Jack Strong and The Last Battle

by Heys Wolfenden

  “You’ve got what you want now,” she half-choked, half-mumbled. “What else is there for you to take?”

  Lava man laughed.

  “Me? Is that it?”

  “Of course,” said Lava man, eyes burning, flesh smoldering. “That was always the end game. Did you expect anything else?”

  “No,” said Vyleria weakly.

  “And that is what separates us Vyleria… our capacity for revenge.”

  Vyleria looked up then. The dreadnuts’ eyes flashed a bloody red, weapon arms roaring to life. She braced herself for the dreadnuts’ death lunge, for the moment the nanites pierced her skin and took her over.

  Then she heard laser fire, the sound of metal screeching on metal. When she looked up she saw a mass of limbs and metal roiling in the dirt like a nest of ants. Twenty billion Elarians set on death and dismemberment.

  Vyleria screamed.

  Chapter Four: Reign of Terror

  Grunt expected one challenger, perhaps two; instead he faced an army.

  They came at him in one hissing, spitting tide. Some even had laser weapons and a few primitive guns. They all ended the same way: violently, bloodily. They never stood a chance. In less than half an hour he had killed them all.

  ALL HAIL GRUNT, THE NEW CHALL…

  Grunt didn’t wait to hear the rest of his father’s pronouncement. He’d had enough of his stupid bloody platitudes. This was not real combat, not real fighting. The Xenti didn’t even stay dead, they were re-animated shortly after the end of the day’s contest. Those that he had killed today he would face tomorrow and the day after and the day after… He laughed at the absurdity of it, the hypocrisy. Obtaining revenge by taking pity on them. It was pathetic, weak. Sure, his father and the other Ba’doberans might devour one of the Xenti every now and again but as far as he was concerned the Xenti were getting off lightly. They needed to truly suffer, to feel real pain, real anguish. And they had to die for that to happen.

  What if I could interfere with the re-animation process? He thought, his sword dashing through the hot, humid air. Kill them before they get a chance to come back? More swinging, more death. Blood. Blood. Blood. But my father has access to the re-animation machine and all the codes. If I could get them somehow, subvert the process…

  He smiled as he looked out across the black sands of the arena. Bodies littered the ground. A few twitched, moaned… in pain. Good. They deserve it for what they did to my planet. They stole my life from me, from us all.

  Grunt stomped off the arena, the crowd deathly quiet, murder lodged firmly on his mind.

  Chapter Five: Downfall

  Vyleria ran through streets of mangled and dismembered bodies, past starscrapers of destruction. Everywhere she went she saw the same thing: the end of Elaria, of her entire civilisation. Twenty Billion souls murdered. All for nothing.

  She had watched the carnage unfold, seen the dreadnuts rip and tear and shoot at each other until only one stood standing, before its soft pink skin was charred to nothing by Lava man’s hands.

  She would have cried but she had no tears left, she would have fought and raged against the dying of the light, but all that was left inside her now was a meek despair. They didn’t stand a chance, they never had. Lava man had won. First Jack, now this…

  She raised the blood-slick pistol to her head.

  She wanted it all to end, for the suffering to stop, to die and go back to Jack somehow. She burst into tears again. She looked down at the quivering pistol. Metal fibres were crawling up her wrist like an infestation of maggots. Her eyes widened with shock, horror.

  “You didn’t expect to get off that easily, did you?”

  “But…” She looked up into Lava man’s fire-filled eyes.

  “I promised that you would know absolute despair before the end and I’m here to deliver on my side of the bargain. I intend you save you Vyleria, to preserve you for all eternity; a lasting monument to a failed people’s vanity. In time, you may even come to appreciate your new role.”

  “Never,” said Vyleria far more bravely than she felt.

  Lava man smiled. “Your example alone will help us win more wars than a hundred dreadnut armies.”

  “No…”

  She was crying now, fibres and circuits crawling up her arms, slithering like snakes towards her hearts, lungs, cerebral cortex. She could hear the dreadnut half calling, gears of war calling for blood and ruin.

