by Lee Watts
"HARD TO STARBOARD," Mei ordered as the ship's inertial dampers struggled to keep up with the extreme change of direction. The first torpedo hit, but the Fortune's sudden turn allowed the second to pass by harmlessly.
In the engine room of the Fame, Sosimo and the others almost lost their footing as the ship took another series of hits.
"Got it," Sosimo announced in triumph as he finally deactivated the self-destruct. "That's got to be Mei out there. Let's get off this ship before she blows it to bits."
All the men agreed and ran out of the room. Reaching an escape pod hatch, LaRouche hit the open button, but it didn't respond.
"Guess when the destruct was canceled it took the pods back off-line," Byron reasoned.
"Probably right," Sosimo figured. "Come on, we'll head to the cargo bay. Since Crimson thinks we're already off the ship, the bay may not be guarded anymore."
"FIRE," Crimson ordered as the powerful beam of golden energy pummeled the Fortune.
"The main cannon reaching critical overheat level," the crewman at the weapon's station warned.
"Maintain fire," Crimson commanded. "Keep on her till her shields buckle."
On the Fortune the power drain was immense. Lights flickered, and the entire vessel shook violently from the relentless beam of the Fame.
"SHIELDS COLLAPSING," a crewman shouted over the torrent of sounds.
In a blast of energy, sparks shot out of the weapons console, sending the crewman there flying. He slammed against the far wall and slid to the floor, severe burns on his arms and face.
Crimson shouted in victory as he saw the Fortune's shields flicker out of existence and his main cannon boring into the enemy craft's hull, but then the beam quickly faded and died.
"What? What's going on? MAINTAIN FIRE," he demanded.
"Main cannon's had a meltdown. It's completely inoperable."
On the smoking bridge of the Fortune, emergency lights illuminated, bathing the room in shades of red.
"What's left?" Mei asked.
"Shields are gone, weapons off-line, we've got a hull breach on deck one and two in section fourteen."
"Why aren't they firing?" Mei asked.
"Looks like they burnt out their cannon in the last attack. Their shields are down too."
Mei slammed her fists against the arms of her command chair.
"He's a sitting duck, and we can't finish him off," she voiced in frustration.
"They're pulling away, Captain."
"Oh no you don't," Mei threatened. "If we lose him, he'll fix his cloak, and we'll never find him again. I won't let him get away. He's going to pay for what he's done. Set collision course. Best speed."
As Crimson's crew tried to make emergency repairs, he received an alarming report.
"The Fortune's charging straight for us! It's going to ram!"
"Don't worry," Crimson assured. "Mei will veer off."
As the Fortune continued accelerating on an unwavering course, the Fame's pilot had his doubts.
"Are you sure?" he questioned.
Crimson paused a moment as the Fortune continued its charge.
"Yea, I'm sure," he finally declared, but with more conviction that he felt.
"Well, I'm not," the pilot countered with only seconds before a collision then he pulled the controls hard. Veering his ship out of the way, the Fortune blasted by with less than five meters between them.
"Swing us around," Mei ordered.
"Captain, receiving a signal."
"A signal, from who? Is it Crimson?" Mei asked.
"No, it's from a shuttle that just launched from the Fame."
"Put it through," she instructed.
"Girl, what are you doing to my ship," came Sosimo's voice.
Instantly, Mei's eyes welled in joy.
"Captain," she exclaimed in surprise. "We thought you were dead!"
"Dead? That's a vicious rumor started to smear my good name. I assure you I'm quite alive."
"Thank goodness. I was about to ram him."
"Never ram into something or someone bigger than you; that's how I lost my hand. I've got all the map layers, and the Hammer's clock is ticking so we've got to move fast. Open the docking bay door, so we can come aboard."
"Aye… Captain."
Crimson watched as the Fortune began turning away.
"What's she doing now?" he wondered aloud.
"Captain, receiving a signal."
"She's had enough," Crimson hissed smugly. "Can't stay and see it through to the end. Go ahead and put her on the screen."
