by Richard Ford
He did not have to sprint for long before he faced another obstacle. Several Drazi marched quickly down the street in his direction. When they saw him they gesticulated in his direction, moving toward him with none-too-pleased looks adorning their wrinkled faces. This was working better than he’d hoped. His delaying tactics had left enough time for the Drazi militia to appear. He imagined after the trail of destruction they had left across Torvag, they would want a stern word with him. As he stopped in the middle of the street, he glanced back. The Ky’Thain had disappeared as soon as it had heard the approaching militia.
Vance lifted his arms. One of the militia spoke to him quickly in Drazi, but Vance could not catch his meaning. Anyway, it was probably best if he played the ignorant foreigner rather than try to answer any probing questions. ‘You come with us,’ said another of the Drazi, who, by the look of his uniform, was some kind of officer. They grasped Vance from both sides and searched his pockets quickly. It pained him to give up the denn’bok, but he promised himself he would have it back before he bid the Drazi goodbye. He allowed them to march him through the streets to the headquarters of the militia. All the while he was conscious that the Ky’Thain must be watching him, waiting for the rest of its brethren to arrive.
The militia building was small, containing a series of offices and cells. When the time was right it would be difficult, but not impossible, to escape. For now, at least, he was safe. It was doubtful even the Ky’Thain could break in unseen.
He would allow the Drazi to question him for as long as it took to work out where their communication centre was. As soon as he had sent a message for assistance, he would take his leave.
The Drazi frogmarched him to a small, secure room. Since the room didn’t appear to be a cell, Vance assumed he was not being held for any serious crimes. Yet. That meant they most likely had not found Musan Volt and Bakkatt, or what was left of them. Vance sat quietly, surveying his surroundings. As soon as they brought him in, he spotted the security camera, high up in one corner of the room. He positioned himself so that his face was not visible. He would undoubtedly be picked up on cameras in other parts of the building, but there was no need to advertise his identity.
The lock on the door was a simple keypad sequence. Vance had already worked out the code from one of the Drazi’s finger movements. Even if the same combination did not open the room from the inside, he could override it manually in seconds. He wasn’t cuffed either, which would make his escape that much easier.
After a few minutes, the door swung open and two Drazi walked in. One was squat, the other tall and powerful. Vance almost smiled at the antiquated intimidation routine. “Good cop, bad cop” had become an outmoded form of interrogation on Earth a century ago. Obviously nobody had told the Drazi.
The squat militiaman sat in a chair opposite Vance. ‘Name?’ he said, staring deep into Vance’s eyes.
Vance decided to stall and gave no reply. ‘Ok. Let me explain the trouble you’re in. Brawling in the streets. I assume that was you in the marketplace yesterday?’ Vance almost laughed at the insinuation that brawling in the street was against Drazi law. ‘Importing alien technology,’ he said as he produced Vance’s denn’bok. Although it looked like a harmless metal tube, the Drazi were obviously bent on trumping up any charges they could. ‘And non-payment of transportation fare!’ Vance was unable to stop a smile spreading across his face. ‘You think that’s funny! There’s also the question of your association with unregistered alien life forms on Drazi soil.’
‘That creature is dangerous,’ said Vance, feigning terror. The Drazi was suddenly interested, leaning forward to hear Vance speak. ‘It knows where I am. It will gather others of its kind. You will not be able to stop them.’
‘Don’t worry. We are quite safe here, believe me.’ The Drazi turned to smile at his silent colleague, who smirked back. Vance remembered Bakkatt saying something similar to Volt at the safe house, and a pang of regret crept into his mind. He forced himself to concentrate.
‘You need to call for reinforcements. You need to get off-world help. Other League planets and the Earth Alliance must be notified. Do you have the means to communicate with them from here?’
‘I told you we are quite safe.’ The Drazi held up his hand, obviously worried about Vance’s increasingly erratic state. ‘We have everything we need. We have an interstellar comms rig, so help is just a call away. But tell me more about these creatures.’
‘Will we be safe on the first floor when you use the comms rig?’ asked Vance conversationally. His change in tone was intended to throw the Drazi and lower his guard. Luckily it worked.
