The Last Narkoy_OSLO

by Elizabeth Price

  THE LAST

  NARKOY

  OSLO

  Elizabeth Price

  Copyright © 2018 by Elizabeth Price

  Cover Design © 2018 by Elizabeth Price

  All rights reserved.

  This e-book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real person, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  ONE

  Danstu Keriney raced through the busy streets of the underground city of Gathow. Behind him marched an entourage of twenty men and women, ten wearing the black security uniforms of the Tasgool military. The other ten wore uniforms depicting high ranking commands. All had difficulty keeping up with his pace.

  He hurried inside the white domed command building and towards his office, dodging questions and documents needing his approval. In haste, he turned to the group of officers, pointing to six of them. The sleeves of his gray Tasgool uniform pulled tightly against his broad shoulders. How he wished he had chosen a larger size.

  “Damitri, contact the Dormins. Find me everything we have on the Mawan and their last known location. Coleng, prepare for what the Marisheio may have in store for us politically. I need information,” he ordered.

  Danstu continued into his office. Only two of the officers followed. He motioned to the shorter of the two men to close the door as he tapped his computer on his desk.

  “On screen,” he called as he turned to his main viewscreen, which was mounted to the left side of his spotless desk. He turned to the screen, his stern expression taut against his angular cheekbones.

  The pudgy lime-green face of a Clove man appeared on the screen. He was wearing a Marisheio uniform, the uniform of the Tasgool’s most despised enemy, yet he saluted Danstu. “Chisarel,” he announced.

  “Aris, tell me the reports I’ve received are exaggerated,” Danstu began, his eyes narrowing to slits.

  “Unfortunately, I can’t. I personally witnessed the Chadon’s ship crash on Clovucutte with my own eyes. My associates managed to rescue three of your crew, but we have yet to locate the Chadon or her guard. Upon impact, the outer hall of the Mawan split apart. She and,” he paused to verify information off-screen, “Tremble were sucked out somewhere over the city of Teerlas. There is, however, a small possibility both are still alive,” the man explained.

  “Does anyone know the Chadon is currently on your planet?” Danstu asked Aris. The two officers behind him listened in with great interest.

  Aris’ head wobbled on his thick shoulders. “Not that we’re aware of. We have many highly placed spies inside the government and none have heard anything yet. There would be more chatter if they believe they captured the Chadon.”

  “And the crew?” he asked.

  Aris turned away from the monitor to listen to someone relaying information. “Two of your men were badly injured and required medical attention. All three we rescued will survive. We have a trusted medical associate tending to them now. When your man, Zion, comes to I’ll have him contact you.”

  “Very well, thank you,” Danstu returned. The screen turned to black, mirroring the image of the two men standing behind him. He turned to the two men, a scowl on his thin lips.

  “Bagaaris?” Danstu addressed a burly older Boshibon man with rust-colored skin. His freckled bald head glistened in the artificial lighting. Dark black rings encircled his bright orange eyes.

  Bagaaris grumbled low, filling his chest with air. His thick jowls quivered as he began to speak. “I have three hundred and twelve pilots ready at your command. Though, I doubt that will be sufficient enough to take on the Marisheio,” he stated.

  Danstu turned to the other man, a man he hired a week prior to handle undercover operations. His name was Ryn Hallis and he came highly recommended by the Underground, an organized group of mercenaries who he served for twelve years. The Underground was fast becoming the Tasgool’s best ally.

  Ryn scratched a small patch of blond stubble that grew on his chin with his thick thumb. “Without knowing the full extent of the situation, I can’t recommend a course of action. Once we have an idea where the Chadon is, then we can start planning. For now, I suggest you use your spies and see what they can find. We need more information.”

  “Yes, good idea. As soon as I hear anything, you’ll be the first to know. Until then, start researching three good extraction points, preferably somewhere where the Marisheio won’t notice us,” he ordered.

