by T. R. Harris
“Keep him alive,” Zac said. “We’ve never had a Ha’curn captive. He could come in handy.”
“Like maybe flying the shuttle?” Brian Croft suggested. “Negron was our only pilot, and he didn’t make it.”
“These things are pretty basic,” Zac said. “Besides, we don’t have to go far.”
“I don’t think using the freighter to get us out of here is a good idea.”
“That’s not what I have in mind.”
And with that, Zac ran for the pilothouse.
7
Zac slipped into the pilot seat and scanned the flight panel. It was easy to identify the chemical drive controls since the shuttle was too small to have gravity drive. He pressed the general start button—every spaceship had one—and waited as the pressure built up in the liftoff chambers. This was displayed on a straight-forward graph, with a line indicating when it would be okay to ignite the jets.
“Hurry up!” a REV in the rear yelled. He was stationed at the still open hatchway, firing at the rapidly approaching Ha’curn troops.
A moment later, Zac punched another button and was rewarded by a thundering explosion under the ship. The shuttle lifted from the ground and began to sway back and forth in the air as if it was suspended at the end of a long chain. Zac held the control stick firmly in his hand, but still, the swinging continued. Then he remembered the foot pedals used to control the angle of the jets. One push sent the shuttle sliding to starboard in a rush, sweeping over the approaching Ha’curn sending columns of yellow flame through their ranks. The aliens scattered for cover.
The left peddle sent the craft to port, and when Zac gently pushed the control stick forward, they began to move away—sort of. They were moving along a straight line, although the shuttle itself began to spin while maintaining a level plane. Zac worked both the left and right pedals while tweaking the angle of the stick. The shuttle straightened out, and Zac made a wide, sweeping turn to the south.
“Up! Take us up!” Croft yelled from behind.
Zac had them moving, but now they were headed out of the Endorus Relay Complex and for the surrounding city, along with its mountains of towering buildings
In a panic, Zac scanned the control panel again, looking for a thrust control lever. There were several levers to choose from, but the one on the far left looked most promising. It had a scale attached to it.
With his right hand on the stick and his two feet working the pedals, he now took the lever in his left hand and gently moved it up and away from him. He was rewarded with a corresponding increase in the sound of the lifting jets, along with an increase in altitude. He let the shuttle climb until it could clear the tallest buildings in the area and then angled the control stick forward a little more. They picked up speed.
“Where are we going?” Croft asked. The cargo spaceport was in the opposite direction.
“There!” Zac said.
Croft followed the direction of the shuttle, noticing a wide-open area in the mass of buildings below them. It was the huge commercial spaceport for the city of Nurin.
Once the shuttle cleared the outer boundary of the expansive landing field, Zac reduced power and brought the shuttle down to within a hundred feet of the ground. He was getting a feel for the controls by now and felt confident enough to begin a slow scan of the tarmac below. Normally, the spaceport would be packed with vessels of all types; military ships, commercial liners and even private space yachts. But now it was mostly deserted. He swept over the field once and then made an awkward turn for another pass.
“There!” he said, taking his hand from the throttle to point to port.
A spaceship was on the ground, a sleek-looking private yacht with a transport vehicle parked nearby, lights illuminating the hull and an open rear cargo door. Zac leveled out the flight, but forward momentum still carried them beyond the ship, requiring another rough turn around. The shuttle began to spin again. Zac knew the ship could reverse course with ease, if he knew how to do it. Instead, he pointed the nose back toward the fancy starship on the ground and tried his best to straighten out.
By now, a small crew of three stood outside the ship, looking up at the shuttlecraft hovering a short distance away. They were nervous, thinking the shuttle might crash at any moment.
Zac reduced power, and the craft dropped down. Fortunately, automatic gyros kept the ship level as it neared the ground. But then it hit, compressing the landing skids on coiled springs before rebounding back into the air. Zac wasn’t expecting that. It was like trying to land on a pogo-stick.
