Krum-Bahk sat in the spartan, cramped passenger area of the Gladius. The small, well-armored gunship that was carrying his squad to the Shredvrak Belt was only about half the size of the Halberd, but no less dangerous. Much like the Halberd and the rest of the Republic's destroyer-class gunships, it was sleek, deadly, and shaped like a shark, designed to transition smoothly from aether to atmo, even in the midst of combat. It also featured a spring-loaded door that let the Marines in the hold exit quickly and efficiently, rocketing down to the ground below and engaging the enemy in the shock-and-awe manner the Marines preferred.
Through the viewport, Krum-Bahk could see Shredvrak Prime, a large asteroid with about half the gravitational pull of Griffonia. The massive mining rig built into it was their target. They'd nearly reached their destination.
He shifted uncomfortably in his newly minted Marine armor. He had trained in the armor, of course, but this was the first time he would be wearing it in a true life-or-death fight, assuming it came to that. He felt almost claustrophobic with the domed bubble of clear polymer around his head, and while the armor was smoothly fitted and allowed for a good range of motion, including powered limb actuators to grant additional strength, it was heavy and strange to a person used to being dressed in the loose, breezy garb of a Krauqian or the light athletic gear of a duelist. The thrusters on the backpack and on the soles of the boots made the armor all the heavier, but it also turned every Marine into a kind of armored fighter craft.
"Alright, folks," said Grepk, the squad leader, breaking the silence. The tall, broad Raki male, always easy-going and good-natured when off the clock, spoke with solemnity from his place in the Gladius’ cockpit. "You're aware of the situation. A week ago we had reports of civil unrest in this Shredvrak Mining Company facility. The security team working at the facility was ill-equipped to deal with the situation and it has since exploded into an uprising, evidently triggered by cult activity. The Koomites, as they call themselves, have taken the facility and are holed up inside, but any attempts by local law enforcement to respond has ended in a stalemate. The facility is large and the full number of cultists is unknown, as is the status of any survivors in the facility. Our squad is going to take the upper levels, and two additional squads will kick down the front doors once we soften them up. We don't know for sure what we're heading into. Stay sharp."
Fenyn, the tall, broad Human male who served as both medic and quartermaster for the group, checked over everyone’s gear once more, taking special care to inspect their rifles, all of which had a rifled ballistic system, a small laser cannon, and a grenade tube. He nodded his approval with a contented, relaxed smile. Keshri, a short, stocky Talpidarian female, flexed her clawed fingers and examined the studded knuckles on her gauntlets, itching for some action. Krum-Bahk was nervous, but ready to prove his mettle in combat.
“Okay,” said Grepk, putting the Gladius into autopilot. “Let’s go get ‘em, folks.”
The Gladius’ back door sprung open and Grepk shot out, followed immediately by Fenyn, Keshri, and Krum-Bahk. They had pulled up just next to the facility and rocketed over to the top deck, farthest above the surface of the asteroid.
Fenyn crouched by the airlock door, prepared to hack through the security. He didn’t have to.
“Huh,” he said over their comms channel. “They didn’t even lock it. I don’t like this.”
The first door of the airlock opened with a hiss and the squad filed in. Fenyn broke a panel open with a screwdriver and a practiced hand, and soon the second door slid open, but without the normal lights and alarms that accompanied an airlock.
The bloody scene that greeted them would be burned into Krum-Bahk's mind for the rest of his life. The room was dark, and the building was only lit with dim emergency lights now. Sparks few from a broken electrical panel. The bloodied bodies of miners and security personnel lay strewn across the floor, evidently killed by whatever blades and blunt objects were close at hand. It wasn't the first time Krum-Bahk had seen dead bodies, but this time he was expected to bring the killers to justice.
One of the bodies stirred, propping himself up on his elbows.
"Marines," he said hoarsely. "Thank the Progenitor."
The Human male was severely injured and lying in a pool of dried blood. He was wearing a security uniform and a bloodied baton laid by his broken leg. Grepk knelt by the man, studying the wounds and offering him a drink of water. The wounds were likely fatal.
"We'll get a medical team here as soon as possible," said Grepk. "But right now we need to know as much as you can tell us."
The man laughed, which ended in a bloody coughing fit. He motioned for another drink, took a sip and laid back down.
"Forget the medics; call the coroner," he said with a grim smile. "Regardless, the idiots you're looking for are the Koomites. They're some cult that worships the aether beasts. They've had a presence in these parts as long as I've been working here, but they never caused much trouble before. They were just your average doomsdayers, always talking about the Return of Such-and-such or whatever.
"Then these rumors started circulating about some cluster or another and that Koom guy they go on about. They got really antsy after that, screaming about aether beasts and calling down curses on everyone else. Management - the members of management who weren't Koomites, that is - wanted us to crack down, but they weren't breaking any laws. We're here to enforce the law, not persecute weirdos. Then they just went wild, and we couldn't hold them back.
"I got the better of that scum sucker, though." He pointed to a body lying facedown in a pool of blood.
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Grepk walked over and examined the body.
“All the cultists have these?” he asked, indicating a tattoo on the right wrist. The image wrapped around the wrist like a bracelet, depicting a creature with a shark-like head and a scaly, snake-like body. Just below the palm, the creature’s jaws were clamped around its own tail just before the shark-like tailfin.
The security guard groaned as he repositioned to get a look at the tattoo.
“Yeah, I think so. Either a tattoo or a brand. Part of the initiation, I guess, but of course they don’t really advertise how it works once you pledge to become a member. Secret knowledge and all that.”
