“Direct hit!” Billy yelled. “Maki frigate is breaking off!”
A chorus of whoops bellowed across the bridge.
I don’t know who’s flyin’ that thing, but I owe ‘em a drink. Taylor had barely caught his breath when Smitty turned to face him. “Chief, we’re being hailed.”
“Put it to speakers.” Taylor waited for her to give him the you’re on signal. “Unidentified vessel, we’re much obliged for the—”
A stream of incoherent syllables poured through the intercom speakers, filling the room with a garbled ball of noise. Eventually, the syllables formed into words once Taylor’s pinplants could iron out the phonetics and syntax.
“Identify yourself and state your business immediately,” the male voice demanded.
Taken aback by the alien’s tone, Taylor glanced to Billy, who shrugged. “This is the EMS Ryley Osyrys. And who might you be?”
A long pause preceded the alien’s reply. “What company do you represent?”
“Pardon?” Taylor asked.
“You began your vessel’s identification with the letters EMS,” the alien said. “That stands for Earth Mercenary Ship, does it not? I will therefore ask again. What company do you represent?”
Taylor narrowed his gaze. “Swamp Eagle Security out of Jacksonville, North Florida. Why?”
Something that sounded an awful lot like gasps filled the line.
Oh, that can’t be good. Taylor’s eyes bulged at the alien’s next question.
“Where’s Terry Van Zant?”
* * * * *
Part Two
Chapter 8: Ruined
Taylor sat in stunned silence as the only reply he could muster inched its way to his lips. “Excuse me?”
“Terry Van Zant,” the voice repeated. “Where is he? I must speak with him at once.”
Incredulous looks bounced across the bridge like ricochets.
“Ahem.” Billy motioned for Smitty to mute the channel. “What’s going on here?”
No one had a clue, least of all Taylor. He reopened the comm. “I’m sorry, but Terry ain’t here.”
“Why not?” the alien asked. “Where is he? And who are you?”
Taylor exhaled and gave his name. “I’m the Eagles’ commander and chief executive officer. Have been for about a year now.”
Another pause.
“The frigate you encountered is doubtless in the process of repairing her systems,” the alien said. “She’ll return soon. We should leave, immediately.”
Taylor tried in vain to stifle a chuckle. “Listen, whoever you are. I appreciate the help just now, but I ain’t in the habit of takin’ my crew anywhere, much less deeper into unknown space with folks I don’t know. Why should I trust you?”
The alien heaved a sigh. “Because once, long ago, your brother did.”
Taylor had deliberately not mentioned his relationship to Terry. Who are you? It was then that he got his first real look at the alien ship’s appearance on the Tri-V. The vessel was tiny, maybe the size of a school bus, with a sleek armored frame, dual laser turrets, and a square-shaped nose that, oddly enough, reminded Taylor of a shark. Hammerhead.
“Hey Chief?” Billy glanced up from his station. “I hate to press you here, but the alien’s right. That frigate just re-fired her main reactor. She’s preparing to come around.”
“If you’re thinking of making a run at the stargate, don’t,” the alien said. “The Krulig control it. They’ll never let you through.”
“What the hell’s a Krulig?” Taylor asked.
“They’re the beings who operate this system,” the alien said. “I’ll explain later, but for now we must get to the surface. My people can offer your ship and crew safe harbor on Rukoria, but we must hurry.”
Rukoria? Taylor glanced back to Billy who spoke his next words via pinplants for privacy.
“If these people wanted us dead, they’d have never intervened on our behalf,” the XO said. “They’d have let that frigate fight it out with us. I say we hear them out, at least until we can find a viable way to transition out of here.”
Taylor muttered a curse. “Alien vessel, we are inclined to comply with your request. Lead the way. My ship will follow you down.”
“Acknowledged,” the alien said.