Appearing on the Fame's main view was the last face in the universe Crimson expected to see.
"LaRouche! How did you-"
"Never mind that. I just wanted to let you know that I haven't forgotten my promise to kill you. As soon as my little arrangement with the Hammer is complete, I'm coming for you, and you'll never know when that may be. So, watch your back, Crimson because every time you turn around, I'll be there."
The transmission ended, and the screen went back to the outside view. It was only enough time for Crimson to see the Fortune for a moment before it leaped to lightspeed. He knew if he didn't kill Sosimo LaRouche he'd never sleep in peace again. In the engine room of the Fame Hilmet awoke for the third time. Remaining motionless, he peeked one eye open to see if the coast was clear. Seeing no one, he cautiously stood and looked at the door, but the man with the "sleeping pills" didn't come back.
"Whew," he puffed then turned, slipped on a bolt on the floor and fell hard to the ground, knocking himself out.
CHAPTER 20
"…Thou shalt worship the Lord thy God, and him only shalt thou serve." – Matthew 4:10
(1,000 years ago)
Shania waited until Pipaluk was asleep before she left. Pulling a jumpsuit out of her pack and putting it on over her clothes, she grabbed her battlestaff and pistol then hurried across the town. The girl mentioned the location where a trash chute connected to the Citadel. Climbing the fence to the dumping ground, she heard scurrying. Shania wasn't sure what made the sound but doubted she would like it if she knew. Heading toward the chute, she pried open the covering and made her way inside the tube. While the chute wasn't completely vertical, it was on a steep incline.
Far too narrow to walk through, she was forced to crawl. More than once the viscous grime caused her to slip and lose ground. Making her way through the narrow refuse tunnel was undoubtedly one of the more disgusting things she'd done in her inordinately long life, and she was grateful upon finally reaching the end. Opening the lid, she quietly climbed out, unzipped her jumpsuit, and tossed it back in the filth-lined chute.
No sense being caught because of the stench, she mused.
Stealthily making her way to the door, she pressed an ear against it and heard voices. Soon the words faded, so she carefully cracked the door open just enough to peer out. With no one in sight, she began her cautious journey to the room housing the unique ring with the symbols on it. Most of the halls were deserted, which allowed her to make quick progress to her destination. Figuring the best place to see was the higher level where she and Pipaluk were earlier, she went to the same door. Slinking onto the level overlooking the room, she laid prone so as not be noticed, only raising her head enough to observe the ceremony.
Silently, she listened as a myriad of beings of multiple races conversed. Straining, Shania tried to pick out the words, but they were a jumble of sounds. To her surprise, the Ramillie in the room were acting as servants. Given the Ramillie's racial superiority complex, Shania knew it was an extremely odd situation. Other races were seen as less developed, less human. Koraden himself wasn't Ramillie.
Her eyes followed the ropes extending from the ceiling down to the heavy shroud now concealing the ring. A gong sounded, signaling the beginning of the event. As the Ramillie servants left, the guests took seats at a wide, double ringed, semi-circular metallic table. The eleven taking positions in the inner circle were obviously of a higher estate. When t
he doors closed, Koraden took place in front of the table and addressed the group in the Dridmor tongue. Shania quickly crouched a little lower upon suddenly realizing each of the thirty plus beings in the room were all Dridmor. Since taking human form, she had only once before seen such a concentration of the dark immortals. Shivers ran down her spine as she remembered the horrid purpose of that coven.
"For millenniums we have labored in these puny shells working the prince's will on the various worlds," Koraden began. "Now that enough of the mortals have finally developed a means to travel the stars, we can, at last, come together and bring forth the legions."
"How can this be done?" one of the seated Dridmor asked.
"How indeed, Overlord Veradis," Koraden echoed with a smile. "How indeed. Allow me to show you."
Pulling out a palm-sized device, Koraden hit the switch causing the ropes to quickly retract the shroud to reveal the ring.
Symbols of the ancient Dridmor language were etched on the sides of the mysterious object.
"What is it?" one of the females asked.
