Iástron

by James C. Dunn

  Von Viticus spoke first. ‘Earth is with you.’

  Retani Iraan put down his chicken leg. ‘The Wetanis are by your side.’

  ‘And Rotavar is behind you all the way,’ said Vasily.

  ‘This is where we decide what is truly important to us. This is where we make our choice, where we take our stand, and initiate the fall of the Dishan. NOW!’

  The screens remained linked, but the many Guards hastened to their positions. Dozens of tube-shaped pods lined the bay, ready to be ejected into the atmosphere. Long, heavy, and streamline they were the perfect devices for a quick and effective planetary assault. Some contained two Guards; others held fifty and more.

  Ruben watched the pods begin to fill, before turning to Mendoza. ‘When we get down there,’ he said, ‘stick by me. I’ll give the signal—’

  ‘And then we begin,’ she said, and licked her lips. Her mouth moved as though there was something else she wished to say. This could well be it for all of them, he knew. Mendoza knew it too. She turned her back and marched to the pod. The General placed his helmet over his head and climbed into the two-man pod with her. The screen dropped into place above them.

  ‘I would normally say hold your stomach—’

  ‘But we both know you’re not going to,’ she said.

  The General considered a reply, and he knew he ought to tell her how he felt, but before he could vocalise anything an unsettling countdown began on the console before him. Thirty seconds lasted so much longer than thirty seconds should. Then it came.

  3 . . .

  He took a deep breath.

  2 . . .

  The pod began to shake.

  1 . . .

  ‘Here we go.’

  0 . . .

  A shrill whooshing filled the small space as it strained under the rapid change in pressure. Lifting the shell’s visor Ruben watched, eyes watering, as they left the Quasar, surrounded by dozens of other glistening pods, and the black planet approached. The descent to war began.

  Several grunts from behind meant he didn’t need to worry about whether or not Mendoza was still conscious.

  The planet’s glowing molten surface, trapped in perpetual night, quickly came into view. The world experienced tidal locking in relation to Proxima, generating enormous amounts of friction and heat. The only thing saving Crilshar from the resulting torrid flares was its strong magnetic field.

  Ruben shook himself from a trance, brought on by the great strain. From below something emerged. A glint of metal struck the General’s eye. ‘What on Titan?’

  ‘What?’ Mendoza said. ‘What do you see?’

  Another flash appeared, followed by several more. In the time it took for Ruben to blink, hundreds of glistening objects were racing towards them. And the answer was simple.

  ‘Missiles!’ he said. ‘They’re ready for us!’

  ‘Perfect,’ he heard from behind.

  ‘Quasar,’ Ruben said into his comm, ‘this is General Berenguer. Be advised, enemy projectiles are currently on course for dispatched Attack Force Actha!’

  —We read you sir. Standby.

  The growing missiles were approaching fast. Too fast. Hundreds of them. The moment had come—

  Bright beams of light shot past the pod; colossal waves of burning white clashed with the approaching projectiles and burned scores of them to dust. Some careened through, and several unprotected pods disappeared in the blink of an eye.

  ‘Titan be with you, my brave Guards!’

  * * *

  By now the fighting swelled furiously across the skies of Crilshar; and the shudder of great debris shook the crafts of Rotavar as they struggled alongside Earth’s war vessels. No longer at any safe distance, Aleksey Vasily looked out from the Maelstrom at the battle unfolding before him. Through a porthole he watched several Crilshan barrages appear from above, barbed and breathtaking, and they moved as though falling, collapsing, hurtling towards the allies. A cheer rose up as three Titanese carriers floated in formation, and they drove against the legions of Crilshar. Many of each side, Titanese and Crilshan, drifted towards each other and all deployed their assaults. Brilliant bursts of pure white and all-consuming scarlet burned Vasily’s retinas. It was several minutes before his vision reappeared, and many more before it became clear which side had inflicted more damage. Cheering at last broke out as the first wave of Crilshan barrages faltered.

  ‘We have a problem, Chief!’ cried one of the errand-pilots as he came charging from the viewing centre.

