Chapter 6

“Lord Bane, are you receiving?” The monitor crackled. “This is, Commander Craven-”

“I hear you, Terovian.” The screen flashed displaying a young, handsome, black-haired man, adorned in jewelry, sitting atop an ornately designed command chair. His dark eyes penetrated the screen like a bayonet as he stroked a rabbit-like creature nestled in his lap. “Speak.” He said, waving his gaudy rings.

“We have arrived on the lunar surface, but only our galleon made it through the Galaxis’ perimeter.” The Terovians were humanoid, but with oversized, pointed ears, and a less than human gothic countenance. Craven bore sharp features, underscoring his narrow scowl. His muscular arms were elaborately tattooed, while his head was bald save for a long plume of coarse dark hair, identifying him as the Terovian commander. Bones and tokens of war were embedded in his face, while smaller, decorative chains wound through his scalp to make him his own unique work of art. “You assured me we would have clear passage. That was our agreement.”

“I know our agreement, Craven. I made it,” Bane mocked. “I was informed your route would be safe. I will deal with that matter.”

“It cost me three ships, and hundreds of raiders,” Craven replied. “What am I to tell their families?”

“Amusing,” Bane scoffed. “A Terovian would even feign concern over his lost raiders. Cutthroats with a soul.”

“I’m still out three warships.”

“I know Craven,” Bane countered nonchalantly. “I owe you. Let’s double our agreement and call it even, hmm?”

“Not quite.” Craven folded his sinewy forearms. “I want Antures.”

“A planet?” Bane laughed. “And one that can bear life, no less. Why? So, you can ravage it? Plunder its resources?”

“Our sun is dying, Bane!” Craven pointed at the screen. “We have sought a new home world for centuries. It could-”

Bane’s tone shifted. “The planet you have requested belongs to Necromanos. You dare ask for something that belongs to the overlord. I should have your worthless home-world devoured by a Maligore for even suggesting such a thing.”

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Craven averted his eyes, sensing he had crossed a line. “Triple the original amount and it’s done.”

Bane grinned, knowing simple riches in any amount were at his disposal. “Triple it is. You’ll never have to run another raid or step aboard a galleon or whatever that is again.”

“Thank you, Lord Bane,” Craven bowed half-heartedly.

“Payment will be made when I have the Scion’s head. And beheading him is the easiest surest way to destroy him,” Bane said, admiring his rings. “Necromanos demands this as soon as possible, before the Scion can attain his full power. He is nearly helpless now, but I can tell you firsthand, never underestimate a Scion. Craven, I must warn you; I have sent my void as well.” Bane stroked his pet, twisting the nape of its neck. “The void are always hungry. They feed on any life force, any emotion they can… especially fear.” Bane slipped his fingers around the creature’s throat, tightening his grip until it squealed, its feet kicking wildly. He stared into its pleading eyes, savoring its terror until the crescendo of its cries simply stopped.

Bane exhaled, satisfied. “Do not fail me, Craven.” He tossed the corpse aside before his image blinked off the screen.

“Vorgan,” Craven spoke into a communicator on his shoulder. He studied the holographic map for a few seconds when the door slid open behind him.

“You called, commander?” Vorgan’s voice boomed off the walls of the chamber. Over a foot taller than Craven and twice as wide, the immense Terovian bore his own unique blend of decorative body art, accentuated by a set of three smooth white tusks penetrating the flesh around each of his cheekbones. His head was bald, tattooed, and embedded with chains that resembled barbed wire.

“Bane wants this done, now. I could not tell him our ship still needs to recharge its energy cells.”

“I have instructed our crew to place the war-galleon in hibernation to expedite its recovery.” Vorgan’s voice rumbled more like a growl. “It will be at least two solar days before they are capable of cloaking again.”

“We need to act, Vorgan.” Craven pounded his fist into his hand. “The shuttles can take at least fifty Raiders at-”

“Their cells are linked to the main ship. The shuttles are useless.”

Craven tugged at his chin. “The probes are able to cloak themselves. We can use them to get to the surface.”

“The probes will make it there, but they cannot return without recharging.” Vorgan stared into Craven’s own frigid glare. “If I may, I will lead a detachment and bring the glory of the Scion’s death to my clan.”

Craven smiled. “Loyal, Vorgan! Always up for the hunt. There are four probes. How many can each hold?”

“Two, perhaps three, if they are not as large as I.”

“Excellent. Gather a crew. We have little time.” Craven rotated the holographic Earth between his hands. “The area is well populated. You understand what that means?”

“I look forward to eliminating all evidence of our presence.” Vorgan nodded, ominously. “And of course, the Scion.”