The trek to the planet took about an hour, at which time the Osyrys encountered the same atmospheric turbulence as it had leaving Earth. Oddly enough, Taylor didn’t think twice about it this time. He was too wrapped up in his own thoughts to notice. Who are these people, and what’s their connection to Terry? Why don’t they know he’s dead? Do they know who may’ve been responsible for the accident? Taylor had spent six long years pondering these questions. Now, it seemed he was finally poised to get some answers.
Once the Osyrys had crossed through Rukoria’s stratosphere, she began her descent through the clear, blue sky toward a massive expanse of desert below.
“Sensors are detecting something on the surface,” Frank said.
“Can you be a little more specific?” Billy asked.
Frank gave another pass of his screen. “Sorry, sir, but I can’t. It’s not giving off any sort of readings, electromagnetic or otherwise. Whatever it is, though, it’s big.”
“How big?” The words had barely left Taylor’s lips when the mass in question came into view via the ship’s ventral cameras on the Tri-V.
Boasting a jagged skyline that went on for miles in all directions, the sprawling metropolis ahead looked more like a junkyard than an actual city. Its buildings—what remained of them anyhow—resembled towering hulks of twisted metal, whereas the smaller ancillary structures favored scorched mounds of steel and ash.
There was also, best as Taylor could tell, no detectable movement on the ground. Just an empty maze of abandoned streets lined with trash and debris. What happened here?
Static crackled the intercom.
“Your sensors should be reading a nav beacon roughly five degrees to port,” the alien said. “Have your pilot shift your vector toward it. There, you’ll find an open docking bay, waiting to receive you.”
Taylor wrinkled his nose. “Is this bay below ground?”
“It is,” the alien said. “Our Sanctuary possesses a jamming system that will mask your ship’s EM signature, but it must reside underground. It’s how we keep our own ships hidden from the Krulig. As I said, safe harbor.”
Taylor was anything but comforted by that explanation. He motioned Frank to make the adjustment. “We’re headed there now.”
“Excellent,” the alien said. “We’ll see you shortly.”
Feeling the Osyrys shift her descent, Taylor continued his survey of the devastation below. In many respects, it reminded him of the pictures he’d seen of Iran last century after the Galactic Union had bombed that country following the ISIS attack at first contact.
“We’ve got activity ahead,” Billy said.
The Tri-V toggled onto a large, rectangular hole which was situated between two of the larger buildings.
“Is that thing big enough for us?” Smitty asked. Meanwhile, the gunboat descended into a smaller aperture nearby.
“Yeah, but it’s gonna be tight,” Frank said. “No offense to the Powers That Be, but I need everyone in this room to shut their mouths for a minute and let me work.”
“Do your thing, Brother,” Taylor said.
The Buma’s hands were a blur of feathery digits at his station. “Touchdown in ten…nine…”
The scene in the Tri-V turned from blue skies and scorched earth to the slate-gray confines of a docking hangar as the Osyrys’s thrusters fired outside.
“Five,” Frank said. “Four…three…”
A mild thump reverberated through the hull—the landing struts touching ground—followed by the whir of the engines’ deceleration sequence.
“And we’re down,” Billy announced.
Taylor felt his nerves relax. “Way to thread the needle, Frank. You’re as skilled as advertised.”
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The Buma exhaled and disconnected his pinplants.
Now free to move, Taylor unbuckled from his seat and headed for the bridge lockers to get an oxygen kit.
“I don’t think you’re gonna need that.” Quint pointed to his screen. “It looks like this world’s atmosphere is close to Earth’s. We oughta be fine.”
Taylor took a kit anyway then closed the locker. “Smitty, touch base with the platoon sergeants to see how our troopers are doin’. After that, meet me and Billy at the debarkation hatch on E deck. Quint, you have the con.”
Billy opened his mouth to speak, but Taylor was already in motion.
“You sure you wanna do this?” Billy asked once they’d reached the hatch. “You’re the commanding officer of this entire outfit. It makes sense that you’d stay on the bridge and leave the site work to me.”
The indicator above the door flashed red to green.
