Jylik watched the Republic-led fleet advance towards his position. Trilia and the highest ranking tree priests stood by him.
Finally, force against force would determine the victor, and he was confident in the strength of his fleet. Raised in the nutrient-rich soil of Avonia, Gateway, and Thioa, his star trees were more durable and better armed than any his father had ever possessed.
The siege below was a nuisance to be dealt with in its turn. The Republic could burn that orchard to the ground; he'd build another using their corpses as fertilizer. Nonetheless, he hated to waste any forces at his disposal.
"Trilia," he said. "Are your Koomites ready to receive our guests?"
"Yes, my Emperor," she answered. "And the strongest telepaths are aboard this very mother tree, ready for tele-war operations under my command.”
"Very well," said Jylik, turning to his head tree priest. "Ready the void wasps. It's time to engage the enemy."
***
Vanbrook came back to consciousness gasping. He was still holding the injector and standing over Raivyn, who stirred and stood up. Her hand went to her head and she cried out.
"Not again!" said Vanbrook.
"No, no," said Raivyn. "It's not Koo L'Koom, I had just forgotten about my eye. The pain caught me off guard."
Van looked around. "We're pretty lacking in terms of medicine, or even clean bandages."
Darvik was walking back over. "Here,” he said, taking a small packaged bandage out of his pocket. “That’s about all I’ve got as far as first aid goes, but it does have a mild anesthetic.”
“Thanks, Darvik,” said Raivyn, taking the bandage.
“I guess you’re all stocked up, since you walked into that arena by choice instead of force,” sneered Vanbrook.
“And I fought my way out by choice, too, which I didn’t do for my own skin’s sake!” retorted Darvik.
Vanbrook reached for his sword and stepped toward Darvik menacingly.
Raivyn, with the bandage now strapped over her eye with a strip of cloth, yelled, “Stand down! Both of you! Van, we’re stuck with Darvik. He’ll pay for his crimes, but not right now!”
Vanbrook looked into Raivyn’s good eye for a moment. He wrestled with something deep inside his own mind, his face set and angry. Slowly, his expression softened and he nodded.
“You- You’re right,” he said. He walked down the scale, not looking back at either Darvik or Raivyn.
She looked after him, wishing she felt more pleasure at winning the argument, and then looked over to Darvik. The former cultist was being careful not to meet her eyes. She heaved a sigh and followed behind Vanbrook, Darvik falling in behind her.
This scale was similar to the first one they had crossed, with long, narrow canyons that led down to the base. They came down it slowly, increasingly watchful as they neared the Swamp’s Pride, trying to hug the valley walls and hide behind its curves where possible. The ship had only been a speck at the base of the scale when they’d first climbed onto it, but it was getting larger and larger in their vision.
At long last, the temperature became notably warmer and the air easier to breathe. Though still miles away, the Swamp’s Pride was now clearly visible in the distance, to the point where Vanbrook thought he might be able to make out some tiny figures milling around it and the tall, thin structure that he assumed was the amplifier.
“Alright,” said Raivyn. “Hoon-Kra has no idea we’re coming. That gives us a huge advantage.”
“Only problem is we have to walk across a few miles of open country to get to it,” said Darvik.
“Leave that to me,” said Raivyn. “Keeping a perception bubble up for that kind of distance is going to be extremely taxing. I’ll need you two to deal with Hoon-Kra and any other resistance we find when we get there.”
“Hoon-Kra is a dangerously powerful psychic,” said Darvik. “We’ll need your help.”
“I’ll back you up as best I can,” said Raivyn. She summoned the perception bubble and the team walked out of the valley, marching towards the Swamp’s Pride.
***
The aether was full of heavy fire as the Gladius, the cavalry support ship the Pride’s Aerie and the Apex’s trooper shuttle shot down below the plane of the battle to engage the enemy on the surface.
“Expect heavy fire on the way in,” said Grepk. “We believe the enemy position is pinned down, but they’re likely to have some amount of anti-aircraft at their disposal. Remember, goal number one is to establish contact with the Shairet armies, then we can coordinate with them to destroy the Astralbian’s infrastructure.”
The trip down was smooth until they found themselves in range of the Astralbian’s predicted anti-aircraft weapons. Beams of energy flew past the ships as they took evasive maneuvers. While all three craft had some level of shielding, the trooper transports weren’t meant for direct combat. With that in mind, Grepk kept the Gladius at the front of the formation, taking aim at the enemy’s anti-aircraft positions with his guns.