  ‘What is it?’ Vasily asked.

  The errand-pilot handed him a small-screen data message. Proximan reinforcements were approaching. Victory was uncertain. He looked out the porthole. Far from the line of fire, Retani Iraan would not stray into the battle, nor would he commit his vessel to aid those now engaged. Vasily swore a dozen insults as he moved from window to window, gazing at the spiked barrages, helpless to aid the allies down below, and trapped onboard his own ship, incapable of doing sufficient enough damage to turn the battle. He sighed in despair at his position and wished the choices he’d made were very different from reality.

  Retani Iraan had sent down his ground forces, but had yet to commit to the orbital assault. The Titanese went unaided, fighting back the Proximan offensive; the Golden Army had no chance against the combined strength of the entire Dishan Alliance. Not without the Retanis.

  ‘Why aren’t you fighting?’

  Vasily attempted to reach the Retani control ship via audio-comm link, but it was no use. There was no reply. Outside, the battle expanded, and the Maelstrom shook as it was pulled into the centre of a Proximan raid.

  ‘Have the captain informed he is in total command,’ Vasily said to the errand-pilot.

  He couldn’t go along with this. He had to help General Berenguer.

  ‘But Chief,’ he replied. ‘Where are you going, sir?’

  Vasily summoned all of his poise and breathed out. ‘To the Retani Control Ship.’ If they were not going to fight, he would, at the very least, discover why.

  * * *

  Rockets rose from below. Pods plummeted, manoeuvring around and directly through deadly fields of fire. Molten breaches in the planet surface ran miles deep, though the foray of pods kept close to the outer defences—too deep and they would spread themselves overly thin. As the enormous beams of burning light, generated by the orbiting battle cruisers, penetrated the surfacing shell of Crilshar, the many hundreds of plunging pods broke through and hurtled within.

  In an instant, dark soldiers surrounded the metal shuttles; but intense bolts of blue light discharged in their direction. Thrown back, the Crilshan sentries quickly became outnumbered by the Titanese Guard bounding from their transports. But the dark-eyed beings were prepared, and in the darkness of the higher-most caverns an army of thousands had formed to meet them. Organised battalions marched to the fore, chanting and drumming and heaving mighty weapons of war.

  Fires, torches, and bright-beams were cast out by the allies, lighting the great level and the foes before them. The brave Guard held aloft the gold-crest flag bearing the majestic eagle of Titan, and the men and women cheered in the darkness; light and fervent hope emerged from their cheers. And the Dark Race hesitated. The Titanese, Rotavarians, Retanis, and Earthlings all moved steadily forward: a terrifying sight and roar.

  Among them Ruben charged through, igniting his coil and knocking back several armed Crilshans. Mendoza kept close by, firing also, and she followed him through the skirmish towards the towering wall of the cavern.

  Above, through the now mechanically-sealing holes in the covering, there burst through large carriers containing allied warriors, all sending up plumes of dirt and loam as they set down. Some soared ahead and rained light fire upon the enemy. Ruben grimaced as a cascade of magma, flowing dark amber down the far cavern wall, was launched up high by the Crilshan watch and struck an Earthling transport, bringing it down before it could reach the other bank.

  Captain Me
ndoza appeared at his side, lifted her helmet’s dark visor, and cried, ‘You don’t have much time!’

  He lifted his own visor. ‘You know what you’re doing, Ernesta?’

  ‘Always,’ she said. ‘Run now. My thoughts go with you, my General!’

  An ear-splitting clamour-wave went off nearby, taking his hearing with it. He shook his heavy head, reminded himself why he was here: his girls were the only thing that mattered. He placed his arm on Mendoza’s shoulder and saluted his captain, before charging off and dashing into a tunnel leading down from the great level and away from the screams of battle. Four elite Guard followed him, coils ignited.

  As the tremors of combat pulsed around them the five men raced along darkened tunnels. As they descended lower and lower, meeting very little resistance—the available units now being sent above—his men stopped abruptly outside a heavy metal gate. Ruben caught up moments later. The men appeared to be thinking, the confusion evident on their faces.

