by Dean M. Cole
"Oh, they will pay. I will avenge…" Lost in the memory, Thrakst gnashed his silvery teeth and dug the steel-tipped middle talon of his right hand into the armrest again. Black and rough, its damp rock surface reminded him of his grotto back on Zoxia. He'd loved coming home to her, her scent, the sound of her and their son's cooing. He longed for her touch. The image dissolved, chased away by fire and a woman's death screech.
Clawing at the stone floor with his lower steel-tipped talons, Thrakst stood. The massive, scaled muscles of his legs flexed and rippled. Standing to his full eight-foot height, he stepped to the center of the bridge. His imposing bulk filled the area between his black throne and the forward bank of consoles.
Stepping forward, Phascyre stood to the lord's right rear.
Thrakst nodded at him and then faced forward, his black tongue ran across dripping fangs.
"Ready to deploy," reported Commodore Salyth, this time his bow nonexistent.
Lord Thrakst's long sinuous arm struck so quickly that the movement was almost imperceptible.
Commodore Salyth fell to a knee, clutching his bleeding face.
"Do not forget your place, Commodore, or next time I may forget to retract my arm talon," said Lord Thrakst.
Lowering his hands, Salyth bowed deeply and backed away from the towering Zoxyth leader. "Forgive me, Lord, it was not my intent to disrespect." In a final display of servility, the ambitious officer's swept-back horn-shaped ears laid flat against the hunter green scales of his angular skull.
Thrakst gave him a curt nod. "Transmit this to the entire ship."
"Yes, my Lord," Salyth said. After a respectful bow, he forwarded the order to the officer standing at the communications console.
The lord was pleased to see his protege shake off the pain. Not waiting for confirmation, Thrakst turned and walked back to his rock throne.
Standing in front of his high perch, he addressed the fleet. "A hundred thousand years ago, when the Argonian infestation first ventured out of their solar system, they found us holding the galactic keys. They attacked us then as they do today. Following our near genocide during the War of Argonian Aggression, the Forebearers were forced into an unholy alliance. The aggressors doled out crumbs of power. Strung along by the Argonians, we were told that our representation in their galactic government made us equal partners in the Galactic community." Thrakst said, spitting out the words equal and community with unbridled disgust, hatred, and contempt.
"Now that we fight for our independence, they again seek to genocide us!"
A cacophony of angry growls and indignant screeches echoed through the cavernous ship.
Nodding his massive head, Lord Thrakst continued his tirade. "Making the ultimate sacrifice, many great warriors have since joined the Forebearers. In spite of heavy losses, it is only through their brave efforts that the Argonians have yet to reenter Zoxyth space. As during that first war, their advanced technology turned our early successes into a chain of defeats."
Angry rumblings passed through the ship.
For millennia, the Zoxyth Empire had struggled to understand Argonian technology. Complicating the issue, their genetic security protocols had blocked Zoxyth efforts to reverse engineer captured ships. If you don't have Argonian genetics, the systems resist all attempts at discovery, self-destructing if probed too deeply. Their ship's semi-sentient intelligence could also differentiate between living and dead tissue, as well as free will versus coerced cooperation, thus thwarting efforts to gain access using cadavers and prisoners.
Thrakst continued his rant. "The Argonians arrogantly assume their technology renders the outcome of this war a forgone conclusion. This weapon will turn the tide! The gods of war will see our dreadnoughts rain death upon all opposing our rightful ascension to the galactic seat of power. The Argonians will beg for our mercy!" proclaimed Lord Thrakst. The steel reinforced talons in his clawed feet scratched at the floor while he thrusts a clenched fist into the rock ceiling, sending out a spray of shattered stones. "With this weapon, we will chase the Argonian infestation from the very galaxy!"
In answer, his warriors raised their arms as their roars joined his.
Thrakst pointed at his second-in-command. "Commodore Salyth, after this test, your dreadnought fleet will be the first to attack an Argonian star system."