The Astralbians were holed up in a fortified star tree in the middle of an orchard in which innumerable additional star trees were being grown. The whole area was being protected by shields, with the generators located in some of the outer star trees. The Shairet army was positioned all around the outside of the orchard, concentrated on the side closest to the lake.
“That’s our landing zone,” said Grepk. “Between the lake and the Shairet position.”
The ships landed shortly, and Grepk and Reclan jogged to the Shairet position, where they were quickly found by Chreep.
“Good of you to come back to us!” said the Shairet.
“We’re happy to help,” said Grepk. “But we need a rundown of your situation.”
“We have the enemy under siege, but we find ourselves in a dangerous stalemate,” explained Chreep. “We have enough psychics to keep everyone on a rotation, which has allowed us to maintain an excellent telekinetic shield. However, we have not been able to make a direct assault on their forces. Their weapons far outclass ours.”
Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.
“We have some help we can lend on that front,” said Reclan, turning to the Pride’s Aerie. Chreep looked on in awe as Jasken came riding down the ramp on Ol’ Blue, the griffon’s feathery mane rustling in the breeze as the beast stretched its wings, reveling in the open air, filled with the joy of being alive. Behind Jasken rode a dozen additional griffon riders. The old Admiral smiled, his eyes glinting at the promise of battle.
***
On the far side of the Swamp's Pride, surrounded by a few select cultists, Hoon-Kra danced in place by his life's work: a psychic amplifier so powerful it would kill any mere mortal who tried to utilize it with their own minds.
The mind of Koo L'Koom, however, was more than powerful enough to accommodate the amplifier. It would extend the mind-breaking aura of the beast beyond the Cornucopia Cluster and out into the bloated and hubristic civilizations that blighted the galaxy.
It was finally time. He had finally communed with Koo L’Koom himself, had felt the rush of being drowned in his presence. Now he would share that with the galaxy, and bring back the old order of power and might that had been lost to dynasties and bureaucrats.
He flipped the switch, and the amplifier hummed to life. A series of lights along the side of the six foot black cube flickered on. Hoon-Kra grinned.
There was a distant cry, and Hoon-Kra’s attention snapped to the Swamp’s Pride. Someone had come to join them. They would be sorry they did.
***
As they approached the Swamp's Pride, Raivyn, Vanbrook, and Darvik could better make out the massive antenna tower that had been constructed by one of the glowing yellow lakes.
"That must be the psychic amplifier," said Darvik. "That's our target."
Raivyn dropped the perception bubble once they were under the shadow of the Swamp's Pride. From here they could sneak the old fashioned way, though she was prepared to re-up the bubble if needed.
"Now what?" asked Vanbrook in a whisper.
"If we board the ship we should be able to take it over, use it to destroy the amplifier and escape."
"I could get us in one of the doors," answered Darvik. "I know the codes."
Raivyn shook her head. "Too high a chance we'll be noticed. Even if he doesn't have guards posted, opening a door on a ship like this is pretty noisy. It looked like the ramp was down in the back, maybe we should try that."
"There's almost guaranteed to be someone there," said Vanbrook. "Let's wait and see if anyone comes out there. We can take them by surprise."
"Are we just going to… you know, kill them?" asked Darvik.
"You spontaneously grow a conscience just now?" snapped Vanbrook.
"We'll give them a chance to surrender," said Raivyn, giving Vanbrook a stern look. "They fled a battle and it's debatable whether or not they're really combatants."
"Give me a gun and I'll gladly kill Hoon-Kra and take the heat for it," said Darvik.
Vanbrook and Raivyn looked at each other, trying to gauge the other's reaction to the suggestion, when Raivyn was suddenly overcome with a soul-rending headache, collapsing to the ground. Darvik gripped his head and followed suit, falling to the ground.
***
The world was black, and smelled like alcohol and body odor. Something was in his hands. He looked down and saw the knife he’d killed Wilbis with. He threw it away, his stomach turning as he realized he was still wearing the clothes he’d worn that night, so long ago. Or was it just tonight?
He looked around, seeing nothing but a glowing red mist behind himself. Something in that mist made Darvik feel that he had to run. He tried to stare the glow down, but it refused to recognize him. It felt at the same time like a living predator and an unfeeling force. It had no desire to kill him in the way a person has a desire; it would simply drown him because that was its nature. Unable to fight the pressure any longer, Darvik turned and ran, but to no avail. The presence simply kept up with him.
He ran, fighting the desire to simply stop and let the monstrosity overtake him. He wasn’t sure how long he ran for–seconds, hours, days, it didn’t matter–when he finally felt something change behind him. He stopped and turned, and his eyes were met with an amazing sight. Something stood between him and the beast’s presence. Someone.