  “Please…”

  Millions upon millions of nanobots, circuits and wires twisted underneath her pink skin, obliterating cells, perverting tissue, assimilating muscle, re-forming bone. Her brain cells were co-opted, annexed. Her normal bodily functions shut down, heart rate flatlining to a whisper…

  Dreadnut.

  Chapter Six: Inferno

  The landscape frothed and boiled, a thousand fires burning out of control.

  Grunt looked behind him. The Xenti were massing at the bottom of the hill, laser rifles primed for mayhem and slaughter. A jagged battleship rammed into the dry valley, the explosion echoing for miles around. They had to get out of there. Fast.

  “Can you move your legs?”

  Jack shook his head. “The injury…”

  “Xylem’s father will pay for what he’s done to you, they all will.”

  Jack looked him in the eye, nodded his head, then took out his pistol and began firing at the massed ranks of Xenti. Hundreds went down, thousands, the tide of fire unstoppable. “Come on,” said Jack “what are you waiting for?”

  What was he waiting for?

  Grunt took out his space pistol and began firing. Bodies went down in a storm of light and noise, their anger unrelenting. Tens of thousands died, hundreds, millions. It was carnage. Armageddon.

  The mountain of bodies got higher and higher, until it blocked out the sun. An eclipse of the dead.

  He kept on firing, his space pistol fueled by his anger, his hate. Death, death, death. Each Xenti was like a grain of sand on a long barren shore.

  “Grunt!”

  “Grunt!”

  “GRUNT!”

  He turned around to see tongues of fire snaking up Jack’s arms and legs, licking hungrily at his hair and eyes.

  In his rage, in his blindness, his laser fire had set the grass on fire. The whole valley was now engulfed by flames.

  Grunt rushed over to Jack, but he was too late. By the time he reached him he was burnt to a husk, what was left of his blackened eye sockets staring back at him accusingly.

  It was all his fault – his.

  His anger, his thirst for revenge had killed Jack. If only he hadn’t been so angry, so consumed with getting back at the Xenti…

  He looked up from Jack’s corpse. The fire was all around him now, smoke everywhere. A hurricane of heat rushed towards him; he couldn’t breathe. He coughed and spluttered, choking on his own vomit, the inferno getting closer and closer…

  Then his arm was on fire, a tattoo of flame that pressed down through his skin, searing his flesh, his bones. It spread outwards like an infestation, until his whole body squirmed and wriggled with it, burning even to his very soul.

  Grunt awoke with a start. His eyes groped around in the darkness, searching for a sign of the all-consuming flames. For a half a heartbeat he expected the night to come alive again with fire and smoke and fury. But nothing happened. Slowly, his heart rate began to subside and return to normal. He embraced the night for what it was: his cell.

  He shivered and looked around, pushing Jack and the dream back into the sordid vault of his brain. He placed a padlock across it and locked it shut. Stashed it away with all the others.

  He stared at the Xenti in the cell across from his. Each one averted his gaze, huddling in dark, dank corners. Good, he thought. Cower, hide, it’s the least that you deserve. Look into the eyes of your conqueror and be afraid…

  Yet the feeling felt empty, insignificant. When he had first learned the truth about what happened to his people he was angry, wrathful. His fury wa
s a storm to behold. He killed gladly and without mercy. But now? He felt what exactly? Guilty? He brushed the feeling away like a fly.

  What about the Scourge then? What about Jack and the others? You made a promise to them; to find the Xenti and bring them into the war. I…

  Why was it so difficult? It had all seemed so simple on the spaceship, but now that he was here, now that things had changed with the Xenti things had gotten complicated. Things were out of control; events were carrying him away to a dark horizon and there was nothing that he could do about it. Jack would understand though, wouldn’t he? He didn’t know about what the Xenti had done to his home, to his people. If he had he would never have sent him here, would never have spared the Xenti… again that strange feeling in his chest wriggling like a nest of beetle larvae. Why couldn’t he be more like Jack? More confident and in control, with none of this self-doubt.

  Grunt got to his feet and opened his cell door, the metal clanging behind him as he stomped down the cold, draughty corridor. A hundred pairs of yellow eyes stared out from the shadows, searching ever darker hollows as he marched past. How many of these had been his victims yesterday or the day before? How many times had they died already?

