by J Battle
The scream that burst from him as he collapsed was real, but at least he had managed to block the door; preventing it from closing.
On the other side of the door, Sten was standing, his mighty chest heaving as he listened to the scream and the agonized groans that followed. He knew that he shouldn't go out after the little blue fellow, that it made sense to stay inside, but his blood was up and he couldn't let him escape. So he threw the door wide open and glared down at the prostrate body before him. He bent to grab him, but the slim blue form rolled just out of his reach to the edge of the path. Sten strode out of the light onto the path, but again the creature moved; dragging himself away from the light into the shadows beyond.
Sten took another step, then another. Each time his prey was just beyond his reach, and then he disappeared altogether.
Sten scanned the area, but his night vision had never been good. He shook his head and turned back towards the prison, only to see the door slam shut and darkness wash over him.
Standing on one leg, his back against the sturdy door, with the heavy bolts locked in place, Stave took a moment to gather himself. His nanos were already working on his crushed foot, reducing the waves of pain that had washed over him and starting the repair process, but it would be some time before it could bear his weight.
He hopped over to the desk and reached it just as the first blow struck the door. He glanced back. The door held.
How long that situation would last was difficult to tell.
He searched the desk for the door control systems and released the locks on the three internal doors listed, all the while trying to ignore the thud, thud at the massive outer door. As he reached the door to the tower, the banging stopped. He paused for a moment, listening. He could hear the pounding of the Sullibubble's heavy feet as he charged up the path, then the thunderous impact that shook the door in its frame. Whatever the result of today's action, he was going to end up with a headache, Stave thought as he hopped into the stairwell.
He wasn't going to climb the stairs; not just yet. Not without announcing himself first; he didn't want to run the risk of catching her by surprise and suffering the consequences.
'Staff!' he called. 'I've come for you. You knew I would.'
He waited.
'Move closer; let me see you.'
He smiled; it had been so long since he'd heard her voice. He hopped onto the first step, helping himself with the metal rail.
'I'm coming now,' he called, and then slowly began to hop up the steps, taking care to make as much noise as possible.
'Stop!'
He obeyed immediately.
'Continue.'
He continued. When he reached the open door to her cell, he paused for a moment, feeling more than a little tense. She'd been locked up for a very long time and she was probably not in the best of moods.
'I'm coming in now; don't kill me.'
He took two hops into the room and jumped a little when the door slammed shut behind him.
'You took your time.'
'You knew I'd come for you?'
'Yes, of course I knew.'
He turned and there she was, untouched by the years as he knew she would be, sleek and elegant and bristling with emotion. He took her hands in his and felt the pulse rushing through her body. He touched her cheek with his, and then pulled back.
'We don't have much time. The Sullibubble will break through the door soon.'
'Let him. I have business with that ugly creature.' She turned and strode from the cell that had held her all these years.
Stave followed close behind.
When they reached the entrance hall below, they could see that the door was beginning to wilt under the ceaseless battering it was being subjected to. A diagonal crack had developed, through which they could catch a glimpse of the night sky.
Staff marched across the room, intending to throw the door open.
‘Wait!’ he called. ‘Wait until he breaks through. It might tire him further.’
‘Have you ever known a Sullibubble to tire?’
‘I’ve never known a Sullibubble.’
He hopped over to the broken desk and tore a leg from its damaged corner. He tossed it over to his mate. She’d make better use of it than he would. She was bigger, stronger, faster and, in a fight, much nastier than he could ever be, though he had his moments.
With a groan the door was torn from its hinges and sent crashing to the ground. It was closely followed by the Sullibubble, looking uglier and angrier than earlier, and obviously ready to wreak havoc for the way he had been treated.
He found Stave standing in the center of the room, just beyond the edge of the fallen door, his damaged foot balanced against his good one. He looked relaxed, with his arms hanging limply by his side, his eyes closed.
That gave Sten pause; what was going in here? He grunted and stepped to the side of the door, his eyes down as he ensured that he didn’t trip. When he looked up again, he was just in time to receive the jagged edge of the table leg in his left eye as Staff hissed in righteous anger. With a howl, he threw himself backwards, tripping over the door and falling heavily, half on the door, half on the cold hard floor.
Before he’d settled, Staff was upon him, leaping onto his chest and ramming the sharp edge of the leg deep into his good right eye. Blindly the guard swatted her away with one hand, grabbing for the chair leg with his other. But she held onto it as she fell to the floor, immediately rolling to her feet and preparing to spring back into action. She was just in time to see her mate crash the heavy chair across the nose of the giant.
He roared with pain and knocked Stave away.
Sten braced both hands against the ground to push his heavy body upright, which gave Staff the chance she needed. With a barely audible hiss she leapt back on to his chest and jammed the long sharp edge of the table leg into his left eye and she kept on pushing, smiling as she felt it enter his brain.
When he collapsed onto his back again, she did not relent, but pressed her full weight against the table leg until there was barely a hand’s width of stained wood sticking from his broken eye-socket.