He cut the jets even more, attempting to find the right mix of lifting power and landing thrust. They were still twenty feet off the ground, and even at this distance, a sudden freefall could smash the ship and possibly ignite the chemical propellant tanks.
Eventually, the shuttle made contact with the ground again, and as before, it bounced, but not as much. However, this time the shuttle was hopping toward the private yacht. The three crewmembers scattered to the side, seeing a collision about to happen. In a last-ditch effort, Zac cut the jets completely. The ship hit the ground and surged forward again, catching Zac off guard. He fell forward, his body pressing against the control stick. The shuttle bent over, burying the nose into the black coating of the spaceport field, churning up large chunks of asphalt. The craft came to a stop, sitting forward at a twenty-degree angle.
They were down, safe, and about fifty feet from the starship.
Zac was out of the pilot seat a split second later. The other REVs were already out the still-open side hatch, their weapons level as they sprinted for the ship. The three crew members had returned to the yacht, but now they stood with mouths agape at the sight of the four REVs racing toward them at unbelievable speed.
Before leaving the shuttle, Zac noticed the unconscious Ha’curn was left behind. He scooped up the limp body and threw it over his shoulder, marveling at how light it was, even for his REV strength. The killer-cats were built light for speed and agility.
The REVs had the outside of the private starship secured by the time Zac arrived at the open hatch, the three crew members stunned into submission. With the Ha’curn still draped over his shoulder, Zac entered the ship.
A tan-skinned alien greeted him; Zac recognized him as a Menkarean. The creature stood defiant.
“What is the meaning of this? Leave my ship immediately!”
The alien’s voice trembled slightly as he surveyed the ungodly status of Zac’s uniform, covered in blood, brains and shredded in places by the sharp claws of the Ha’curn.
“Dasis, remove this Human from my ship,” the alien commanded.
Zac turned to a movement approaching from the aft section of the ship. A massive Orturaean, displaying bulging muscles within a too-small t-shirt, approached Zac, his eyes focused and mean.
That’s when the Menkarean owner of the ship noticed what Zac had draped over his shoulder.
“Is that … is that a Ha’curn?” he asked incredulously.
Zac pretended to notice the limp alien for the first time. “Oh, yeah, it is. Here, hold this.” He took the ragdoll-like-body of the Ha’curn and tossed it to the hulking bodyguard. The creature stumbled back but caught the cat, cradling it in his arms, unsure what to do next.
Zac turned to the owner.
“I need you to fly us out of here. Do that, and no one will get hurt. If not, then…” Zac turned back and looked at the unconscious Ha’curn warrior.
The Menkarean got the message.
“We will not be allowed to leave. There is a quarantine.”
“It looks as if you were getting ready to go somewhere,” Zac pointed out. “Just keep doing what you were doing. You’re a Menkarean; you guys are still loyal to the Antaere. I bet you can get through the blockade if you want.”
“I, I may. But … but—”
“But what?” Zac said.
The three crewmembers shuffled past them, herded by the four bloody and determined REVs entering from outsi
de. The outer hatch was sealed. The ship’s owner eyed the Humans, before turning for the bridge without another word.
Zac retrieved the limp Ha’curn from the guard, smiling as he did so. “Thanks,” he said. And then with the body tucked under his arm, he followed the owner to the bridge.
The alien space yacht was as fast as Zac hoped, and after only a few cursory challenges, made it out of the Enif system a few hours later. The planet was in such turmoil from the riots, that the few Antaere in charge of traffic control didn’t link the stolen shuttle with the space yacht until it was too late. Zac told the pilot/owner to steer for Human space. Once outside the system, Zac made contact with the Valhalla, giving them the yacht’s course and transponder code. The nearest ship in the region would still take a day to reach them.
A few hours later, the Ha’curn prisoner regained consciousness and was now tied up in the aft cargo hold, apparently suffering no lasting effects from the hit he’d taken to his head. Once things settled down aboard the yacht, Zac went to talk with his guest.