‘No, it’s on the third,’ he replied with a frown.
‘Thanks,’ said Vance, his hand shooting forward and snatching the denn’bok from the Drazi’s grip. The taller Drazi reacted, reaching to his holster. Vance smashed him to the ground before his hand could touch the butt of his weapon. As the squat Drazi reached for his own gun, Vance slammed the denn’bok into his forearm, cracking the radius and ulna. Before the Drazi could cry out, Vance’s denn’bok was at his throat, pressing him to the ground.
‘How many militia in the building,’ said Vance. ‘Ten,’ croaked the Drazi through gritted teeth.
‘Thanks again,’ said Vance, stunning the Drazi with a blow the side of his head.
Vance punched the combination to the door into the security keypad, and it flipped open. He glanced into the corridor and saw no one there. Before he left the room, he took the gun belt from the first Drazi. An autopistol had been somewhat useful before, so hopefully it would be again.
He walked carefully to the end of the corridor. No good would come from running, since he would be spotted sooner or later anyway, and running would only draw attention. The elevator on the right held no sign of any militia. Vance pressed the “up” button and wondered if anyone was actually manning the security cameras when the internal alarm sounded. The door to the elevator opened, and Vance encountered two startled Drazi. They both reached for their weapons, and Vance bolted forward. The confines of the elevator were too small to use his denn’bok, so fists and feet would have to do. Two swift blows downed the first Drazi before he could reach his gun. Vance already had his own weapon pulled and pointed at the second Drazi’s head before he could grab his own.
With the barrel of an autopistol at his head, the militiaman froze. ‘Floor three, please,’ said Vance. The Drazi stretched out and pressed the button on the wall, not daring to move his head from the autopistol. As the elevator door closed, Vance rapped the gun butt across the Drazi’s head. The thick skull absorbed most of the blow, causing the Drazi to stagger but not fall down. Another strike sent him to the ground.
Vance realised he couldn’t use the autopistol on any of the Drazi, even just to wound them. The autopistol was a burst fire weapon, shooting several rounds with every pull of the trigger. Even if he tried to shoot a target in the arm, the danger of a stray round hitting a vital organ, or a bystander, was too great.
With that in mind, Vance stepped from the elevator onto the third floor, gun held ready to threaten anyone waiting for him. He was relieved to find nobody there. Again he walked along the corridor, watching for any signs of movement. The chance of him hearing anyone approaching were nil with the sound of the internal alarm singing its monotonous tone.
As he marched down the corridor, a door to his right opened. Vance stopped, allowing the militiaman to walk out and see him holding the autopistol. Without a word, the Drazi raised his hands. ‘Take me to the comms room,’ ordered Vance, raising his voice above the alarm. With a nod the Drazi turned, keeping his hands in the air and marching toward the end of the corridor. He opened a door on the left and flicked the light switch. A blow to the back of the Drazi’s neck put him down. Vance wondered if the autopistol would still fire straight after pummelling so many hard Drazi skulls.
The interstellar comms unit was a basic design, but Vance was sure he could find a relevant frequency on
it. Within seconds he had found the correct coordinates and, using the Drazi cipher, sent an encrypted message: a simple call for help, straight and to the point. Hopefully nearby Rangers would hear it.
When the message was sent, he inhaled deeply to clear his mind and focus on the next step in his escape. A movement out of the room’s single, barred window caught his eye, and he saw the unmistakeable crouching silhouette of a Ky’Thain on a rooftop across from the building.
All he had to do now was escape, but it looked like that would be far more difficult than getting to the comms system had been. Gripping the pistol, he moved back into the hall. Another two Drazi sped toward him, guns in hand. Vance sprayed a burst above their heads, and the militiamen ducked into an adjacent room. Vance had to get to the elevator and out of the building as soon as possible. He pointed the autopistol straight in front of him and pulled the trigger, forcing the Drazi to seek cover as he sprinted down the corridor. When he passed their position, he rolled forward as bullets ricocheted overhead. As he fell into the elevator he turned, loosing another burst from the weapon, then punched the button for the basement.