"This… is the portal," he announced with pride. "It's a device that can open a passage between this realm and the spirit realm. With this, we can establish a tunnel to our dimension allowing the legions to pour into this universe while retaining their true form. With their strength, we can mount a new assault, and we'll begin by exterminating every being in the physical realm."
"Impossible," Overlord Veradis blurted.
"It can't be done," added another of the Dridmor. "There's nothing in this universe that can hold the kind of energy needed to create such a passage."
Other of the assembled immortals began mumbling in agreement.
"Overlord Veradis is right," Koraden shouted over the crowd. "Nothing in this universe can contain the power, but the portal is not of this universe. Because of this, for thousands of years I've hunted down Guardians and taken their battlestaffs. Now, with the Ramillie, I've expanded the search to hundreds of thousands of worlds, and at last, I've collected enough to forge them into this portal. Depending on the size of what's coming through, it can expand with the segments apart from each other but linked and held in relative position by an electromagnetic force. Only material brought from our dimension can channel the required energy, and the Guardians have provided it for us."
"But how will you power it?" one of the lower-ranking Dridmor asked.
"That is where the other overlords come in," Koraden answered. "I have called them to this meeting because they, like me, hold one of the stones given to us by the prince from his crown."
Shania's breath caught as she suddenly realized the situation was far worse than she thought possible. The eleven prominent beings were not mere Dridmor, but overlords. Before the fall from Paradise, those now called overlords were elevated Guardians. Since their expulsion, the fallen were endued by their dark prince with more power than the average Dridmor. Among the "gifts," each overlord brought with them when they crossed into the mortal realm was a stone from the crown of Roq-mordak. Shania had only heard rumors of the crown stones' abilities. Supposedly, each possessed a distinctive trait. Roq-mordak used the stones to curry support from the overlords and then pitted each overlord in a contest with the others. This served the dual purpose of keeping them aggressively seeking to prove their worth above the others to Roq-mordak and kept them focused on besting each other instead of plotting to dethrone the dark prince himself. Shania wasn't sure how much of their abilities the overlords retained in their mortal shells, but even if it was only a fraction of what they had in the spirit realm, then it would be terrifying. Snapping herself back to the moment, Shania listened as Koraden detailed his plan.
"The stones act as keys," he explained. "By integrating them into the ring at equidistant positions, it provides the energy needed to create a stable passage. All I need from you are the crown stones, and we can bring forth the legions - at last decimating this entire universe."
Distrustful quiet filled the chamber.
"You're trying to deceive us, Koraden," one of the overlords accused. "You want all the crown stones for yourself, so you can rule over us. We all know the more pieces one has, the stronger they become."
Again, the eleven other overlords, and the Dridmor behind them erupted in sounds of agreement.
"NO," Koraden shouted, holding out his arms to quiet them. "The portal does work!"
"Prove it," they demanded.
"Very well," Koraden acquiesced.
He stepped back and pushed another button on the device he held. The inward curving far wall began sliding to the side revealing a large adjacent room that had no lights. Mumbles of piqued curiosity came from the Dridmor as some stood for a better view. Shania couldn't make out what was happening but didn't dare expose her position. From her vantage point, she couldn't see what was in the darkened room beyond. As the dividing wall slid aside came a foul stench and the distinct smell of ash. Koraden smiled wickedly as the wall continued to open. With a clank, the wall locked into place, and Koraden strode to a panel on the wall between the rooms.
"Here's your proof," he declared, activating a switch that flooded the next room in light illuminating the severed claw of what must have been an ultra-gargantuan beast. On the floor of the adjacent room, filling nearly the entire chamber, was the severed digit of a gray-skinned creature.
The group all stood in shocked amazement. There were gasps and whispers of disbelief as they beheld the hideous, partial body part of a warbeast the Dridmor used in the spirit realm. Shania's deep brown eyes widened and fixated on the immense, monstrosity. If this fragment of a claw was any indication, then the entire creature would be the size of a mountain. Shania knew there were far worse and more horrific creatures than this that comprised the legions of demonic beings eager to pour into the physical universe.