  Grunt rapped on the door of his father’s cell. It opened with a pronounced metallic groan, like a long-deceased corpse awaking from the dead.

  WHAT DO YOU WANT? Boomed his father in his usual commanding tone. He was stood before him like a tower block, dark and impenetrable. His huge black helmet hid his face completely. He had seen his father’s face only once before, soon after he had arrived. He shuddered at the thought of it. The time spent in deep space had not been kind.

  GRUNT, THIS IS NOT A GOOD TIME.

  “I want to see the footage again, from when the Xenti first came to our planet.”

  THIS IS THE THIRD TIME YOU’VE ASKED TO VIEW IT. DO YOU DOUBT THE VIDEO’S VERACITY?

  “No… I… just want to understand what they did. These feelings of revenge help me in the arena, keep me k...”

  VERY WELL THEN. IF YOU INSIST. Grunt suddenly had the feeling that his father was boring into his skull, reading his mind, flicking through its sordid pages. BUT THIS IS THE LAST TIME. THIS IS A SORE POINT FOR OUR PEOPLE, AN OPEN, FESTERING WOUND. IT NEEDS TO BE CLOSED. DO YOU UNDERSTAND?

  Grunt didn’t know what to say. “Yes, I…”

  SEE THAT YOU DO. YOU MAY ENTER. BE QUICK.

  Grunt hurried into his father’s cell. It looked just like his own, except for a huge monitor that was attached to the far wall. He walked towards it immediately; he knew what to look for. When he first found out the truth about the Xenti he had watched the video again and again, shot by shot, from every conceivable angle. It was hard to believe otherwise, difficult to make sense of.

  He watched the flickering, grainy image again for perhaps the ten thousandth time. The approach of the cloaked Xenti battleship, then the entry into a Lagrangian orbit of what looked like a huge metal fan. A solar shield they called it. The effects were almost instantaneous. The planet was consumed by darkness. Then the polar ice caps began to expand and spread like huge white fingers. Together with the bulging glaciers they had encased much of the land and sea in a matter of weeks. It was murder by ice, an eco-Armageddon. The Ba’doberans didn’t stand a chance, indeed they didn’t even realise they were under attack. A few – too few – escaped but it was too late; their civilisation was doomed, extinguished just as it was about to start spreading out into other parts of the solar system. Billions had died, including his mother, wiped out by an uncaring, unseen enemy who wanted their land for their own. They were probably there now, rolling back the ice, seeding the planet with their vile Xenti spawn. Anger surged through Grunt like lava.

  There was an eruption.

  Grunt marched out of his father’s cell, down the long, winding corridor and out into a hot arena, pregnant with bodies.

  He glared at the waiting Xenti. There were thousands of them this time, their eyes filled with a pathetic fear, the futility of the damned. He tore into them like a machine gun, indiscriminate in his savagery.

  More blood, more violence… good, good…

  Chapter Seven: Subterranean Homesick Blues

  A river of molten steel bubbled in front of Kat’s face, sweat streaming from her brow.

  She put one of her hands to her forehead and flicked the moisture away. The river sizzled momentarily, curlicues of steam twirling up towards the dark roof of the foundry several hundred feet above her.

  It was almost time…

  “Come on,” said Kat to the small boy crouched next to her. “It’s now or never.”

  The boy shook his head.

  “Don’t be a wuss,” said Kat, grabbing him by the shoulder. “Do you want to escape from this place or not?”

  The boy nodded, smiled, revealing a mouth full of broken teeth.

  “Then what’s keeping you?”

  “I am.”

  Kat turned around and faced a brown-skinned girl with muscular features. She was a few inches taller than Kat and her hair was considerably shorter. She looked a little bit like one of the guards’ sabre-dogs, only less pretty.

  “Something funny?” the girl barked.

  “Yeah you,” said Kat, locking onto her eyes. “Always thinking you are in charge around here, pushing everybody around.”

  “I’m trying to keep them alive,” said the girl. “Which is more than I can say for you. You go through escapees like the Konsortiums go through iron and steel. Dom and Gul were the last straw, their legs were mangled by the sabre-dogs during your last escape attempt; they’ll be lucky if they ever walk again, let alone mine ore. If the rot sets in you know what the guards will do to them…”

  “They were unlucky, that was all.”