The two Drazi he had previously knocked unconscious were still lying on the floor of the elevator. Vance quickly swapped his depleted magazine for one of the militiamen’s and noticed something else attached to his belt: a low impact frag grenade. This was an over the top weapon for a militiaman, but knowing what he did about the Drazi, it came as no surprise. Vance unclipped the grenade and attached it to his own belt just as the elevator hit the basement. Hopefully there would be a tunnel out of here that could hide him from the watchful eyes of his enemy outside.
The door opened and Vance could see the basement was the militia’s vehicle pound. A quick survey of the basement’s layout revealed no tunnels. He quickly evaluated the array of vehicles, assessing what might be useful. An armoured car rested closest to him, although what use it would be in Torvag’s narrow streets Vance did not know. Around it were various automobiles, but Vance’s eyes came to rest on something much more useful: a skimmer, mainly used for desert travel, but just what he needed under the circumstances. It was probably one of the fastest vehicles in Torvag.
The ignition was a simple button, so he didn’t have to waste time hotwiring it. Vance gunned the engine and the skimmer came to life, gliding across the floor of the basement and up the ramp to the surface. By the time he arrived at street level, Vance understood the controls, which were much the same as those of dust bikes he’d ridden back on Earth.
Vance had to push his nostalgic thoughts to the back of his mind as he saw movement above. The Ky’Thain were on the move. Vance turned several corners, hoping to leave the creatures behind, but they followed via the rooftops, saving valuable seconds by not having to navigate Torvag’s winding streets.
When Vance grew accustomed to the skimmer’s controls, he pulled out the autopistol, waiting for one of the Ky’Thain to show itself. So intent was he on spotting an aerial attack, he didn’t see the danger straight ahead. One of the creatures, anticipating his route to the spaceport, crouched low in the street in front of him. Vance saw it at the last second and manoeuvred the skimmer just in time. The Ky’Thain’s wrist weapon took a chunk out of the skimmer’s rear exhaust, but the vehicle was otherwise undamaged.
With the creature’s screeching alien curses fading behind him, Vance gunned the skimmer and sped away. Smoke sputtered from the damaged exhaust, but the vehicle maintained its speed. He continued through the streets, now keeping an eye on the road ahead, as well as the rooftops above. Every step of the way the Ky’Thain shadowed him, flitting from building to building as he wound his way toward the spaceport.
For several minutes he seemed to be out of danger. The spaceport loomed ahead, the sight of a ship taking off, its thrusters raging like thunder, spurred Vance onward. Hopefully the security would be as lax for leaving Zhabar as it had been on arrival.
Vance soon saw the hangar where their freighter was housed, and no security controls or personnel blocked his progress. Keeping the skimmer steady, Vance headed straight for the hangar, passing between too low outhouses. As he did so, a dread shadow fell over him. Vance ducked instinctively, feeling the displacement of air that told him he had narrowly avoided death. The Ky’Thain was on top of him immediately, the extra weight dipping the front end of the skimmer and driving it into the ground
An ear-piercing screech ripped through the air as the front end of the skimmer scraped against the hard earth, buckling the metal chassis and throwing Vance and the Ky’Thain forward. He rolled and regained his feet at the same time as the nimble creature. It advanced immediately, its face a bloody mess after hitting the ground. Vance’s own shoulder hurt like hell, probably dislocated. With his good arm Vance drew the autopistol and unleashed a burst whilst moving away toward the hangar. His wounded leg began to throb, fresh blood trickling from the reopened wound.
The burst from the autopistol repelled the Ky’Thain, which covered its vulnerable head from the spray of rounds. As soon as Vance took his finger off the trigger it advanced once more, striding forward on its spidery legs. Vance kept firing, limping toward the hangar, but the Ky’Thain gained ground. Another twenty yards remained between Vance and the hanger when an ominous click told him the autopistol’s magazine was empty. He discarded the gun and pulled his denn’bok as the Ky’Thain surged toward him.