"It… it cannot be," an overlord gaped.
"Ah, but it is," Koraden assured with pride. "Here is one from our realm brought from the other side as proof the gate works."
"But… but the claw is detached. What happened? What kind of mortal weapon could do this to…"
"To a being born of fire?" Koraden said, completing the question. "There is no weapon or device of mortal hands capable of such a thing," he iterated, signaling for them to retake their seats. "The problem is I have only one crown stone, and it isn't enough to maintain a stable passage. This was the first to traverse the tunnel, but the gateway collapsed as it began to pass through, so the limb was cut in two. Once the portal is activated, it takes precisely twenty-seven days and eighteen hours to stabilize a passage, and the power fluctuates when the event horizon is broken. My one crown stone couldn't maintain the massive energy requirements or stabilize the fluctuations enough to maintain the gateway. I have all the data for your review. It verifies everything I'm saying. It takes more than one stone. The only way the portal can maintain a passage is with a minimum of twelve stones. The precise number we have. The prince charged us to destroy as much as we can; well, here is the means! Let us take out our retribution for the banishment here; let us mount a new assault. With this portal we can!"
Those at the table needed no more convincing. One by one, each of the overlords took a position at one of the twelve posts supporting the portal then inserted their crown stone into the ring at equidistant points. Light itself seemed to be sucked into the center of the device then, emanating from the center, began a sound as distant rolling thunder. Shania was forced to place her hands over her ears as the sound increased. Deafening, even through her covering, Shania's bones rattled, and the building trembled. Reaching a crescendo, lightning flashed in the room, snapping the air. The thunder was replaced by the noise of a great wind tunnel. Reprieved from the mind-shattering sound, Shania lowered her hands. Wind whipped around the room, tugging at her clothes and hair. Koraden laughed victoriously as the Dridmor lifted their hands and began praising and praying to Roq-mordak.
Shania slipped out of the room, carefully closing t
he door behind her. The stakes were higher, and the cost of failure greater still. It was not a simple matter of securing The Vault anymore. Until a minute ago, that seemed paramount, but now, the fate of the entire universe hung in the balance. Knowing there was no way she could take on so many Dridmor, she planned to contact Merrick and tell him to bring as many Guardians as possible before the portal stabilized.
How long did Koraden say, nearly twenty-eight days? It's not that long. Maybe there's something I can do to slow them down, but what?
For now, she concentrated on getting out of the Citadel to contact Merrick. Backtracking her steps, she, at last, reached the place with the chute she used to enter but heard voices coming from that room. Half a dozen Ramillie were in there gambling. The way they were set up, it looked like the game could take hours, and she didn't have that long. When day broke the place would be swarming with Ramillie, and she'd be caught. Desperate for another exit, she scurried through the labyrinth of halls, carefully avoiding patrols and security cameras. On the seventh story, she concentrated on working her way lower until she came upon a sign indicating the way to the under levels. Remembering Pipaluk mentioning the Elderite prisoners were there, she couldn't pass it by. As she descended, the air became increasingly foul. The scent of blood, bile, and rotting flesh assaulted her. The light was replaced by moaning and weeping. She had reached "the dark place."
Trying to ready herself for what lay ahead, she took a deep breath. No amount of preparation could have steeled her for what she beheld. Before her eyes, were torments more horrific than she had encountered in thousands of years of life. She witnessed prisoners in devices designed to keep the victim alive while inflicting the most tremendous amount of suffering possible. She fought down her urge to vomit. These people were here for no crime, no misdeed on their part. Their only offense was a belief in the Elder. Their faith and devotion to Him are what sentenced them to this living nightmare.
I can't just leave these people.
One of the prisoners caught sight of her and gasped in terror. In the corner was a toothless old woman with festering sores; she bore evidence where fistfuls of her hair had been ripped out at the roots. The terror in her eyes was beyond anything Shania had ever witnessed. In a rasping, gravelly voice the woman spoke.