“It’s like you said before,” Taylor replied. “If these folks wanted us dead, they’d have never gotten involved with that frigate.”
“Who says they want us dead?” Billy cocked his head. “Trust me, there’s a ton of bad stuff you can do to an enemy that doesn’t involve a flatline. I agreed with your decision to come down here, but let’s slow our roll here and be smart about this.”
Taylor stared at the deck. “These guys referenced my brother by name, Billy. You can spout protocol to me all you want. I can’t not be a part of this.”
Footfalls sounded from the adjacent corridor.
“Hey, Smitty,” Billy said once the Aussie had rounded the corner. “How are the troopers?”
“The probies are a bit shaken, which is to be expected,” Smitty said. “Still, the veterans are holding things together.”
“Jack and Stan?” Taylor asked.
“Surprisingly on the ball,” Smitty said to her boss. “I’ll admit it. The farts were a good hire. Your reporter friend, on the other hand, needed the threat of house arrest before she’d follow my order to stay in her cabin.”
Taylor nodded his thanks then started for the hatch, only to be met by a hand in his chest.
“Let me and Smitty clear the area before you debark,” Billy said. “We’ll let you know when you’re good.”
“That up for debate?” Taylor asked.
“Not even a fargin little,” Billy said. “Now step aside.”
Taylor frowned and stepped back while Billy pulled his Firestorm and placed his finger along the trigger guard. A beat later, the hatch swung open, and both officers rushed through it.
“Clear,” Billy called.
“Clear,” Smitty followed.
Taylor emerged from the Osyrys to join them.
As it turned out, the hangar bay which housed them was far larger than its entrance, spanning several hundred yards in every direction. Most of the space was illuminated from above by artificial lights, which became apparent when the aperture above the Osyrys sealed shut, choking off the last bits of sunlight.
No, that ain’t disconcertin’ at all. Taylor looked around but only saw his officers.
“Check it out,” Smitty said.
Taylor followed her gesture past a dark console and a matted wad of exposed wiring to the hangar’s back wall. There, slumbering on a platform beside two more of its kind, was the alien gunboat. Where’s your crew?
The hiss of hydraulics reverberated through the chamber, sending all three Humans stepping back with weapons up. Next, the gunboat’s side hatch opened, and three figures, two males and a female, emerged from the craft wearing ratty brown trousers and matching tunics. Of average height and lean, the aliens were surprisingly humanoid with deep, charcoal gray skin, snow white hair, and luminescent gold eyes which seemed to glimmer in the dim lights overhead.
“You may lower your firearms,” the center alien said. He was shorter than the other male with a slender frame and close-cropped white hair.
Taylor recognized his voice from earlier.
“I can assure you that you are among friends here,” the alien said.
Taylor motioned his people to stand down. “Who are you?”
“My name is Yakano Valawn.” The alien bowed his head. “I am commander of the Rukori Freedom Corps, or RFC, and head of this facility. These are my first officers, Sergeants Douron and Balar.”
The brawnier male with dreadlocks bowed, then the female.
Taylor gave the only response he knew. “Mornin’, y’all.”
Valawn chuckled. “Indeed, you are from North Florida.”
Taylor wasn’t sure how to take that. “This is Commander Dinah Smith, head of Riverside Company. The other is Captain William Dawson, my executive officer.”
Both officers nodded.
“William Dawson?” Valawn all but ignored Smitty. “As in, Billy Dawson?”
“That’s right,” Billy said awkwardly.
“Terry used to speak quite highly of you.” Valawn extended a hand. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
Billy studied the stranger’s palm before shaking it. “Yeah, sure. You, too.”
“You mentioned before that your brother is no longer in charge of the Eagles,” Valawn said. “May I inquire as to why that is, and why he did not come with you?”
Taylor didn’t answer.
“Is he…back on Earth?” the alien pressed.
Taylor wasn’t sure how to respond, or if he even wanted to. Ultimately, he opted to stick with the honesty is the best policy approach. “My brother passed away six years ago.”