Grinning through green blood, Commodore Salyth bowed sharply. "Thank you, my Lord. It will be the highest honor to visit the Forebearer's vengeance upon the Argonians."
With a nod, Lord Thrakst sat in his cathedra. "Very well, Commodore, your command ship will be renamed as the Forebearer's Revenge. I know you'll earn their gratitude."
"Thank you, Lord," Salyth said, returning to his station.
Thrakst sat. "Now it is time to introduce the Argonians to their fate. Drop only this ship out of parallel-space."
As planned, the dreadnought dropped back into regular space amongst a large formation of mismatched, decrepit spaceships. Like an angry nest of flies, the refugee ships scattered. Exactly as Thrakst had hoped, some turned to attack while others fled for the perceived safety of distance.
After waiting for the fleeing ships to gain adequate space to test the weapon's full range, Thrakst pointed to Commander Salyth. "Fire!"
CHAPTER SEVEN
Admiral Ashtara Tekamah studied the myriad stars that filled the infinite space beyond his stateroom. Usually, the tranquil view from his private quarters provided the fleet admiral a reprieve from the daily stress and clutter of command. Today, it only served as a reminder of all that was wrong with the universe. Frustrated and irritated, the leader of the Galactic Defense Force turned away from the panorama. Behind him, the clear variable-phase polymetallic wall opaqued, taking on a dark stained wood finish.
The Argonia born commander of the United Galactic Federation's defense forces accessed his electro-organic network. Feeding data directly into his visual cortex, the self-assembling nanites of the EON superimposed icons over his view of the real world. Demanding his attention, one of the symbols hovering in his peripheral vision oscillated between amber and red. It was a report he'd already read. Due to the urgency of the message the admiral hadn't removed the flag.
Sitting down, Tekamah tapped the icon with his virtual hand. Scanning the intelligence officer's report for the third time, he considered its implications.
"Damn it!"
A swipe of his virtual hand wiped the report from Tekamah's synthetic vision. Two annoying red and amber flashes later, he double tapped its icon and removed the flag. Still finding no solace, he shutdown the EON's synthetic vision, leaving him an unobstructed view of his office.
From behind his antique ornate bronze desk, Admiral Tekamah studied the collection of ancient battle implements that hung on the wall to his right. His gaze shifted to the central two revolvers hanging in opposition. One was from an age lost in Argonian antiquity. Barely a hundred years old, the other was much newer. While only a narrow gap separated their muzzles, a hundred thousand years and half a galaxy hung between their inceptions.
Independently developed by two isolated branches of the Argonian race, the weapons symbolized the base nature of the species. A nature Tekamah had believed was long in their past. However, the news contained in the report had his blood boiling. In spite of a lifetime immersed in an empathetic society, he would love to have Thrakst in the iron sights of both pistols.
A hundred millennia ago, when the Argonians first ventured outside of the home system, they ran headlong into the burgeoning Zoxyth Empire.
Having subjugated every sentient species they encountered, the Zoxyth had already established a serious superiority complex. When they came across the Argonians, the first technologically advanced species they'd encountered, the Zoxyth attacked.
The aggressive reptiles had expanded their empire beyond the boundary of their solar system as quickly as their nascent space fairing technology afforded it. However, the Argonian race didn't spread outside of its home system until the v
irtual immortality afforded by their medical and technological advancements created the need for additional resources and real estate. Consequently, humanity's ancestors more than held their own against the antagonistic Zoxyth, soundly defeating them in that first engagement.
However, believing there was plenty of real estate for both, the Argonians disengaged. To avoid future confrontation, they shifted their exploration and colonization efforts away from the Zoxyth Empire's territory.
Spurned by their first defeat, and unwilling to accept the growth of another empire on their border, the Zoxyth took the battle to the Argonian home world. When an armada of their asteroid ships dropped out of parallel space above Argonia, the planet's inhabitants unleashed a counterattack that killed every reptilian combatant. To ensure Zoxyth rulers got the message loud and clear, the Argonian defense forces went on an offensive sweep and vaporized every Zoxyth ship between Argonia and the self-declared Neutral Zone.