Stave pried her hands free of the wood and guided her to the doorway.
‘It’s over now, my love,’ he said, quietly.
‘Is it? Is it really?’
‘Here and now it is. When we are ready; when we are healed, then we will find her, and make her pay for what she has done to you; to us.’
She turned to him and the smile chilled his bones. ’Yes, Heldon will pay.’
Chapter 50
Commodore Hestor Evans was still fuming more than forty-eight hours after his short impromptu meeting with the President. Short? It lasted barely seven minutes, but it was long enough to destroy his career.
One minute to say 'come in Commodore and take a seat.' One minute to thank him for his many years of sterling service to the Solar Union. Another two minutes to consider the tough times ahead and the danger the Hru-argh posed. One and a half minutes pontificating on the qualities required of the man who would be leading Mankind's defense. Thirty seconds to say that 'no, the Commodore was not that man.'
The final minute; a minute that seemed to take much longer to pass than its name suggests, was taken up with a nod of the head, a smart salute and a slow, deliberately unrushed exit.
He'd been aware of the low regard the President had for him, and it really shouldn't have been that much of a shock; but it was. The Union was in desperate circumstances and he was the only man who could hope to put up an adequate defense, but he was being denied the chance to do his duty.
As soon as the door had shut behind him, he'd rushed to the nearest bathroom. He needed to hide as he was sure that everyone was looking at him. They all knew what had happened. He'd walked into the President's office as the senior military officer in the whole of the Solar Union. He'd left as, what? A has-been, a failure, a joke.
In the bathroom he splashed cold water into his face, to cool the heat tha
t had rushed to his head. He glared at his reflection in the mirror. His face was still red, and his mouth hung half open as he panted, suddenly finding it hard to catch his breath.
He stared at his pristine, white dress uniform; at the epaulettes and shiny gold buttons. Without hesitating, he gripped the epaulette on his left shoulder and tore it free. He held it in his hand for a moment then tossed it to the floor. He repeated the process with the remaining epaulette, and then he ripped off the fancy gold buttons.
He remained still for a moment, studying his torn uniform, hanging open to reveal his dress shirt. Then he drew in a deep breath and turned away from his reflection; from the man in the white suit; the man with the dead eyes.
When he reached the door he paused for a moment with his head down, his hand gripping the handle, then he threw the door open and strode through into the hallway, his eyes glaring; daring anyone to meet his gaze.
He walked with the stride of a man who was not a has-been; not a failure; not a joke. He marched like a man who'd made a decision; a decision that no argument or logic would turn him from.
Forty-eight hours after the fateful meeting, he was at the controls of Sun Tzu, the old spaceship he’d rebuilt over the past twenty-five years in his workshop on the surface of the Moon.
She'd been pensioned off from the navy and was no longer considered of any value, so he bought her for a song.
Now, she was ready to fly. She might not be as comfortable as more modern ships, but she had military level stealthing and, after two days of non-stop work, her cannons were in full working order. She was less than thirty meters in length; narrow and seemingly fragile but, with her old ion propulsion engines converted to the latest anti-matter drive, she was a match for any ship in the system; any ship built by humans that is.
Evans made a point of not planning what he was about to do. He’d heard of Stave’s treachery and was fully aware that there was no longer an effective plan to deal with Hru-argh force. And with the President’s man, Eric Sumner, in charge, that wasn’t about to change anytime soon. Sumner would spend so much time covering his ass with both hands, and burying his head in the sand, that he’d have time for nothing else.
As he lifted gently from the concrete platform outside his workshop and set his ship towards orbit, he knew that this wasn’t going to solve the problem; that it wasn’t the answer. But, removed from his job, there was no other way he could make a contribution; and if he should by some fluke achieve something against the might of the Hru-argh fleet, then perhaps there was a lesson for those now charged with defending the system, that despair was not the only answer; that it was still possible to stand against overwhelming odds; that mankind was worth more than this.
With those thoughts in mind, he switched on the active stealth systems, armed the cannons, and set a course to intercept the great Hru-argh crest before it reached Earth. It might be lifeless; mankind might be barred from ever setting foot on its surface, but it was still home.
As the ship settled on its course, listening to the hum and thrum of the ships systems, he felt a strange emotion bubbling up somewhere inside of him. He didn’t recognize it at first; it had been such a long time. But he was a warrior, going to war; and he was happy.
**********
Mike gripped the controls as he listened to the sound of the Shift engine powering up. It was as if some great beast was drawing in an impossibly deep breath. He checked his firing systems for the tenth time in as many minutes; they were still good to go.
He’d never expected to be in this situation; fighting an interplanetary space battle. The very idea was ridiculous. He was just a pilot, ferrying goods and equipment across the width of the system. What was he doing here, preparing to shift in close to a Hru-argh ship, fire his weapons and then shift away to his next target?
Somehow that was what he was about to do.
