Galaxy Under Siege

by Tristan Vick

  Both women bowed, gave the Dagon Imperial salute and then, holding a half-bow for forty-seven seconds, as was customary after a dressing down, they slowly eased out of the room avoiding eye-contact with the captain.

  When the doors shut, T’Zera looked at Brei and quipped, “What climbed up her butt?”

  Brei held back a giggle. It wasn’t appropriate. But it was funny. That’s one of the things Brei liked about T’Zera. She was quippy.

  “What was so important that you both had to cut out like that anyway?” Barrion asked, grilling them on the reason they snuck off to the bathroom for a bit of girl-talk.

  “Like I said,” T’Zera lied, “I had to pee.”

  “And you?” Barrion inquired, shifting his gaze to his girlfriend. Brei’Alas looked more nervous than ever and he couldn’t help but wonder what was going on.

  “Nothing. I, uh, peed with her.”

  “At the same time?” Barrion asked skeptically, one eyebrow raised in genuine curiosity.

  “Ew, gross,” T’Zera said, and shoved Barrion out of her chair. He backed away, raising his hands in surrender as he left them to it.

  No sooner had Brei and T’Zera sat down at their posts than the empress herself, Jegra Alakandra, stepped onto the bridge, drawing the attention of everyone present. She glanced around at everyone’s faces and then got down to brass tacks. “Report.”

  “We’ve received an SOS from Dakroth, Your Majesty,” Barrion informed her. Since he was the highest-ranking officer currently on the bridge, it was his obligation to brief the empress.

  He played her the message and as she listened, she looked over at Brei’Alas and stared at her for the entirety of the message.

  T’Zera leaned over and whispered excitedly, “Your new girlfriend is staring at you.”

  “What?” Brei asked, looking over her shoulder. The moment she made eye contact with the empress, Jegra smiled.

  “Lieutenant,” the empress said in that special tone of voice that hinted at the fact that she had a favor to ask of her, “please notify me an hour before we get there. I’ll be in the training arena if you need me.”

  “As Your Eminence wishes,” she said, blushing slightly. With that, Jegra took her leave.

  No sooner had the empress stepped out than T’Zera stood back up and turned to follow her out. As she went, Barrion cleared his throat.

  “Where do you think you’re going now?” he asked, folding his arms disapprovingly.

  “I have to pee. But this time for realsies.” She spun on her heels, whipping her ponytail in his face and sashayed her way right off the bridge.

  After a moment, Brei rose up and stealthily snuck out. When Barrion glanced over at her position only to find her absent, turning just in time to see her slinking out the doors as she followed after T’Zera.

  What has gotten into those two? he wondered.

  As soon as one door closed another opened, and Captain Lianica stepped back onto the bridge only to find Brei and T’Zera’s stations empty once more.

  “Where in the bleeding galaxy are those two now?” she shouted, throwing her hands up in the air.

  A rueful smile formed on Barrion’s pursed lips as he tried to decide the best way on how to answer that. He opened his mouth to speak when, suddenly, she spoke for him.

  “Never mind,” Lianica said, taking her seat. As she leaned back, she slid herself to the edge and crossed her legs. Placing one arm on the armrest and resting her chin on her fist, she blew a stray tuft of hair out of her eyes and muttered, “I’m sure I don’t want to know.”

  19

  A silver flash glinted high above the ring world, Aldebaran. The Shard had arrived with the empress and the remaining survivors of the Human race.

  The massive Nephilim battle cruiser hung in the distance as streams of dotted light pelted the massive ship from nearly every direction from the ring world’s surface. This non-stop plasma fire resembled the spokes of a giant cosmic wheel and the central hub was the golden ship made of light.

  Interestingly enough, the warship seemed unfazed by the excessive amount of firepower. It merely absorbed the plasma bolts in the same mysterious manner that the squiddies did.

  Jegra stood upon the observation deck of the Shard wearing her trademark gladiatrix outfit. Hanging from her neck was metallic triangle pendant, a trophy from the first Scorpion Centurion she defeated bare-handed. She wove the feathers of the razor clawed Emriel Falcon—a bird the size of an Earth elephant—into various parts of her outfit. And she’d made a necklace from the teeth of the various monsters with whom she’d faced off in the Arena.

