that was a truth he’d save for another day. Now he would worry about feeding people and keeping hospitals open. About sustaining the fragile and moribund UNGov economy and policing the streets.

  And already, you are lying to the people, choosing what facts to tell them, and which to keep hidden. They face the worst challenge in history, and you decide they should not know yet, that even your closest aides and friend should not know. You fought, struggled against UNGov. Will you now be different?

  He told himself he would be, but deep down he wondered. And that scared him more than any other battlefield.

  Epilogue

  C’taung stood in the hazy dusk of Ghellusan’s twilight. The world was the farthest from Homeworld the Tegeri had yet explored. It was an eerie world, haunted in some way C’taung could feel but not see. It had no strategic value, at least not to his warrior’s eyes. But the Council was steeped in the ancient writings and histories, and the words that had been passed down through the millennia said one thing. The Darkness would return, and when they did, it would be here, on Ghellusan.

  C’taung wasn’t even sure he believed in the Darkness. Was it real? Or some old legend used to scare the young when they refused to sleep? C’taung was a warrior, and he had done his service during the pointless conflict with the humans. He’d chafed for decades, restrained from employing the needed force to sweep the enemy away. But he had held back as ordered, and the war had continued, year after year.

  It was over now, and he looked out at the true manifestation of Tegeri might, not the pathetic forces put into the field against the humans. His camp was immense, and as far as he could see there were the tents and shelters of the New Ones, soldiers gathered together in their millions…indeed, tens of millions. And many thousands of Tegeri as well, warriors from the many Clans, come to face the great enemy that had been spoken of for as long as any could remember.

  If there is a Darkness out there, we shall be ready for them. They shall not pass us. No, the Tegeri are ready. C’taung turned to walk back to his tent, but he stopped suddenly. There was a breeze, and
he felt it in every cell of his being. Not a cool wind, not cold, not even a frigid arctic blast, but the icy numbness of death itself. C’taung had led many warriors, fought many battles, but now he felt fear, a cold panic like nothing he’d ever experienced. He stood transfixed, frozen, and he looked out over his army, watching as the rays of late day light were extinguished, replaced in a few short moments by blackness.

  C’taung tried to turn, to run to his headquarters and sound the alarm, but it was too late. He couldn’t move. His feet were frozen to the place where he stood.

  There was a flash in the sky, a beacon in the darkness, but not the illumination of sun or fire. It was a ghostly light, a cold shimmering that made him feel of death. Then another appeared. And another.

  He felt the temperature dropping, the icy coldness coming upon him. And he looked down at the endless rows of shelters, the millions of warriors in his army. They all stood, stone still as he was, in the streets of the camp.

  Then he watched as the eerie lights began to descend. There were hundreds of them now, perhaps thousands, and the sky was awash with the cold illumination. They moved quickly, zipping along above the rows of shelters, and the frozen, terrified warriors standing outside them. Then it began.

  Beams, great shafts of the deathly light blasted down, slamming into the ground, welling up into massive clouds of fiery death. And they expanded, moving through the rows of troops, through tents and great shelters and lines of massive war vehicles. And where they went, they consumed all, an orgy of death and destruction.

  C’taung watched, unable to move, his spirit gripped with a fear so primal it ruled him utterly. All around him, the army died, its millions of warriors consumed, its equipment vaporized…and when it was done, naught remained of the great force save its commander, standing on the hill and looking out at the dark and eerie silence that was all that remained, where tens of millions of soldiers had been moments before.

  He stared, both feeling and not feeling his grief and despair. Then he saw the light coming for him, encompassing him. He tried to avert his eyes, but he couldn’t move, and he gazed relentlessly on the swirling lights, the horror he knew was his own death. And then he was gone.

  And nothing remained on Ghellusan…nothing but the silent emptiness of death…

  Portal Worlds: The Darkness

  A New Portal Worlds Trilogy

  Coming Soon

  Shadow of Empire

  (Far Stars Book 1)

  Buy Shadow of Empire

  Chapter 1

  Arkarin Blackhawk stood barefoot in the hot, bloodstained sand of the battle pit, Kalishar’s noon sun searing into his back like a blowtorch. He could feel the burning sweat pouring down his neck, hear the lusty shouts of the crowd, calling for his blood.

  None of it mattered.

  He stared straight ahead, toward the black iron bars of the gate fifteen meters from where he stood. Whoever – whatever – came charging out of there in the next few seconds, that was all that mattered. The battles in the pit were to the finish, and Blackhawk knew he had been sent there to die. Which meant that the opponent he was about to face was one his captors were sure could defeat him. He was certain of that. But they underestimated him.

  They always underestimated him.

  They’d stripped him down and dressed him in the traditional loincloth for the fight. The accused was allowed no armor or other protection in judicial combat. Blackhawk was extremely fit, muscular without an ounce of fat on his two meter frame. His chest and back were covered with scars, the markings of a life spent in battle. He looked to be in his mid-thirties, but that was an illusion, a side effect of his superior genetics. As it was, he was well past 50, though no one would have guessed it watching him stand there, half-naked in the blazing Kalishari sun.