Vance managed to bat away the Ky’Thain’s first three blows. The fourth, an elbow strike that snaked out unseen, hit him square in the face. Vance was propelled backward, the strength of the blow belying the creature’s spindly body. Vance managed to keep hold of his denn’bok, but the strike had driven him onto his back. Before he could even attempt to stand the Ky’Thain was on him. It gripped the denn’bok with one clawed hand, pressing it down against Vance’s body. Slowly, and with a beastly grin spreading across its face, it raised one arm, ready to punch its wrist spike through Vance’s head.
With a tremendous blow the creature was batted aside, leaving Vance free to gain his feet. Merreck stood there, defiantly facing the Ky’Thain, which looked toward each of the Rangers in turn, its face contorting in rage. Merreck moved in, allowing the creature no time to gain its composure. His denn’bok swung in a devastating combination as Vance limped forward, trying his best to help. If he could distract the Ky’Thain, Merreck might gain the edge needed to defeat the creature.
As the Rangers attacked, the Ky’Thain became a blur, deflecting the blows raining in on it from both sides. Vance swept in with a low blow that was neither powerful nor intended to do much damage. At the same time Merreck spun in with a head blow. The Ky’Thain easily stepped over Vance’s attack whilst ducking Merreck’s. The ease with which it avoided Vance’s attack left him vulnerable, and the Ky’Thain whipped its foot up, catching Vance squarely on the jaw. Momentarily dazed, he fell back to the ground. Merreck stubbornly continued his attack, but the Ky’Thain was too fast, blocking every strike and managing to counter. Blood was pouring from several wounds on Merreck’s arms and chest, whereas the Ky’Thain seemed little affected by the denn’bok blows that managed to breach its defence.
As Vance tried to get to his feet once more, the Ky’Thain found the measure of Merreck. Blocking blows from both ends of Merreck’s weapon, it stepped forward, smashing its foot onto Merreck’s knee. His leg buckled, and as he fell the creature’s head butted forward, knocking him to the ground.
Using his last reserves of strength, Vance found his feet. ‘Hey!’ he shouted at the creature, desperate to distract it from Merreck’s prone figure. The Ky’Thain spun round, forgetting about the stunned Minbari and approaching Vance, hatred burning in its eyes. Vance reached round and unhooked the grenade from his belt, holding it behind his back and out of sight. As he pressed the timer button the Ky’Thain reached out and grasped his throat. It pulled him close, so close Vance could feel the creature’s malodorous breath on his face. He stared deep into its eyes and felt its hatred. With pain burni
ng in his shoulder, Vance grasped the creature’s head and pushed close, sinking his teeth into its wounded face. The Ky’Thain’s blood seeped into his mouth, and it gave off a high-pitched wail. At the same time, Vance jammed the grenade beneath the carapace on its chest.
Still screaming, the Ky’Thain thrust its arm out, throwing Vance several feet away. It grasped its face, staring at Vance with unrestrained hate. The creature now obviously desired his death more than anything. Before it could rush forward it stopped, feeling something strange underneath the armour plating on its chest. It reached a panicked claw up, and Vance rolled over, burying his face in his hands. The explosion was not as loud as Vance expected. The gory mess he saw when he opened his eyes, however, was precisely what he had hoped for. Pieces of scaly flesh and shards of armoured shell lay all around for a hundred metres.
Merreck was already on his feet, limping toward Vance. The Minbari helped him up, and silently they stumbled toward the hangar. A glance back confirmed Vance’s worst fears. More Ky’Thain were approaching in the distance like giant insects in search of prey. When they reached the freighter, its engines were already running, the roof of the hangar opened. The two wounded Rangers staggered onto the ship and closed the main doors. Jerklenn was already initiating takeoff as they strapped themselves in.
Vance could see the Ky’Thain rushing forward in a suicidal rage as the main thrusters burst to life, spreading molten fuel throughout the hangar and burning the evil creatures as they approached. A few seconds more and they were in the air.
As he was pressed back into his seat, the pain of Vance’s injuries started to register. The laceration in his thigh, the numbing pain of his shoulder, and his throbbing face all seemed to grow worse as the roar of the freighter’s engines intensified. It lasted for only a few short, painful seconds, for once they broke Zhabar’s atmosphere, and the pull of the planet’s gravity lessened, so did the pain.