  A discerning gaze settled on her face and she placed her hands behind her back as she took in the view of the firefight raging outside her window. It wouldn’t be long now. Soon she’d show that bloated walking ego Et’vat H’aaztre precisely why she was the one called Jegra the Merciless.

  She reached up and tapped a magnetic pin that was fastened to her metal bikini top. It chimed once she touched it, and she cleared her throat. “Lianica, this is the empress,” Jegra said, opening a comm link to the bridge. “Prepare the Shard for ramming speed. Full ahead.”

  Lianica’s voice came across the comm, “Copy that, Mother of Dagon.”

  Mother of Dagon was Jegra’s call sign. It’s also what the commoners called her. The refugees, mods, and destitute she’d taken in when she made Thessalonica a safe haven for all also referred to her as the Mother of Dagon. She liked it. And like any mother, she was extremely protective of her children.

  And, speaking of children, it was her duty as empress to be the emperor’s protector. He hadn’t always made it easy on her, but he was still one of the pillars of the Empire. And if she was going to take down H’aaztre, she knew she was going to need Dakroth’s help. Besides, something he’d relayed in the message caught her attention. Something only she’d pick out. “Just like old times,” he’d said.

  Old times. Those were the days when he continually manipulated her. Ensnared her. Double crossed her. And tried to ruin her at every turn. Indeed, those were the good old days. So, why would he tell her to come rescue him and then say it would be like the good old days unless he was trying to send her a message? Perhaps even some kind of warning.

  The Shard’s elongated teardrop shape began to stretch as its hull morphed into an even sleeker version of itself. The pointy tip extended menacingly outward like a harpoon seeking out its prey and the ship’s plasma-coil thrusters ignited to full as it charged toward the Nephilim flagship.

  When the two ships came within firing range of one another, the Nephilim cruiser unloaded hell, firing all forward-facing plasma cannons. Every battery spat out bolts of hot red energy which pinged off the Shard’s reflective hull.

  “You’re not the only ones with an impervious ship,” Captain Blackstar said under her breath as they flew into the hailstorm of plasma bolts.

  Unable to do any damage, the enemy ship’s cannons ceased their barrage, and, almost as soon as they’d stopped firing, swarms of fighters were deployed. Yet not a single one opened fire. Instead, one by one the enemy fighters sacrificed themselves, each one crashing into the silver teardrop-shaped vessel and exploding against its hull.

  This too didn’t faze the Shard’s liquid metal hull which was designed to take just such a beating. The little ships, which were little more than gnats to it, merely rebounded off before exploding, or crashed into the hull and burned up. In the end, though, the Shard came out fine.

  Out of nowhere, a deafening reverberation shook the crew of the Shard as the Nephilim cruiser ignited its thrusters to try and pull away from the fast approaching ship. But the Shard quickly corrected course and came spiraling down on the top of the Nephilim cruiser’s hull.

  Like a drill, the Shard cut into the massive battle cruiser. Four seconds later, it shot out the other side, followed by a massive fiery plume.

  Aboard the Nephilim ship, Azra’il Nun braced herself. “Is she out of her fracking mind?”
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  “My dear Azzie,” Dakroth said, waving his hand in the air in a sophisticated manner. “I’d like you to meet my better half. She may be a little bit unorthodox, but that’s all part of her charm, I assure you.”

  “What in the galaxy are you prattling on about?” Azra’il snapped, turning toward Dakroth with an annoyed look on her face. Her eyes grew large with shock when she realized he wasn’t just blathering on ad nauseam about nothing but, rather, was making a formal introduction.

  “Hi’ya,” Jegra said, her fist already cocked.

  “Wait!” Azra’il said, throwing up her hand in distress.

  Jegra paused, as if Azra’il Nun’s words couldn’t be disobeyed. She was, after all, The Voice of H’aaztre. Whatever she said, good or bad, you were compelled to do it. When Azra’il smiled out of relief, Jegra smiled in kind.