Grepk nodded absently.
“Attention all squads,” he said over the Marines’ comm channel. “We have entered the building, looks like there’s already a number of casualties. We will advise when we’ve made contact with the cult. We’ve got a security team member here that needs immediate medical attention. Providence shine on us all.”
With that, he raised his rifle and walked to the door, the rest of the squad following. Reaching the next floor, their flashlights revealed a lone figure at the far end of the hall, holding a long stretch of bloody pipe. He threw his arms up over his face, blocking the bright lights. The Talpidarian peered over his arm at them.
“Oh, thank the Progenitor, Marines!” he said, dropping the pipe.
“Let’s see your right-hand wrist,” said Grepk. He kept his rifle trained on the survivor. The Talpidarian smiled wickedly, pulling back his sleeve to reveal a shark-like brand below his right hand. At the same moment, a wave hit all four Marines. Unable to move, they stood silently, bound in place by a massive psychic attack.
Despite the T-blocker technology built into his armor, Krum-Bahk felt knives of psychic energy thrust out of the waves that rushed against his skull, stabbing into his brain. The room began to fade to a blur and rage welled up in his chest, urging him to kill anything and everything within reach.
***
Jasken was once again strapped into his command chair on the Wingspan’s bridge, this time for reentry. Dekken’s team had begun the shutdown process for the ripmed drive and they were beginning their final approach to Kirakna. The blue orb in front of them seemed to glow as the system’s twin stars beat down upon it. The homeworld of the Raki, Kirakna was primarily a watery world, with a smattering of islands and archipelagos strewn across the surface. The largest of the islands, Tra-Kirakna, was their destination. The mountainous, sparsely-vegetated island was only 700 miles long at its widest point, and the city of the same name was located on and around the island’s tallest mountains.
The Wingspan entered the atmosphere with a shudder, approaching Tra-Kirakna’s metropolitan center. The old city was located inside the island’s mountains, the tunnels that lead to them angled upward to escape the massive storm surges that came with Kirakna’s seasonal hurricanes and the violent tidal action that occurred when Kirakna’s three moons aligned, pulling on the oceans and threatening to swamp the island.
The modern city was built inside of a massive polymer dome, much like the one the Wingspan’s bridge tower was under. The dome was climate-controlled, and kept at the same balmy temperature and thick humidity as the rest of the island. It turned Kirakna’s deadly storm season into one of the Republic’s biggest tourist attractions, as visitors flocked to the dome to watch nature’s fury from a shielded, climate-controlled vantage point.
“Tra-Kirakna, this is the Wingspan, requesting permission to land,” said Jasken.
“Permission Granted, Wingspan, welcome to Kirakna.”
The dome’s massive top door opened as the Wingspan approached. Soon thereafter, the ship was lowering its array of landing gear in the Tra-Kirakna Naval Airfield. Jasken unclipped his belt and went through the landing checklist before going to meet the dignitaries waiting for him outside the ship. He was just finishing up when a blue-spotted Raki entered the bridge.
“Dekken,” he asked the Chief Engineer, “how did our shields hold up?”
“Very well, we’re still at ninety-five percent. It was a short trip on a well-trodden path, so I’m not particularly surprised, but that’s still an improvement over our typical shield degradation rates.”
“Excellent. Please finish getting the ship over to stationary mode, but be advised we’ll only be staying on this world for 48 hours.”
“Yes, sir,” said Dekken.
***
In another part of the airfield, former-Admiral Grim watched the Wingspan landing from where he hid in a cargo vessel. With the information he had gathered from the Comms Officer back on Hittania it had been fairly easy to sneak into the fort and stow away with a shipment of iron samples to Kirakna. The hard part would be sneaking aboard the Wingspan.
The entrances would be heavily guarded, but the landing gear wouldn’t. He should be able to climb up into the landing gear at night if he was cautious. That would make for a miserable ride, though a survivable one for a robot. He’d have to wait for nightfall, regardless. He considered just staying on Kirakna to look for work, making his way back to the Collective along the way. There were plenty of pirate crews he could join up with, and he could easily join one and blend into the background. However, he not only wanted his admiralship back. He wanted revenge. And that meant he needed money and resources, which he could certainly get if he was able to provide solid information about the Cornucopia Cluster to the Astralbians.
He settled in. The cargo wasn’t supposed to be unloaded until tomorrow, so he sat back and waited for nightfall.
***
The next morning, Vanbrook walked into the balmy Kiraknan air and inhaled deeply. Space travel was always a bit chilly, and Hittania and Griffonia’s temperate climates hadn’t offered much warmth, either. He looked around the dome, surveying the city from the airfield, which was located on a massive plain that jutted out from near the mountain’s peak.
“Twelve hours isn’t much of a leave,” said Reclan gloomily as she walked out next to Vanbrook.
“No,” replied Vanbrook, “but it’s more than some of the others are gonna get. Besides, we’ve only been on active duty for about a week.”
“Yeah, but there’s more than twelve hours worth of seafood I’d like to try.”
“Alright,” Vanbrook replied, chuckling. “Well, let’s walk into town and see what we can find for…” he checked his comm for the local time, “Late breakfast? Brunch?”
“Sounds like a plan,” replied the Dromean.
“Talon Squad, report to the bridge immediately.”
Jasken’s voice came over the comms channel, washing over them like a cold wave. Reclan groaned. Vanbrook chuckled mirthlessly.
“So much for seafood,” said Reclan. The two squadmates turned around and walked back into the Wingspan.