  Both men saluted then left the office as the Chadon’s best friend, Cidele and her ageing father, Lolum, entered.

  “Sedom was captured?” Cidele squawked, her voice drawing attention from those outside the office. She brushed her long blonde hair back over her shoulder. “Why didn’t you tell us sooner?” she demanded.

  Danstu hurried to his door, closing it so that he could negate any rumors of Sedom’s capture. His head wearily bobbed on his neck as he turned to them.

  “Yes. I’ve just been informed. In route to the Oslo, the Mawan was shot down by the Marisheio. They managed to crash-land on Clovucutte, but Sortec was ejected from the ship before it collided with the surface,” Danstu explained.

  “What are we doing?” Lolum asked, his boney, frail hand holding his spunky daughter in place.

  “And when do I leave?” Cidele asked anxiously.

  “We have limited information at this moment. As soon as I learn more, I’ll decide on a course of action,” Danstu explained. He turned to Cidele, musing sternly. “Tell me why I would send the head of Gathow’s housing on a mission to retrieve our leader from an enemy world? You’re not even military.”

  “And you’re also not going anywhere,” Lolum hushed his daughter.

  “Oh, come on. You know I will find her. I always find her,” she offered.

  Danstu nodded, thinking about what she said. “What we need is to find answers. We don’t even know where the ship landed.” He opened the door, hinting that they should leave. “Once I know more, I’ll let you know… when it’s convenient for me,” he offered.

  Lolum guided Cidele out the door. “Of course, Chisarel,” he said, forcing Cidele out in front of him.

  She turned to say something as Danstu closed the door. He paused, staring in dread at the door. “That will not be good for me later,” he huffed. He turned in time to see the red light on his com screen blink on again. “What now?”

  TWO

  Sedom fluttered her left eye open, gazing up at a harsh sun as it beat down over her pale blue cheeks. She weekly turned to her left, feeling something moist and sticky rubbing over her cheek. She blinked both eyes open, their vision filling with the image of two very large nostrils and a thick, black tongue.

  “Yuck!” she screeched, pushing herself away from the animal. Slimy mucus clung to her cheek as she wiped it away with the sleeve of her uniform top. She glanced around the area, finding that she was surrounded by a mound of dried grass. Her eyes turned back to the blue sun, attempting to settle her mind from its confusion.

  “Trasbulo!” she cursed. Quickly, she reached for the nametag on her uniform, ripping it from her pocket along with the patches on her sleeve.

  The animal continued to nibble at her, giving her an idea. “Here,” she said, offering the patches to the beast. He gobbled the patches up, snorted, and then walked away to nibble on a fresh patch of grass.

  Sedom shook her head uneasily, trying to recall how she ended up in the middle of a haystack. In the distance, she noticed a plume of smoke rising up from the ground. She closed her eyes
, attempting to focus on the smoke.

  Icy fingers of dread washed over her body. For a brief moment, she couldn’t move from her terror. “The Mawan crashed?” she gulped. She dropped to her knees in the hay and bowed her head to her thighs.

  “NO!” she howled, pounding her hands into the hay. “Please, let them die quickly or be held in the arms of friends,” she begged in shuttering words. If the Mawan had crashed, she knew her friends were either dead or in grave danger.

  A ship flying above her stirred her from her grief. She dove down into the haystack, hiding from the ship as she surveyed the area. To her surprise, she had landed in a pasture of grazing livestock. Several of the same creatures roamed the area. She could see for miles in all around her. Thankfully, she saw nothing resembling an army of Marisheio searching for her.

  She slid out of the haystack and onto the marshy ground. Her boots sunk into the ground, causing her great difficulty to walk without stumbling. Clumsily, she held onto the back of one of the beasts to regain her footing before she could slip. The beast snorted and ran off, leaving her face first in the muck.

  “Thanks!” she called to the beast. She slowly sat up from the ground, wiping away the muck from her face.