It turned out, the only thing the Zoxyth respected was force. An uneasy peace settled between the two species. Over the subsequent millennia, the Argonians encountered a multitude of other space fairing species without repeating the calamitous events of that first contact. They allied with several alien races and eventually set up a galactic free-trade zone.
By the time of the forming of the first galactic government, the Zoxyth had joined the zone. They even assigned a representative to the newly formed galactic senate.
From the early days of the United Galactic Federation, the Zoxyth were a constant thorn in Argonia's side. However, in spite of their antagonistic posturing, the Zox remained a productive contributing member of the galactic community during the intervening millennia.
In recent decades, a wave of religious fundamentalism had swept through the Zoxyth sector. Ancestor worshipping fanatics elevated the Zoxyth that had originally attacked Argonia to sacrosanct deities. The worshiper's maniacal leader, Lord Thrakst, citing the documented destruction of one of the Forebearer's massive egg carrier colony ships, claimed they had narrowly avoided genocide in what he called the War of Argonian Aggression. According to Thrakst, the Argonians had forced peace terms and drawn the Forebearer's into an unholy alliance through lies and deceit.
Two years ago, fanatical followers of Lord Thrakst seized control of the Zoxyth Empire and declared their independence from the United Galactic Federation. Subsequently, state-sponsored attacks and seizures fell on ships traveling through Zoxyth space. What started out as harassment actions soon escalated to outright rebellion.
A GDF cruiser disappeared when it went into Zoxyth space to investigate an Argonian outpost that had fallen silent. Then the pair of Galactic Defense Force scout ships sent to find the cruiser disappeared as well. In a recon-in-force action, the Galactic Forge battlecruiser and space-carrier Deliverance dropped out of parallel-space a light-second from the last reported coordinates of the missing cruisers. Within seconds, over a hundred of the massive Zoxyth asteroid dreadnoughts materialized around the two warships. They were surrounded. The ensuing battle left thousands dead on both sides.
Against Tekamah's recommendation, the leadership of the Galactic Federation recalled all GDF outposts and vacated all United Galactic Federation facilities within Zoxyth space. Essentially, they allowed the Zox to secede from the UGF without negotiations or accountability for their unwarranted attacks.
Admiral Ashtara Tekamah told the council the Zox would see the move as weakness. Unfortunately, they proved him correct all too soon. Within days of the recall order, swarms of asteroidal dreadnoughts began attacking settlements outside Zoxyth space. Somehow the Zox had secretly amassed an enormous fleet.
That was two years ago. While the Zoxyth initially had major victories, the last few months had seen the tide of war shift inexorably in favor of the Galactic Defense Force. Once the council fully appreciated the scope of the Zoxyth threat, they had thrown the full force of the Argonian Galactic Defense Force into the battle. Tekamah, his hands untied, had swept the Zox infestation from every system outside of Zoxyth space.
Since the last engagement, two months previous, an uneasy ceasefire had settled across the region. As both sides regarded each other across stagnant battle lines, refugees had begun repopulating the liberated planets.
While the United Galactic Federation contained thousands of species, there had been little blending of populations. With a few notable exceptions near the galactic core, the denizens of most colonized worlds consisted of one species. The radically differing atmospheric and gravitational standards rendered cross-species cohabitation a near impossibility. The subsequent genetic polarization carried across many aspects of the galactic community. To simplify environmental systems and to prevent proliferation of weapon technologies, the Argonians maintained sole control of the Galactic Defense Force. While they often worked hand in hand with other races, only Argonians staffed the fleet's warships. Superficially, it sounded xenophobic and had been called as much by the Zoxyth. However, over the millennia, the GDF had earned a reputation as a force for good. Whether providing disaster relief or coming to the rescue of an embattled ally, the Argonians of the Galactic Defense Forces were goodwill ambassadors and the glue that held the United Galactic Federation together.
Following the cessation of hostilities, great convoys of returning refugees now streamed back into the border worlds. The mission of the GDF had shifted from offensive to defensive as they provided protection to the various species reentering the zone.