  “Nah,” Jegra said, her smile quickly fading. Pleasantries exchanged, Jegra launched her fist and struck Azra’il Nun across the right jaw and cheekbone with such force it sounded like the crack of lightning.

  Azra’il crashed to the floor, knocked out cold with a single punch. Jegra turned to face the half dozen soldiers that were charging her and, with a powerful clap of her hands, she blew them all off their feet with a prevailing gust of wind.

  When a large officer tazed her in the small of her back, she slowly turned and grabbed the stun rod. The volts of electricity crawled up her arm and through her body, but her rage was so strong that the ten-thousand volts merely seemed to tickle.

  “Big mistake,” she growled, and jerked it out of his hands. Startled by her raw strength, he staggered back. Jegra snapped the officer’s stun rod across her knee, splitting it into two sparking halves which she casually tossed to the floor.

  With a wave of her fingers, she gestured for him to come at her again.

  He hesitated before lunging at her. As he came at her, she nimbly stepped out of the way and he overshot her, throwing a wild punch that went nowhere. When he turned around, she smiled and waved at him to try again.

  Tired of her dancing about, he shifted his stance and prepared for another strike but, without warning, his vision blurred and he suddenly felt as though his entire body had been through a meat grinder.

  That’s about the same time his eyes rolled back in his head and he lost consciousness.

  Jegra called it the praying mantis attack. The trick was to move so fast the enemy can’t see the punches as they land, while, at the same time, the rest of you appears to move slow. Get them off balance, strike, and then as their equilibrium slowly spirals out of control, let them realize their mistake just before blacking out.

  “Behind you!” Callestra shouted.

  Jegra spun around in time to see a korridium hatchet spiraling through the air. She reached out with one hand and, pinching her fingers as tightly as she could, caught it before it could do any damage to her.

  She flipped the hatchet up, took it by the handle, and then lobbed it back at the soldier who’d thrown it at her. Her throw was so powerful, that when the axe imbedded itself into his chest, his whole body lifted off the ground and he flew back into one of the large control monitors.

  Glass shattered, metal fractured and sparks shot out as debris rained down onto the floor. The sound of tinkling of glass filled the air and more voices of soldiers rallying themselves rose above the din of the pandemonium that had broken out on the bridge.

  “Get her!” they shouted as a group.

  All of a sudden, red flashes ignited the room and the remaining two dozen soldiers all dropped to the floor, screaming in agony as their severed limbs smoldered. Others fared much worse, either decapitated or sporting new holes in the middle of their foreheads that smoldered with wispy strands of white smoke.

  Jegra turned to Dakroth. “I had it under control.”

  “And I, my luv, was getting bored,” he replied. He blew on his still hot, orange glowing finger to help cool it and, at the same time, the Dygra crystal in his chest was already dimming.

  “What about her?” asked Jegra, nodding down at Azra’il Nun’s unconscious body.

  Callestra pulled out a knife and marched toward the unconscious woman. She crouched down and scooped the woman’s head up into her lap, then reached into her mouth and grabbed ahold of her tongue. Prying it out of her mouth as far as it would go, she slowly pressed the blade into the wet, pink muscle, drawing blood.

  Callestra rose back to her feet and tossed the slab of meat at Jegra’s feet. Jegra looked down at the severed tongue, grimaced, then looked back up at Dakroth. “Remind me never to piss this one off,” she said, jutting a thumb at Callestra.

  “You’re telling me?” he jested.

  “You do both realize that I’m standing right here, right?” Callestra sounded less than amused as she eyed them with her fiery gaze. They both looked at her, then each other.

  Jegra eyed her up and down, scrutinizing every aspect. After a few intense seconds of uncertainty, when the tension was so high that Dakroth took a step forward to maybe try to diffuse things, Jegra smiled at Callestra and said, “You’re as pretty as you are vicious. I can see why he likes you.”

  Dakroth let out a sigh of relief and then smiled at Callestra, who was herself a little taken aback by Jegra’s response. She half expected the empress to hate her guts, but instead, she just brushed by her and carried on with the mission.

  As was custom, Callestra followed her emperor and empress the allotted ten steps behind. She gently slid her blade back into the sheath on her back.