The creature was living up to the Ha’curn’s reputation as savage, wild cats, as alien eyes burned with a manic intensity, and baring his long, sharp teeth in a show of defiance. He struggled against the restraints, visibly shaking when he couldn’t break free.
Zac pulled a crate over and sat down a few feet in front of the bound alien. The Ha’curn’s arms were tied behind him, and his deadly legs strapped to the metal bars of the chair in which he sat.
“Can you understand me?” Zac asked. This would be his first conversation with a Ha’curn, if the alien could—or would—talk to him.
The yellow eyes grew wider. “Yes. We have translation inserts.”
Zac nodded. He was filled with a thousand questions about the Ha’curn and why they did what they did, but one stood out above the others. He cut right to the chase.
“Why do the Ha’curn follow the Antaere? You have to know what evil creatures they are. I’ve heard they even placed nuclear bombs on your planet hundreds of years ago, just to keep you in line. So why do you fight for them now?”
The Ha’curn made one, slow-motion blink of his large, yellow eyes, then stared at Zac for a long moment. Zac eventually pursed his lips, concluding that this was a waste of time. He’d let the professionals in the intelligence community handle the interrogation—
“We do not follow the Antaere … we run with them.” The words were coarse yet spoken in a fluid vibrato, almost a loud purr. That’s appropriate, Zac thought.
“But why? They’ve threatened to destroy your world.”
“That was long ago. They did it to protect themselves, as all should from the Ha’curn.”
“You pride yourselves on being great warriors,” Zac said, “but you are only animals. I saw what you did on Crious. You enjoyed that. You enjoy the killing.”
“As well, Humans enjoy killing. Recently, you killed thousands of my pack. There will be vengeance on the Humans. The Antaere will help.”
“Sorry to disappoint you, pal, but the Antaere are done, defeated. It’s only a matter of time before we’re dropping nuclear bombs of our own on Antara.”
“The Antaere are not defeated,” the Ha’curn said, stretching his mouth into what appeared to be a sinister grin.
Zac laughed. The alien was trying too hard to appear threatening. “Believe what you want, but their fleet is nearly gone, and they don’t have the resources to rebuild before we do. Add to that the fact that the Colony Worlds are in revolt and your masters are through. Just admit it.”
“They are not our masters—they are our packmates.”
“Yeah, whatever.” Zac stood up. This conversation was going nowhere.
“The Antaere cannot be defeated,” the Ha’curn shouted at him as he neared the door. “Antara cannot be conquered. The Ha’curn will not allow it.”
“There you go again,” Zac said. “This war is over, and you guys picked the wrong horse in the race.”
There was confusion in the translation, but Zac’s statement did prompt a need in the Ha’curn to prove him wrong once it was understood.
“The war is not over. It is only beginning. Even now, the entire population of Falmoria-cra is preparing to join in the fight,” the alien hissed. “Until now, it has only been the warrior class, and then only a segment. But there are millions more in our pack. And we have spaceships, vessels the Antaere taught us to build and of which we continue to construct. Humans have won a victory, yet you have not won the war. You cannot win the war. The Ha’curn will not let you.”
Zac stared at the wild-eyed alien to see if he was telling the truth or just trying to get under Zac’s skin.
“If you had more ships, you would have committed them to the battle in the Solar System. You’re lying.”
“We provided all we needed at the time. There are more.” The cat-like creature saw the concern on Zac’s face. “The Ha’curn will soon run beyond the Grid. The Antaere will capture others with their religion, and the Ha’curn will capture more with our claws. That is the way it will be. Only the Humans are stopping us. That will not last.”
“You’re just some low-ranking shuttle pilot; what do you know about any of this?”
“All Ha’curn share in the pride of the pack. We know what we are doing, what we will do. It is no secret. The Ha’curn are coming, more Ha’curn than you have ever seen. And with the Antaere, we will win this war of yours. You cannot win.”
“Bullshit. You’re just talking, trying to act important.”
The Ha’curn calmed down and leaned back in the chair as much as he could.