Now there was a problem.
Admiral Tekamah closed his eyes for a moment. Sitting back in his chair, he reactivated his EON and accessed the disturbing report again. It was from a unit assigned to escort duty.
Prior to linking up with that military escort, and still well outside the border region, a fleet of Argonian refugees preparing to return to their liberated colony world had come under attack. The distress call cutoff midstream, but not before reporting a sole Zoxyth dreadnought.
The escort squadron had leapt into parallel-space in a mad rush to come to their defense. What they found at the last reported position of the refugee fleet sent a chill down Tekamah's spine.
In the hour it took the squadron to close the four-light-year gap, the dreadnought blasted and burned all the ships of the Argonian convoy and made its escape. In spite of the fleet's extensive destruction, there should have been some survivors or bodies, or something other than what they'd found … or not found, in this case.
Every ship-remnant and cinder they'd searched was devoid of any Argonians, alive or dead.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The late spring sun beat down on the Nevada tarmac like a never-ending nuclear detonation. In spite of the lengthening late afternoon shadows, the high-desert sky retained the deep blue hue of a midsummer day. The surrounding mountains would look at home on the moon. Their rocky peaks scratched roughly at the lighter edges of the azure overarching atmospheric ocean. Forming an unbroken halo, they guarded Area Fifty-One's secret Groom Lake Air Force Base from prying eyes.
Chasing their elongated ambling shadows, two Air Force officers walked in front of a long row of hangars. In the Base's ghost town silence, their footsteps echoed off the metal sides of the large buildings. As they progressed east, toward an expansive aircraft ramp, each hangar appeared to be older than the previous.
"I always thought when I became a super-secret special agent I wouldn't have to sweat anymore," Jake said to Vic.
"Yeah," Vic said. Casting a resigned glance at the blazing sun, he fanned the zipper-lined lapel of his flightsuit. "It's like stepping into an oven."
They had just finished their first week at the officially nonexistent military base. The security briefings and safety classes had been exhausting and mind numbing. The secretive and compartmentalized policies of the facility prohibited discussion of their assignments or job duties with their instructors, a fact driven home by ubiquitous signage and incessant aural security reminders blasted from an overhead public address sys
tem. As far as Jake knew, the instructors had no idea of the not-so-alien aliens or any of the myriad unknowable projects currently operating at the base.
Wiping a fresh bead of sweat from his brow, Jake scanned the expansive concrete plain. From here, it appeared they were walking through an abandoned airfield. He knew most activities took place in a vast underground web. Their briefings had been in a small part of that network. One of the orientations had alluded to an intricate maze of tunnels, connecting various facilities. This trek to the flight line was their first foray beyond the administrative area.
"Those were vague instructions," Victor said, breaking Jake's thoughts.
"I know. Considering how anal they are here, being told to walk to the end of the hangars and wait seems, I don't know, loose, I guess."
"I know, I keep waiting to see security police running at us, guns drawn," Vic said. His hand pointed at Jake's head pistol style.
Jake winced as the gesture reminded him of the events that followed their disastrous UFO encounter.
"Oops, sorry." Vic lowered his arm and grinned. "I had it rough too, you know."
"Yeah right. You get gently floated from your fighter. I get yanked down and tossed unceremoniously face-first onto the tarmac. You're taken to a nice, plush facility, and fed tea and crumpets. I'm taken to an interrogation-room and berated for twelve hours, and I'm the one left feeling guilty," he said through a sardonic grin.
Vic looked dejected. "Sorry."
"Dude, I'm just messing with you." Jake punched him in the arm. "Time to put on your big-girl panties, Lieutenant."
Rubbing his shoulder, Vic smiled self-consciously.
Stopping next to the last hangar, they looked around, unsure of what to do next. When they had received their instruction, Vic had asked, "Wait for what?" The instructor merely shrugged his shoulders. They'd encountered the gesture so many times the two officers called it the Area Fifty-One salute.