Farbin checked the cargo manifest for the outgoing shipment. Three tons of perishable food, one and a half tons of nonperishable food, five tons of precious metals, half a ton of miscellaneous technology and items of interest. Not a bad load.
The cargo car went through the gate, now stationed by Farbin’s war fleet. The gate was opened to Drakmund itself, and he hoped to hear from the council soon. A brief acknowledgement of his victory had been the only communication he’d received since the brief conversation he held with them after opening the gate.
“Herald,” said Commander Cenfil, Farbin’s ground operations commander, speaking through their communications network. “We have a request for termination of a beast soldier.”
“Where and why,” asked Farbin, bringing up the beast command screen on his console.
“The north side of the city, right on the outer fringes of a small residential area,” answered the commander. “A beast was found standing over the corpses of the rest of its squad. A squad of infantry scouts heard a skirmish and investigated. They were attacked, only three survived.”
Farbin frowned. “There are no beast units in that area of the city. Send me the tracking information for the survivors immediately.”
“Yes, sir,” answered the commander.
Finding their real-time location, Farbin kept an eye on them as he rewound the data. He found the fight, watching it in reverse, the screen repopulated with the pips associated with the now-deceased beast and infantry soldiers. He stopped when he was back to where all four beast soldiers were alive. Something had looked wrong, but he was, after all, watching in reverse. He played the fight back now. A beast soldier’s dot disappeared, quickly followed by another. The final beast’s dot disappeared, and then the infantry’s dots appeared.
No, that couldn’t be right. There still had to be a living beast. That’s what the scouts reported as having killed their comrades. He sifted through the data, searching for answers that dots on a screen couldn’t convey. Three dead beasts, five dead infantry scouts, three live infantry scouts and one disabled beast. Disabled. Not dead. Something had destroyed its transponder without killing it. That shouldn’t be possible, but neither should traveling beyond lightspeed.
“Cenfil,” he said, reaching back out to the Commander. “Send a team out to the area where the scouts encountered the rogue beast soldier. Something is wrong with its transponder, so be wary.”
“Understood,” answered the commander. “Shall I send the three scouts that survived the encounter?”
“No,” answered Farbin. “Their term of service has ended.”
“Understood, sir,” answered Cenfil.
Flicking back through the screen, he terminated the three surviving scouts with the push of a button. A soldier that fled was useless to him.
***
“Weeks of work, ruined!” roared Trebor as he climbed down the ladder into the caverns that lead to the Undercity.
Darvik shook his head in the dark, fairly certain Trebor wasn’t looking at him. The winding network of caves they’d just walked, stooped, and crawled through was irritating enough without having to deal with another one of Trebor’s tirades.
“Can it, Trebor,” said Grepk, the only one in the group that had the right mix of authority and guts to talk back to Trebor without suffering any consequences. “I’m sure we gained something useful from the experience.”
Trebor jammed the injector into Creddik’s neck a little more harshly than necessary.
“Ow!” protested the prisoner. “That’s flagrant abuse!”
Trebor swung a fist into Creddik’s snout, sending the lanky Dromean sprawling.
“No, that’s better than you deserve!” snapped Trebor.
Grepk reached out with an armored hand and grabbed Trebor by the collar, drawing him in so his nose was touching Grepk’s bubble helmet. “Cool it, or you’ll find yourself in the holding cells, too. You think just because Griffonia has fallen that our standards have, too?”
Trebor pulled away, and Grepk let him go. The Marine knew it wasn’t a good look to dress down a fellow officer like that, but Trebor had it coming. Everyone was on edge. That didn’t give anyone a right to push the others.
Darvik, being closest to Creddik, offered him a hand. Creddik slapped it out of the way as he picked himself up. Darvik snorted in bemused annoyance, turning from the psychic and heading off down the tunnel to the Undercity.
Another set of heavy blast doors blocked the way, and Darvik pushed the button that let him communicate with the guards on the other side.
“It’s us, we’re back,” said Darvik.
“You know that’s not good enough,” said the voice.
Darvik sighed. “Griffonia forever.”
The blast doors began to lift. Darvik shook his head. What was so wrong with being a duelist, anyway? Ever since he forfeited that career, it seemed like he was always falling into a life of cloak-and-dagger nonsense, a little deeper every year.