  Once again she attempted to stand, more cautious of where she stepped this time. She was now covered from head to toe with mud. With wide, golden eyes, she examined the sleeves of her uniform. “What is with me and mud,” she snarled. “Oh well. Okay,” she glanced around again, noticing a road in the distance. “How am I going to get out of this without being caught?” she asked herself.

  The sound of an engine caused her to look to the sky. A short-range Marisheio ship was closing in on her from above. She dropped to the ground, intentionally covering her body in the mud.

  The ship slowed overhead, scanning the area around her. It paused momentarily over her but continued on without concern.

  Sedom rose from the mud, shaking her head in amazement. “I must be made from stone,” she thought. So many times now the Marisheio’s sensors failed to identify her when she was covered in mud. She felt curious yet relieved at the same time.

  The beast who woke her earlier stared down at her, sniffing her face. “Do you want to clean me up?” she asked the animal. The beast sniffed, snorted then walked away. “I didn’t think so,” she huffed as she rung out her hair.

  She stood again, her feet sinking into the muck. “Oh, this is going to be fun,” she grumbled as she lifted her leg to take another step.

  Step by step she slowly made her way to solid ground. Curious, she turned back to the beasts grazing in the field. How did she have such a hard time walking and they didn’t? Then she noticed the animal’s thin, almost bird-like legs, which amazed her. How could an animal so large be supported by such thin legs? Yet another subject she would have to research once she returned to Gathow… if she returned.

  Before too long, she had arrived at the very road she had seen in the distance. Hover-vehicles whooshed by her, paying her no attention. She was about to give up hope that she could ever flag down anyone when she noticed a vehicle parked on the side of the road.

  At first, it looked to be a transport vehicle of some kind with wood rails and open to the elements. Two men stood in the open back end of the transport, arguing about something. One paused when he noticed Sedom approaching, causing the second to turn to her.

  “What happened to you?” the second man asked in Calk, the Clove’s language.

  It took Sedom a moment to recall how to speak the language. She had heard it so infrequently that she had almost forgotten she knew it.

  “I’m not sure. Is there a city nearby?” she asked.

  The first man nodded. “About thirty cals from here. We’re heading there now. You need a lift?” he asked.

  Sedom nodded. “That would be… nice. Thank you,” she returned, still having difficulty with the language.

  The second man helped her up into the back of the transport. The two men climbed into the cab of the transport and drove on. Sedom continued to watch the sky, trying to recall what happened. As she watched, small drops of rain fell from the sky.

  Heavy rain soon followed, washing away all the dirt from her uniform. To her horror, her uniform immediately identified her as an officer of the Tasgool, no matter how many patches she removed. She quickly removed her uniform top, revealing her white shirt beneath, and tossed it from the moving transport.

  “They may find it, but until then it will buy me some time,” she thought as she watched the uniform top land in the middle of a field.

  The transport hit something in the road, causing the back to pop up. She grabbed hold of the railing around the back to keep her footing. Another bump sent her to her butt, scraping her wrist on the wood railings as she fell.

  She seethed, looking down at her bleeding wrist. “Trasbula, uh,” she glanced around, looking for something she could use as a bandage. A strip of plastic holding animal feed caught her eye. She ripped it off, wrapping it around her wrist to stop the blood.

  Rain poured down, forcing her to take refuge with an open box. She set the box on its side and curled up inside. From inside the box she stared out at the alien world, all the while her mind was creating a list of what she needed to do. The first item-- find a safe place to hide. The second item-- send a message to Gathow that she was alive. The third item-- find any survivors.

  “Please, let there be survivors,” she gulped.

  ---

  On the bridge of the Tasgool battle cruiser Assan, Captain Sallris Cembre paced nervously, watching the main viewscreen as three Dormin vessels approached uncomfortably close. All three ships where glossy black, equal in size and packed a payload that caused her slight concern. Although the ships equaled the Assan in size, she knew her ship could easily take all three in battle.