“Six years.” Valawn’s voice trailed off, his expression turning abruptly pensive. “Please forgive me if this is out of line, but may I ask how it happened?”
Taylor did his best to abridge the story for time. Once he’d finished, the alien commander took a few moments before speaking again.
“I, um.” Valawn swallowed. “I’m terribly sorry for your loss, Colonel Van Zant. Truly, I am.”
“It’s just Chief,” Taylor said. “Terry was the colonel of this outfit, not me. Now, can I ask you some questions?”
Valawn managed the slightest of nods.
“Who in the hell are you people,” Taylor asked, “and what was your connection to my brother?”
Billy cleared his throat. “While you’re at it, you can explain how and why it is our flagship brought us here.”
Valawn wrinkled his gray-skinned nose. “Am I to understand that you’ve never heard of us?”
Taylor shook his head.
“And you’ve never heard of the Krulig, nor their presence on Rukoria?”
All three Humans gave blank stares.
“Well then.” Valawn straightened and turned for a nearby exit. “We have much to discuss, indeed. Come with me, and I’ll endeavor to answer all of your questions.”
Taylor fell in line with the others as the name Keeto flashed in his lower-right field of vision. “Yeah, Keeto. What’s up?”
“I’ve completed my preliminary analysis of the Osyrys’s damage from engineering,” the Athal said. “Now I’d like to inspect the hull from the outside, if it’s safe.”
Taylor relayed his lead engineer’s request to Valawn who nodded is okay. “You’re clear, Keeto. Come on out.”
The sound of fluttering wings bristled from inside the Osyrys’s debarkation hatch as Keeto darkened the doorway. “Ah, Chief. There you are. I need—” The Athal’s globular eyes bulged. “This cannot be.”
“It can’t be what?” Billy asked, renewed alarm in his voice.
Keeto floated down to the gunboats. “This is First Republic technology.”
“First Republic?” Taylor blinked. “As in, the society of folks that existed before the Galactic Union?”
Keeto nodded but didn’t reply. He hovered there, staring in awe at the tiny ships.
“We call them bandilaroes,” Valawn said. “Our ancestors left them to us many thousands of years ago. Now come. I’ll explain everything.”
* * * * *
Chapter 9: T
ime in a Bottle
Taylor saw to his engineer’s need, then followed their host out of the bay with Billy and Smitty.
In stark contrast to the open hangar, the rest of Valawn’s Sanctuary seemed cramped and uncomfortable. A bi-leveled complex of scarred steel and pitted concrete, the place was little more than a collection of spartan living spaces interconnected by a series of dimly lit corridors.
The group paused when two other aliens passed them in the hall. Both wore the same tattered garments as their comrades and regarded the Humans with curious gold eyes.
“How many people live down here?” Billy asked when the aliens had gone.
“A hundred six, as of last count,” Valawn said. “We have other cells scattered topside about the badlands. However, this facility serves as the hub for all RFC operations in the region.”
Badlands. Taylor wondered if that meant the desert or the city inside it. “As fallout shelters go, it’s an impressive place. Did you build it yourselves?”
“No.” Valawn shook his head. “It belonged to one of the regents who presided over this district before it fell. As it happened, he was also something of a collector, with the bandilaros you saw in our hangar being his most prized possessions.”
Taylor gathered from his host’s use of the past tense that the regent wasn’t around anymore to claim his possessions.
Rounding their fifth corner into a new corridor, the group entered a stairwell which took them down to a makeshift briefing room on Level Two. A meager space with grime-stained walls and a scuffed floor, the room housed a rectangular table with stool chairs and a viewscreen on the back partition. There was, however, an odd swirl painting by the door, which gave the room its only color.
“Please, make yourselves comfortable,” Valawn said.
Taylor nabbed a stool across the table so as to put his back to the wall then watched their host vanish into a corner. When the alien returned, he did so holding a tray of glasses with an all-too-familiar bottle—or rather, a jar.
Free Bird Rising Page 9