“Do we have a patient?” asked Glynn, standing anxiously inside the door.
“No,” said Darvik, rubbing the back of his neck. “But we're all back alive.”
“We missed our chance,” spat Trebor.
“But we'll get another,” said Grepk, shooting Trebor a dirty look. “Creddik did great, but we got interrupted. He can fill you in on the details when we debrief with Prime Minister Skritka.”
The agents and Marines continued on into the tunnels, Glynn now in tow. Stepping out into the public halls on their way to the insurgent government headquarters located in the lower portions of the Keep, they found themselves accosted by a recording device, held out towards them by none other than Jrenka.
“What's it like up there?” She asked. “Did you gather any useful intel?”
“Ugh, just ask your dad later,” said Keshri. “We're busy.”
Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.
“I want some first hand information,” demanded Jrenka. “I'm trying to keep people informed down here. Everyone's restless and a little news aside from Da- aside from the Prime Minister’s occasional press releases helps calm the nerves.”
“Look,” said Grepk. “I can tell you that the Drakmundi are mortal. I saw about half a dozen die just now.”
Eyes brightening, Jrenka nodded. “Great, great, do they have particular weaknesses? How were they killed?”
“I'm afraid I can't give you anymore than that right now,” said Grepk.
“I did it,” said Creddik.
Jrenka looked hard at the drug-dazed criminal dressed up like an RTS agent.
“You're supposed to stay quiet!” whispered Trebor fiercely.
“You're Creddik, the Puppeteer!” said Jrenka. “You're with the ‘good guys,’ now? Have you cracked the Drakmundi’s rumored psychic defenses?”
“That's enough!” shouted Trebor.
Darvik and Yellup hustled a smug and smirking Creddik down the hall. Grepk put an armored hand on Jrenka’s shoulder.
“Hey, look, I know this is what you do. And you're right, people need to have something to keep them going. But have you thought about how you could work with us, instead of against?”
“Propaganda?” she asked, her snout crinkling in disgust.
Grepk shrugged. “That's an ugly word. I'm not suggesting you lie. I'm asking, how can you put your skills to use to fight the Drakmundi? If this is the best use of your time and talents, so be it. Just, uh, think about it.”
He turned and followed the others down the hall. Jrenka watched him go, lost in thought as she clicked her recording device off.
***
Drixen led his squadron out to face the swarm of wasps that had risen up to meet them. Painted with the blacks, reds, and purples of the Koomites, the wasps and their aethersuited riders fired lasers and ballistics at the approaching fighters.
“Okay, folks,” said Drixen. “Let's keep these guys occupied. Watch your sixes, these aren't the Astralbians we're used to dealing with.”
“And remember,” said an unfamiliar, chiming voice. “The Astralbians here are on your side. Make sure your targets are painted purple and the riders aren't wearing green.”
A squadron of wasps flew out of Rewna's star tree, joining the Griffonian fighters.
“Fair enough,” said Drixen with a chuckle. “You heard ‘em, folks, check your fire.”
The two forces collided, incoming fire destroying a number of Koomite wasps on the first run. The fighters peeled off to come around for a second run, but Rewna’s wasps physically collided with the enemy, wasps and riders engaging in deadly hand-to-hand combat. The wasps grappled with one another, each fighting for their lives to keep the other’s deadly stinger from finding its mark. Drixen had to admit it was an impressive sight.
Down below, Koomites of various races worked frantically to load up their two small star trees with ill-gotten gains. Their encampment was fortified with crude log barriers, filled with cattle and cultists trying to coax them on to the star trees with little success.
Once the fighters had engaged with the wasps, Reclan flew the shuttle out of the Bombard’s hangar. Given the value of the stolen property, mostly cattle, Frek-Rep had asked Yulun to refrain from simply bombing the enemy out of existence. The plan was to land the shuttle with guns blazing and have Talon Squad lead the charge with a small detachment of sailors from the Bombard accompanying them.
The Koomites stopped their work as soon as they saw the shuttle, taking up arms and hiding behind the crude log barriers. Since the cattle were far enough back that Reclan was sure she wouldn’t harm them, she let loose with the shuttle’s guns, blasting the logs to smithereens and forcing the surviving Koomites to fall back. The back doors of the shuttle opened the moment it landed, and Vanbrook led the charge down the ramp and around towards the fleeing cultists. Leaving Reclan to man the shuttle, Raivyn, D’Jarric, and Doc stayed close behind, and the sailors, armed with rifles, followed them, fanning out to either side so they could take shots at the enemy.