  It was smooth sailing all the way to the airlock. Once inside, they paused and looked at the three Dagon EV suits waiting for them among an entire room full of the Nyctan EV suits, which had a strange, almost organic quality to them.

  “How’d you pull this off?” Callestra asked, picking up a helmet to the female Dagon spacesuit.

  “I had them teleported up when I came onboard. I figured they’d be so preoccupied with the security breach on the command deck that a few EV suits wouldn’t matter much. Besides, even if they did come down to check it out and found three empty suits, they’d probably still be looking for the mysterious Dagon infiltrators.”

  “A nice diversion,” Dakroth said, getting his own suit prepped.

  “Remind me why we’re jumping out of a starship and onto a ring world again?” Callestra asked as she strapped her chest plate into place with Jegra’s assistance.

  “I want to fly off the radar,” Jegra said.

  Callestra gave her a confounded look. She wasn’t familiar with that particular Earther idiom. “Off the radar?”

  “Using the teleporter would give away our location. It’s best we keep them off balance. We force them to predict our next move, not the other way around. That way we have the strategic advantage.”

  “That’s all and well,” Callestra replied, “but they could decide to launch an orbital strike and obliterate everyone from up here. Then what?”

  “Do you have a better idea?” asked Jegra.

  Callestra looked over at Dakroth, who gave her the go-ahead with a subtle nod. She turned back to Jegra and relayed her idea. “As Vice Admiral of the Imperial Fleet, it’s my job to offer tactical options during an active space battle. I still think we should take the ship out and then worry about getting back to the surface.”

  “No offense, Vice Admiral, but I already thought of that. This ship is massive. There are at least seven thousand crewmen aboard, and even if we did get to the main engineering room undetected, then we'd have to get out again. At the moment, there are far fewer enemies on the surface.”

  Dakroth cleared his throat and then asked, “What about Callestra’s concern about an orbital strike?”

  Jegra smiled. It was cute that he was trying to support Callestra’s opinion. It meant he really did care about her, that she wasn’t just another fling for him.

  “The Shard’s scans detected about six hundred Nephilim and Nyctan forces setting down on the surface. My bet is they�
��re first going to try and round up the resistance for executions. Make a public statement, squash any further rebellion. I intend to not let that happen. Nonetheless, as long as their forces are down there, they will likely try to avoid any orbital strikes.”

  “But we can’t be certain,” stressed Callestra.

  “No, we can’t,” Jegra agreed. “But if we destroy the ship now, they’ll just call in for more reinforcements. Right now, we have enough on our plate to worry about.”

  “I concur,” Dakroth said, backing up Jegra’s plan. “It is practically impossible to take on all of H’aaztre’s forces. His army seems to be endless. Which is why we must switch to guerrilla warfare.”

  “Appear weak when you are strong, and strong when you are weak,” Jegra said aloud, speaking only to herself.

  When they both turned to her, mistakenly thinking she was addressing them, she realized she’d recited the words of Sun Tzu aloud.

  “It’s from the teachings of a famous military general on my homeworld.”

  “Wise words,” Callestra said.

  Once all three had fully suited up in the EV spacesuits, they depressurized the airlock and opened the hatch. Outside, fighters chased the Shard in the distance. A little bit beyond that they could see the arch of the ring world looping into the evening stars.

  Jegra pointed her thick-gloved hand at their target. “It’s just a freefall straight down to the landing zone.”

  “I don’t see it,” Callestra said. She zoomed in with full magnification on her visor and still had trouble finding it, until, finally a bright red flare down on the surface lit up the landing zone.

  “There,” Jegra stressed, nodding her head inside her helmet.

  “Got it,” Callestra said, and without another word, she leapt out of the hatch and into space.

  “After you, my dear,” Dakroth said, gesturing for Jegra to go on ahead of him. She jumped out, falling headfirst after Callestra.

  As Dakroth edged up to the open hatch, he couldn’t help but feel as though he was being watched. He turned toward the entrance to the ship to find Azra’il peering at him through the small rectangular window. She rubbed her jaw as blue blood seeped from her lips. Dakroth smiled and winked at her, and then spun and threw himself into the vacuum of outer space.