“And now it is you who cannot see the truth.”
Zac left the cargo bay in a decidedly worse mood than when he’d entered. Before talking with the alien, he could see an end to the war. Now, he wasn’t so sure. What the Ha’curn said made sense. He’d seen the cat-creatures up close; he witnessed their passion and thirst for battle. Every Ha’curn was like that. Were they such cold-hearted savages that all they wanted was to fight? And with the Antaere promising them a galaxy to conquer, would they commit their entire population to helping the Antaere destroy the Humans?
These questions were above Zac’s paygrade. When he returned to the Valhalla, he would turn the prisoner over to others who could better decipher the alien’s truthfulness.
Still, Zac was left with a deep foreboding. He’d come to the cargo bay to demoralize the alien, to boast about the impending defeat of the Antaere and the end of the war, rubbing it in as to how the Ha’curn picked the wrong horse in the race. Now it was Zac who was demoralized. It was a real possibility the Ha’curn were gearing up for a new offensive, and the Antaere knew it. And because of that, the yellow-skinned bastards wouldn’t bow to the inevitable, knowing that the cavalry was on the way.
The war was far from over.
8
Zac Murphy was in a terrible mood and had been for the past two months. He was aboard the Valhalla, and for the first week, was pelted with questions about the mission. The general consensus: It was a wash. Sure, they saved the Premier, along with several other politicos, but the word got out about Brian Croft snapping the neck of one of the hostages—a female at that. The allies were spinning the mission as a glowing success, a demonstration of Human support for insurgents everywhere. The Antaere, on the other hand, called the REVs blood-thirsty killers, pointing out that the mission resulted in the deaths of thirty-two of the dignitaries, including the eight left in the the Minorial Center. What was missing from the narrative was the fact that it was the Ha’curn who killed the hostages, everyone except the one female. From the alien’s perspective, it was the Human’s reckless and impulsive behavior that forced the hand of the Ha’curn and escalated a simple negotiation into a tragedy.
Spin doctors on each side were still at it three weeks later.
For his part, Lt. Brian Croft was in the doghouse, although Zac insisted he did nothing wrong in light of the circumstances. It was either silence the fem
ale or jeopardize the mission. Officially, CENTCOM couldn’t condone the action. Unofficially, they still weren’t happy about it, but the young Alpha REV wouldn’t be prosecuted. Instead, he was shipped back to Crious, to disappear into the cloistered ranks of the Alphas.
Zac turned his Ha’curn prisoner over to the IC professionals and then gave his after-mission debrief. Following that, he didn’t have much to do. The news that the Ha’curn were gearing up for a new offensive cast a pale over the once-jubilant mood aboard the huge starship, highlighting how quickly things change. A couple of months ago, Humanity was staring extinction in the face. Then suddenly, they were on the verge of winning the thirty-year-long war. The next, things were back to square one, with no end in sight.
Zac now wandered the passageways, wondering what was next for the aging Delta REV.
He was in his cabin, scrolling through online books, looking for anything interesting. He needed to occupy his mind but wasn’t having any luck.
A knocked came on the door.
“Enter,” he said half-heartedly. He was in no mood for company.
The door opened, and a tall, ginger-haired officer stepped in.
“First-Lieutenant Angus Price, reporting for duty, sir.” He held a crisp salute, the only time appropriate to salute indoors.
Zac was on his bunk, momentarily at a loss for words.
“Return my salute, you bastard,” Angus growled. “I can’t hold this forever.”
Zac’s returning salute would not have passed official muster, especially with the middle finger extended as it was. He climbed off the bunk, and the two friends shared bear-like man-hugs.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Zac asked. “Is Keith with you?”
“No, he’s still on Crious. It’s just me. And as to why I’m here, I haven’t got the foggiest. They just pulled me out of my room one day and loaded me aboard a fast cruiser. I just got in.”
A sour taste came to Zac’s mouth. “Damn, and here I just got off of a mission.”