  ‘What is it?’ he asked, removing his helmet and struggling to catch his breath. ‘Can’t we get through?’

  ‘No, sir. We can get through without a problem.’

  ‘And that itself is the problem,’ Ruben said. ‘You’re right. This is all too easy.’

  Though lacking vital oxygen, the General’s mind raced, knitting together all that he had learned, straining to figure out what was going on. ‘Let me think about this,’ he said. ‘They were prepared for us coming. Proximan reinforcements had already been dispatched before we arrived. They’ve removed all the security from these areas.’ He looked up.

  ‘Sir,’ one spoke. ‘I think this may be a trap.’

  ‘We can’t turn back. Quickly, let’s get through this gate.’

  Taking out a deep-code-programmer, one of his Guard quickly began to gain access into the next room. Coilbolt in hand, crackling and spitting blue sparks, the other four stood warily on guard. Very soon the sound of many footsteps echoed along the passage, louder and closer.

  ‘Quick as you can!’ he said.

  ‘Almost there, General.’

  A bright red light struck the wall above them. Several more followed.

  ‘We’re in!’

  Coilbolts spat and discharged, roaring at the men now in pursuit. They appeared around the corner, but Ruben found himself forced into the next room. His men turned and fired. One was hit in the chest. Another fell against the wall. A third young Guard jumped through and closed the door as the final soldier collapsed to the ground.

  A thud as the gate sealed. Ruben straightened, cautious and unnerved. The room was dark, the glow from the two coils the only source of light. All was silent but for the two men’s quick, heavy breaths. The room seemed more like a cavern, filled with manuscripts and records dating back centuries. Corridors, of which there were many, were carved from the molten rock.

  Shouts and blaster fire could be heard on the other side.

  ‘How long until they get through?’

  ‘Minutes, General.’

  ‘Right then.’ Bowing his back he continued along a narrow corridor, surrounded above and to the sides with dry, serrated rock. The information he wanted was a lot more secure. But where was it? Holding the coil above his head, he turned a corner and continued down. The soldier followed. There was nothing here. No access station for the planet’s records. No e-data panel. No Crilshan guard.

  A loud whine then came from the room’s entrance and a silhouette of light and shadow appeared at the corridor’s end. Outlines moved here and there, and the sound of many footsteps shuffled throughout the cavernous room. They were trapped.

  Ruben threw himself to the end of the row, just in time to avoid a grouping of Crilshans running past. He switched his coil off, holstered it, and took out his blaster. He looked about. The soldier had disappeared.

  ‘Spread out!’ he heard. ‘He’s in here and we have to find him!’

  Ruben breathed deeply; his heart pummelled his tight chest. He was so tired he couldn’t think straight. But the sound of his hunters caused alarm bells to ring. That was not the voice of a Crilshan! It was fearful, and had neither the burr nor the darkness of the tongue of Crilshar. That accent . . .

  ‘We know you’re there, General!’ spoke the fearful voice again. ‘Come out while you can!’

  ‘My lord, we’ve got one!’

  Blaster fire. The boom of a coil. Shuffles and scrapes in the dark. The young Titanese soldier cried out and a bolt of red flashed through the black cavity. Cruel laughter echoed around him. He felt like slumping to the ground. Only one thought pushed him on: his girls were here, he knew it. And he was going to find them. He moved carefully down the next corridor, clutching his blaster firmly to his chest, which itself rose and fell rapidly in quickening succession. There he spotted another door. Two footsteps. Quietly. Quietly. Then out of the dark a light shone in his face, bitter cold made contact with his left shoulder, and a white hot pain seared his flesh. He fell onto his back.

  ‘I have him!’ his assailant cried. ‘I’ve got the general. I’ve caught him!’