He'd heard Stave's words as he explained how things worked, about the thirty second gap between shifts as the Shift engine built up its power levels for the next shift. That was the part that had him worried. Waiting helplessly until he could shift; he'd be a sitting target.
He didn't want to be a sitting target; he didn't want to be fighting space battles. Yet here he was.
In the event, he had no need to worry about being a sitting target, or fighting a space battle.
Stave's adjustment to the Shift engines of all of the modified ships was relatively minor, but quite significant. The original setting had them ready to identify a Hru-argh ship and shift to within a short distance of the target craft. The new setting had them shifting to occupy the same space as the Hru-argh ship, with catastrophic consequences for all involved.
The slight pause at the end of his Shift engine's extended inhalation was the last thing that Mike was ever going to hear.
*********
Hy-Dehone felt a little unaccustomed excitement building up somewhere in his bowels. This would be his last command and, if appearances were anything to go by, it would be over very quickly. He could almost taste the relaxation and solitude of his rapidly approaching retirement.
Get this job done, and that was it.
So far, so good. The great crest had sailed sedately across the inner half of this solar system without incident. A number of habitats and other space-based installations had come within range and been dispatched without any sign of effective defensive measures. The same had applied to the fifty plus spaceships the fleet had encountered.
This planet appeared to be helpless, with only a few harmless satellites; just waiting to be conquered.
The only concern he had was that they appeared to have very good shields blocking out all emissions from the planet's surface. You'd think the place was devoid of intelligent life for all that you could detect from space. But their expansive cities gave them away.
If their shields were as good as they appeared to be, there might be some delay in gaining control of the planet and its system.
'We are under attack, Sir.'
Hy-Dehone glared at his second-in-command. He hated it when that happened.
'Report required.'
'Twenty-five ships have been lost, Sir. No, pardon me Sir if you please, that number is now eighty-three.'
'Information on attack force?'
'No information as yet available, Commodore. Revision of figures now available, if required, Sir.' He really did not look as if he relished providing the update.
'Revision required.'
'One twenty... One Seventy-nine, Sir.'
'But we can still not detect the attack force?'
'The Commodore is correct, Sir.'
Together, they studied the display screens, searching for some sign of the enemy.
'Update?' Asked the Commodore.
'No further attacks have been made, Sir.'
‘When was the last attack?’
‘Nearly two minutes, Sir,’ his second-in-command replied hopefully.
‘Detach squadrons Zelda, Heron, Purtur and Excelsion. They must seek out and destroy this invisible enemy before they have a chance to strike again. We cannot afford to sustain such losses; so many ships over, what was it? Ten minutes?’
‘From start to finish, slightly less than nine minutes, Sir.’
In other circumstances he might have been annoyed that his inferior had quibbled over a single minute. For now, he had more important things to consider.
‘And the main force, Sir?’
‘Continue on its present course. We will not be dissuaded by the loss of a few ships.’
‘Yes, Sir. Additional information, Sir; if required.’
‘Not more losses?’
‘No, Sir. The figure remains as before. We now have data that suggests that the enemy shifted into our ships,’
‘Destroying themselves along with our ships? How many ships must they have at their disposal if they are prepared to make such a one for one sacrifice?’
His number two chose to see these questions as rhetorical
and merely shook his wattles sagely.
‘Get me the science officer immediately. We had no idea that they had shift technology; there has been no evidence of it so far. We need a quick assessment of their tactics, so far and in the future. Have they just been testing out our capabilities with a small test attack, to gauge our level of resistance? Are they currently preparing their main strike? Is the whole Crest at risk? Just how many craft do they have to literally throw at us?’
He paused to run his eyes over the view screens. There was the cloud covered silent planet, holding its secrets to it chest. There was its unusually large satellite. The rest of the screens showed dark, empty space. Where were they hiding?
He searched the screens again. They were out there, he was sure. They would only reveal themselves when they were ready to attack, and even then, he wouldn’t see them. Just his ships exploding one by one, twelve by twelve, one hundred and forty four by one hundred and forty four.
He closed his eyes for a moment to end the useless search. Was it possible that this was how it would end? His glorious, unwanted career. Not in calm, dignified retirement but in defeat against a presumed puny enemy who possessed unexpected capabilities.
If he’d had a choice in the matter; if he had not been driven by centuries of martial success across the galaxy, then he would have called off the attack. He would not have put the largest forces that had been assembled since the glorious SunTat wars at risk against an unknown enemy.
But he was Hru-argh and defeat was unthinkable.
He turned to his number two.
‘We will not wait for those squadrons to report back. We are close enough now to begin our attack. Call out the implementation of battle sequences one, eleven and seventeen.’
‘Seventeen, Sir?’
‘Yes, Seventeen, for we are Hru-argh, and we truly have no fear.’
His number two looked up at his mighty leader for a moment, aghast at the audacity of the Hru-argh. The very idea of using battle plan seventeen in conjunction with the other two more traditional sequences; well, he was stunned. He bent his neck to his leader, hoping that someday he too would attain such an incredible, almost legendary level of bravery and commitment.