Up above, the fighters continued to battle the Koomites. Rewna’s star tree and the Bombard hovered nearby to take out any enemy wasps that strayed too far from the fight. The Koomite riders were surprisingly skilled, presumably trained by Trilia’s people. They had taken to combining the wasp’s maneuverability and laser eyes with psychic attacks, attempting to drive fear into the enemy pilots and riders.
“Don’t let them get to you!” shouted Drixen, watching one of his fighters explode.
The pilot had gotten sloppy, and Drixen worried it was the telepathic attacks, rather than a lapse in discipline, that had caused the loss.
“We’re not outfitted for psychic attacks, Textbook!” said Kaihla.
“Sure we are, Cowgirl,” he replied. “No one’s made of tougher stuff than a Griffonian fighter pilot!”
“Is that so?” asked the Astralbian commander. “I think my riders have taken out more Koomites than your pilots.”
“Oh, yeah?” said Drixen. “You hear that, folks? It’s officially a competition!”
“Ha! Not much of one!” called a pilot.
“You’re on!” cried a rider.
Drixen smiled. He’d have to find a way to thank that commander when this was all over.
Meanwhile, on the ground below, Vanbrook had leapt the splintered barriers and was hot on the heels of the Koomites as they tried to round the cattle up into the star trees. It wasn’t going well for them as they had to stop and try to push the Griffonians back every couple of steps.
Pistol barking and saber slashing, Vanbrook activated his wrist-mounted energy shield and kept pressing the attack, pushing the enemy to either board a star tree or back up into the nervous-looking cattle. He felt a psychic attack coming on, icy fingers of hostile T-waves stabbing into his brain, but Raivyn saw the attacker staring him down and fired a T-bolt into his mind, knocking him off his feet and interrupting the attack. Vanbrook nodded his thanks over his shoulder and dove back into the fight.
D’Jarric refrained from shooting blasts of energy from his fists, concerned he’d kill the cattle that were now uncomfortably close to the frontline of the battle, but his energized fists had no problem taking out Koomites in close combat. Doc had no such compunctions about his rifle and picked off the more distant sharpshooters that threatened to do the same to them.
With roars and bellows, the cattle let everyone know they’d had enough.
“Everyone clear out!” ordered Vanbrook, seeing clearly what was about to happen. The sailors, already hanging back from the thick of the fight, backed off and vaulted out of the enclosure as the cattle reared up and began to churn within the enclosure.
Talon Squad backed up, watching in horror as the Koomites were trampled under the heavy hooves of tri-horn Aeratan cattle. Vanbrook backed up, but found himself flanked by two angry bulls.
Looking over the shoulder of one of the bulls, he could see a group of cultists struggling to get just one more bull onto their star tree, looking anxious to finish loading up and get away.
Turning to the bull in front of him, he planted his feet and raised his saber. The bull to his right would just have to wait, though he raised his buckler in a dubious defense against the half-ton beast.
The bull stared Vanbrook right in the eyes, stamping a hoof and snorting. Vanbrook tensed, waiting for either bull to make its move, and was shocked to see the eyes of the bull he was facing glaze over and become complacent. Looking over at the other and seeing a similar dazed expression, he turned to see Raivyn standing with her eyes closed, her fingers to her temples.
“There,” she said, her eyes fluttering open. “They ought to be a bit more manageable now.”
“Hey, thanks for that,” said Vanbrook, turning his attention to the further star tree, where the last crewmen were climbing aboard. “But we better go clear out that tree!”
“Sailors,” barked Raivyn. “Sweep this first tree. Talon Squad, let's take care of the second one.”
Running up the ramp, Vanbrook slammed shield first into the Raki cultist guarding the door, pushing him in and allowing Raivyn to jump in after. D'Jarric was nearly at the door when it slammed shut, closing like an eyelid despite its wooden appearance.
D'Jarric was forced to leap from the ramp as he and Doc ran away from the thruster roots that had already begun to rumble.They hit the ground, covering their heads. The roar of the thrusters rose to a crescendo and then began to quiet as the pair turned to watch the star tree rise into the aether, taking Vanbrook and Raivyn with it.