  Commander Britan Miserin, a tall, very thin specimen hailing from the planet of Cariou, took position behind his Captain. His long arms were held tightly behind his back as he waited for her orders.

  Cembre turned to her second in command. They hadn’t worked together for long, but she had come to value his opinion. “The Chisarel warned us this might happen,” she mentioned to him.

  “Better now than later,” Miserin pointed out. “We should talk to them before we start a war.”

  She nodded several times, mentally preparing for the task before her. “Open a channel,” she called out. Her bright teal eyes twinkled in the soft lights of the bridge as small beads of sweat glistened on her pale green skin.

  A coco skinned, male Zalmin com officer called out from her left, “Open, Sir.”

  “This is Captain Cembre of the Tasgool ship Assan to Dormin vessels. State your purpose in this territory,” she called out.

  A very roguish Dormin man appeared on the viewscreen. An eye patch was held tight by a leather band over his left eye. “Captain Cembre, I find it rather interesting seeing you in command of a Tasgool ship. Honestly, it’s rather interesting to see a Tasgool ship at all. We weren’t aware of any in operation,” he began.

  “Captain Tombereesi, yes, there are a few of us out here now. And let’s just say the Chadon made me an offer I couldn’t refuse,” she returned sternly, recognizing the man from a previous encounter. She paused, waiting for the man to speak. When he didn’t, she began tapping on the weapon’s console beside an older Mandicien woman with long white hair. “The Tasgool have mining claims cleared by the galactic mining council, allowing us access to this section for the next twenty standard days. So, I’m still asking the same question, why are you here?”

  “It is rather peculiar that a Tasgool ship has traveled so close to the Nevet system searching for ore,” Captain Tombereesi pointed out.

  “We’re searching for a rare metal,” she replied without missing a beat. Once again she waited for his explanation, and once again she was met with silence. “Your turn, Captain?”

  “Why would the Tasgool need any special metal?” Captain Tombereesi qu
estioned.

  Captain Cembre shook her head, her cropped white hair so stiff it barely moved. “My orders,” she shrugged. “None of my concern what the Chadon wants with it,” she returned. She tapped on the weapon’s console for the woman to send a message over to the com.

  The Com officer glanced over his shoulder, noticing the stern look in his Captains eyes. He quietly sent the transmission of the conversation to Gathow.

  “We too are on a research mission to collect… ore,” Captain Tombereesi explained.

  “And that requires three ships?” she questioned. “That’s a lot of ore.”

  “In this case, yes. Now, move aside. We’ll be starting now,” Captain Tombereesi said, ending their transmission.

  Cembre tapped the weapons console. “Raise our shields and ready weapons. If they move so much as an inch, fire and take out the lead ship’s shields,” she ordered.

  The lead ship started to pull away, heading towards the planet. As it did, the Assan fired, disabling their main shields without breaking a sweat.

  Moments later, Captain Tombereesi’s irate face appeared on the screen again. “We are allies! Why did you fire on us?” he yelled.

  “For one, we have a legal claim to this area, you don’t. If you cause problems, we will be blamed. You can do your research in this section once we have left and you’ve submitted the proper applications. Out of the subject of diplomacy, we’d be happy to send you all of our science data once we’ve concluded our investigation into this sector,” she offered, her expression stern.

  “Diplomatic? This isn’t diplomacy, this is an act of war!” he yelled.

  “As it is my understanding, Braum Daveric has agreed to stay clear of Tasgool affairs. This is a Tasgool affair… leave now before we have an incident!” she growled.

  “Do you honestly believe you could take on three Dormin battleships, Captain?” Tombereesi questioned.

  A sly smirk appeared on her pale lips. “The question is do you, Captain, think you can take on one Narkoy ship? I just accepted this command. I’m itching to find out what the Assan is capable of,” she returned, her eyes crazed. She gave the com officer the signal to cut off their transmission.