  But this general was not done with yet. He raised his blaster and a burning blue flash connected with the soldier’s right leg, knocking him to the ground as he squealed in pain. Seizing his torch from him, Ruben attached it to his belt and threw his foot into the man’s face. He then charged as fast as he could, moving for the door, wishing more than he’d ever wished for anything that it was unlocked. Bullets and powerful blasts of light landed all around him. Ignoring them and the terrible pain in his shoulder he carried on. He reached the door, and he fell through. The blasts stopped. He jumped back up, and in one last ditch attempt to lose the pursuers he took out his coilbolt, jamming it into the door’s control panel. A secondary door slammed down.

  Voices cried out on the other side. ‘Get through there!’ he heard. ‘We have to get through. We have to get him!’

  ‘But the lock—’

  ‘Just get through!’ the voice rang out, afraid and almost recognisable.

  ‘But Lord—’

  ‘Tear it down!’

  BOOOM!

  Ruben rotated on the spot, expecting another barren tunnel, so it came as quite a shock to find what he’d least expected: the Crilshan access station for the planetary records sat before him, unguarded, and he wasted no time in hastening over. He gazed up at the powerful super-computer, one of the most advanced in existence, reaching as high as the sixty-foot ceiling and bearing leavers, huge pipes, and complicated circuitry all over like hairs on a dog’s back. He couldn’t quite understand how it had been so easy to log on and begin his search, but he no longer cared. He took a deep breath.

  A forceful pounding slammed against the room’s hatch. Time was short. There was no other way out of here. He pulled out his blaster and a well-aimed shot took out the interior control panel. That might buy a couple of minutes. He ignored the resultant hammering and stifled bellows, and made his way through the foreign files. It was lucky for him that his Crilshan was perfect. He began to type:

  < Database Search: “text” --->

  If Crilshar was behind what happened to his nieces, it would say so here, even if it was a clandestine operation. The reply flashed up:

  < Database Search Result: --->

  ‘Furka!’

  He tried again:

  < Database Search: “text” --->

  One moment, then:

  < Database Search Result: --->

  ‘Order A.M,’ he said to himself. ‘I’ve never heard of it!’

  The sound of voices and cries and booms outside grew louder. Any moment now they would be in here with him.

  He searched again:

  < Database Search: “text” --->

  ‘Come on!’ he cried.

  < Database Search Result: --->

  ‘No!’

  He sat back, tearing at his hair. And then it hit him like a lightning bolt. It was so obvious. So damn obvious! He leaned back in, and in one last attempt to uncov
er the mystery that had plagued him all this time, he typed into the computer:

  < Erebus >

  An explosion sounded outside the room and the hatch rattled on its hinges.

  < Database Search Result: --->

  ‘It exists!’ he cried.

  Another BOOOM!

  His mind buzzed. Erebus existed. And Gordian was reassigned; he wasn’t working for the Dishan when he attacked Titan. But if not them, then whom?

  Another rumble shook the room. He looked around in panic. Nowhere to escape. Nowhere to hide. The pounding continued, and then one final blow struck the door. It fell into the room.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-ONE

  RUBEN BERENGUER HELD his breath. Silently he watched several figures enter the cavern, holding guns and bright-beams, and all were clad in dark, flowing robes with strange metal masks.

  ‘He’s not here,’ one said.

  ‘That’s not possible,’ replied another. The anxiety in his voice once more seemed familiar to Ruben. ‘He’s here, he’s got to be!’ The fearful figure moved around the room. The General stuffed his fist into his mouth. ‘Point your light over there. There’s only one corner in here he could be hiding.’ The humming machinery cast back the bright-beam as its light was thrown into the rocky corner, exposing an empty space.

  Ruben smirked. From atop a ledge, thirty-foot up the computer console, he gazed down at the figures and the panicking man. How he had managed to scale the precarious live wires and searing cylinders so hastily and yet not trip or fall he’d never know. The group separated and desperately began checking each shadowy crevice thoroughly. It was clear to him that these men were not from Crilshar. The way they spoke and the fact they carried torches to see in the dark gave that away. So just who were they, and what were they doing here?

  He clutched his shoulder, which had become worryingly numb, and looked up, sweating. Almost to the top. Swinging his leg around another wire cable he hauled himself up a little more.