  “You call that luck?”

  “Sure Klara, it could’ve happened to anybody. The guards weren’t supposed to be there. The next shift…”

  “Well, I call it stupid,” said Klara, arms entwined like a pair of cave snakes. “You should’ve prepared better, anticipated the return of the guards.”

  “Yeah, I did, but…”

  “Look, you are welcome to your dumb escape attempt but it’s a solo mission for you this time.”

  “You mean you’d rather stay in the ore mines all your lives? You’ll last another year, tops.”

  “Maybe,” said Klara, “but it’s better than chucking them away on one of your damn fool missions. We’ll make our own escape plans. Without you.”

  “Fine, I don’t need you anyway, I’m better on my own.”

  “You’ll do just perfectly then,” said Klara.

  “Sure thing, boss,” smirked Kat. “Come on Don, let’s get going.”

  “Weren’t you listening?” barked Klara. “I said you were on your own, cut off.”

  “But Don, he won’t make it here on his own, he needs his big sis to look after him.”

  “Well I think otherwise and that’s the end of it,” said Klara. “Unless you want to fight the entire klan. Besides, he’s not your real brother anyway, you’ve no family left, not anymore.”

  “But I helped him cope with his sister’s death; I’ve stolen him food, clothes…”

  “Aye! And we were punished for it. Severely,” said Klara, showing Kat the electro-whip marks on her arms and legs. “He’ll be better off without you. We all will.”

  “But…”

  “The klan’s decision is final,” said Klara. “You’ve outspent all your currency here. No more chips left to bargain with; it’s time for you to leave.”

  “At least let him decide, you owe him that much.”

  “I’m sorry Kat,” said the young boy before Klara had a chance to speak. “But… it’s like she says it’s too dangerous and besides I’d just hold you back, what with my bad leg and all.”

  “I’d carry you,” said Kat. “All the way if necessary. Come on, you don’t need these idiots, they won’t look after you like I do.”

  “Maybe not
,” said Don, sniffling slightly. “But at least I’d be alive, which is more than I can say for a few more in our gang.”

  “But…”

  “I’m sorry, I’ve made up my mind,” said the boy, turning towards Klara and the others. “They’re my new family now, I don’t need you anymore.”

  “Fine then, have it your way,” snapped Kat. “You were never my brother anyway, good luck in your filthy stinkin’ prison!”

  Don burst into tears. “I’m sorry Don, I…”

  “That’s enough,” said Klara. “Go back to that stupid spaceship you keep talking about, that’s if it even exists…”

  They all laughed at her then, even little Don. Kat’s heart broke.

  She ran.

  It was a long time before Kat stopped running.

  When she did she was miles from the central mine shaft. She had only been able to avoid detection by the guards thanks to her ability to turn invisible. Without it, she would have no chance of escaping. It was lucky that the Extractor hadn’t realised this when he had re-captured her; according to his records she had lost the ability to turn invisible some months before. No thanks to him, she thought, remembering with bitterness their last night together. The bite marks still hadn’t properly healed, nor had the scars from the restraints that had dug into her wrists and ankles. For her, they were reminders, not just of him and how she had suffered, but also of her own failings, of her own weakness. If it hadn’t been for her desire for revenge, for his blood, then she wouldn’t have been in the labour camp in the first place. Jack was depending on her, Padget too, and what had she used her newfound freedom for? Revenge. It was pathetic, small-minded. But she was better than that now, had to be, for all their sakes…

  Dom wouldn’t last another month in the ore mines. Even Klara knew that. If he wasn’t killed or maimed in a work accident, the system had a way of grinding down the weak, the elderly, the feeble-minded. Stronger bodies and minds were not much better off either. She’d seen more than one take a swan dive into the vats of molten steel. They hissed and screamed at the end for a couple of seconds, but better a moment of unadulterated pain than a lifetime of it. That was the reasoning anyway, but not for her - she preferred hope, optimism, strength; she’d spent too long with Jack and the rest not to; it was tattooed onto her heart now and there was no going back. Either she succeeded in her escape attempt or she would die trying, Dom too… she was his only hope now.