  They’d left him his own blade. That was something, at least. Tradition demanded even a condemned man face his adversary armed, but they could have given him a stick and upheld the letter of the law. He held the shortsword tightly, the familiar smoothness of its worn leather grip a source of calm. It was an anchor to cling on to, to center himself for the contest he knew would begin any second. He’d killed before with that sword, more times than he could easily recount, and he knew it would find its mark again. It wasn’t the battle Blackhawk was worried about. He knew he could handle anything that came out of that gate. What would happen after he won…that was the problem.

  Whatever happened to him, at least his people would be safe. He’d ordered Wolf’s Claw to blast off and get back to Celtiboria as quickly as possible. The mission would be completed and the crew would escape, though his hastily-issued command had cost him all hope of rescue. Fact was, Blackhawk didn’t fear his own death. Indeed, in many ways it would be a mercy. He had too many memories, images he longed to forget, ghosts that haunted him from the edges of consciousness. It was always there, the remorse for the things he’d done, the crimes he’d committed. More than a decade had done nothing to reduce the intensity of his guilt or wash away the regret and pain. Perhaps death would be his escape.

  Blackhawk had the same thoughts every time he faced danger, a strange melancholy, almost an indifference to his own survival. But there was always something in him that fought back, that refused to give up. It was a force of will he couldn’t resist, one that demanded he fight to survive with every bit of the considerable strength he could muster. Yet, while he’d fight until his last breath, he wouldn’t needlessly endanger his crew, not even for his own survival. The thought of bearing more guilt was the one thing he couldn’t accept. That’s why he was here alone, ready to face whatever stormed out of the ominous gate. Ready to deal with whatever happened after he dispatched his foe. Alone.

  And what a place to be alone. Kalishar was a pestilential hole—a miserable, useless world—save only for its good fortune to lie close to the richest trade routes in the Far Stars. The place was an ideal pirate refuge, and in every way it lived up to that image. The planet was a sunbaked rock, its most habitable areas vast sandy deserts where, at least, the deadly pathogens and aggressive carnivores that infested its steaming jungles and tropical swamps were less of a threat. Kalishar had no resources to speak of, no fertile farmlands, no productive mines, no modern industry. But it had built substantial wealth as a sanctuary where—as long as they left their guns in their ships and didn’t cause too much trouble—the most notorious pirates, thieves, and killers in the Far Stars could come to rest, drink, lay low, and spend their ill-gotten gains.

  Blackhawk had chased one of those pirates halfway across the Far Stars to Kalishar, grimly pursuing his target and resisting every effort the fleeing rogue made to evade him. Cyrus Mondran had proven to be an elusive enemy, one who’d almost shaken Blackhawk and his crew more than once. But the fleeing pirate had kidnapped the daughter of Marshal Lucerne of Celtiboria, and Lucerne was one of Blackhawk’s few friends. The Marshal hired him and his crew to get her back, offering a king’s ransom despite Blackhawk’s offer to do it for nothing. And Arkarin Blackhawk always completed his mission. Always.

  When he finally caught his prey and rescued the Marshal’s daughter, Blackhawk thrust the very blade he now held through Mondran’s black heart. It was common enough for pirates to kill each other on Kalishar, and the authorities, such as they were, didn’t much care. As long as the prohibition against firearms was obeyed, rival buccaneers were welcome to have at each other— provided they didn’t do too much damage or interfere with local business. Contests between pirates and other scoundrels fighting over loot was one of the planet’s minor attractions, and crowds quickly gathered around any street fight that seemed worth watching or gambling on.

  On this occasion, though, Mondran had been under the protection of the Ka’al, and the Ka’al ruled Kalishar. Killing someone in service to the Ka’al was a bad idea; taking out five of the dictator’s men when they came to arrest you was downright insane. But Blackrock did just that…and almost fought his way back to the ship before they fina
lly brought him down 50 meters short of his destination with three blasts from a stun cannon.

  Blackhawk’s crime warranted death, at least on Kalishar. Offending the Ka’al in any way was a capital offense, but attacking and killing his men all but guaranteed an unpleasant end. Blackhawk knew Kalishar’s laws and customs well, though, and he had loudly demanded a trial by combat as they were hauling him away. He knew the Ka’al would have preferred to give him a long and painful death in the catacombs beneath his stronghold, but the whole thing had become too public for that. The crowds loved nothing as much as watching an offworlder die in the pit, and the Ka’al knew keeping the mob amused was the key to retaining his power, and failing to provide sufficient spectacles was a good way to lose his head.

  The mob roared as the gate swung open and slammed into the stone wall of the arena with a loud crash, rousing Blackhawk from his thoughts. His eyes focused like two lasers, and he could feel himself slip into the strange battle trance that always took him in combat. He felt a rush of adrenalin, and his genetically-engineered muscles tensed, his body readying itself for the fight that was about to begin. It felt instinctive, almost automatic. Effortless. There was no fear, no panic. He approached combat like a surgeon: meticulous, methodical. It was time to kill.