“D- D’Jarric?” stammered Darvik.
The figure was facing Koo L’Koom’s presence, and was wearing a simple cattle herder’s clothing, much like Darvik had seen in his youth on Griffonia, but had something of the glow of a Solaran where the person himself could be seen. He turned around, facing Darvik.
“No, someone else,” said the cowboy, wearing a knowing grin on his radiant face. “You’ve met me before, in a way.”
There was a twinkle in the man’s eye that bothered Darvik. He didn’t like the attention he was getting. There was a terrible pressure in the man’s presence that dwarfed even that of Koo L’Koom.
“Darvik, I have plans for you. So I’m asking you to trust me,” he said, stepping towards Darvik. He stretched out his hand.
Darvik stared at the strange figure, whose silvery radiance seemed to obscure his features, yet he felt at the same time he could read them perfectly. The mouth was set, the eyes were sincere. Darvik trusted him, and took his hand.
***
D’Jarric was sitting across the hot spring from Tru’ik. The two couldn’t talk to one another much, but they had developed a rapport over the time they’d spent together. Tru’ik would make himself a kind of soup from various mushrooms and small aquatic creatures, which he boiled over the spring. D’Jarric sang softly in Solaran or Talpaertan. More and more, Trebor would join them. His recovery was coming along nicely, and the bitter teas and tinctures they brewed for him seemed to help.
It was one of those quiet moments when the headaches began. Tru’ik’s eyes brightened with fear and he looked around wildly. He froze, as if locked in a mental battle for a moment, then returned to the present, skittering away to grab his spear. Soon the camp was swarming with armed Kooans, and they spent the next few minutes organizing themselves as if for battle.
“What are they preparing for?” asked Trebor, holding his aching head.
“Probably them,” said D’Jarric, pointing to a horde of wild Kooans who had just risen up over the horizon.
***
Standing on the deck of the Liberty, Crush watched the battle begin to unfold. She had left her star tree behind for Yrinla to use as needed, so she would direct this battle from aboard her flagship.
Hacksaw stood behind her, his hand reaching for the large pistol he wore at his side. It would be easy, he assured himself. She’d brought it on herself. No one could blame him for taking Grim’s deal. All the platinum he could imagine, becoming a captain in good standing with the Ramshackle Collective, and all he had to do was execute the Robot who had sold out their dreams for some ideal she couldn’t quite articulate, but that had gotten Tank killed. A million excuses ran through his head.
Crush cried out and fell to the deck, and a surge of regret ran through Hacksaw’s circuits. Only, he hadn’t fired. She was on her knees, gripping her head and screaming. His head ached a little, but she was clearly experiencing something on another level entirely. He dropped to his knees beside her, trying to figure out how to help.
***
Jasken soared over Gateway, Ol’ Blue roaring as he rushed into battle against an ill-fated detachment of void wasps. Fenrik and Chreep had worked out the strategy for the assault, and his job was to lead the Cavalry into battle so that the ground team could follow suit. The Shairet psychics would advance, telekinetic shields up, and protect the ranks as best they could, allowing the Shairet infantry to charge and overwhelm the forces outside of the tree. Breaching the tree itself would be the next problem. Behind Jasken, the twelve griffons that made up the Cavalry tore through wasp after wasp while their riders fired anti-materiel rifles at the Astralbian troops and infrastructure below.
A sudden headache caught Jasken off-guard, but he maintained his focus and pursued the wasps. Taking a glancing energy blast from a nearby wasp, Ol’ Blue roared and reached out for the offending creature, gripping its head in his taloned forelegs and crushing through it with his teeth.
When he wheeled around, he could immediately see that something was wrong. It was the psychic troops. They were all gripping their heads or lying on the ground. Some were writhing or twitching where they lay.
“Captain Fenrik,” he called into his comm. “What’s going on down there?”
***
The battle was going well. A number of Ramshackle skiffs had been lost in the initial wave, but that was expected and not entirely unwelcome. Jylik sighed heavily as a small star tree was destroyed. Again, it wasn’t unexpected, and they’d managed to take down a number of fighters and a small support ship. Shutting the great eyes until they were ready to fire had worked as a perfect counter to the Republic’s exploitation of the destructive feedback tactic they had discovered.
There was a series of cries that echoed throughout the command room. Jylik looked around to see Trilia and all the tree priests trembling and writhing in pain. This did not bode well for the battle.
“Hoon-Kra! What has that fool done!” shouted Trilia before succumbing to the agony and passing out.