The Renegade

by P. M. Johnson

  Agrom exhaled slowly then nodded his head. “Nosuru guerahasana pur vossess.”

  Logan smiled. He reached up to pat the giant on his massive breastplate. “Thank you my friend.”

  Logan now looked at the Brevian translator and said, “Ask Zish if he’ll help.”

  The Brevian translator was clearly unsupportive of Logan’s suggestion. “I will not help facilitate this disobedience. I heard General Ghorla’s orders. They were very clear. There will be no attack.”

  Logan glared at the Brevian but the translator remained firm. He would not assist. Logan paused a moment and closed his eyes. He listened to the Alamani swirling below the surface of his consciousness. He appealed to them for help and listened attentively to the sounds they made. They were speaking in Urudaska. Though he did not comprehend the words, Logan carefully repeated the sounds.

  Commander Zish’s eyes went wide with surprise as he listened to Logan imploring him to join Logan and Agrom in this fight. Logan appealed to his pride in his clan and the glory of charging into the teeth of the Sahiradin army. Zish was clearly moved by Logan’s words. He placed a hand on Logan’s shoulder and promised his support.

  “Good!” said Logan.

  Then he looked at Hamza. “What about you? Are you willing to disobey Ghorla’s orders?”

  “Yes, sir. You can count on me.”

  “Me too!” said a voice from behind Logan.

  He turned around to see Beth standing in the passageway. She was breathing heavily and her cheeks were red from exertion.

  Logan went to her and kissed her.

  “The Lycians are shaking in their boots,” said Beth. “Ravenwood’s been working on Ghorla and the clan leaders, using every appeal to honor and pride he can think of. Ghorla relented and told us he’s willing to countermand his order but not until the Sahiradin are at our doorstep and we’ve launched our flank attack.”

  “What about Longmire?” asked Logan.

  “He’s furious with Ghorla and the rest of the Lycians. Called them all cowards. He’ll give the order to send the rest of the Earth Defense Force through the main gates after your brigade attacks.”

  “The rest of the army had better come out of hiding,” said Hamza, “or this will be one hell of a mess.”

  Logan grinned and clapped Hamza on the back. “What’s the matter Colonel? You want to live forever? It’ll either be a glorious victory or a glorious defeat.”

  “Yes sir,” said Hamza. “It will at that.”

  “We’ll have to move quickly,” said Beth. “The Sahiradin are almost here,” warned Beth. “They’re using mobile shield domes to protect themselves, and they’ve already blasted their way under our dome a few times, forcing Ghorla to disengage it and reset it closer to the fortress.”

  “Okay, it’s time,” said Logan. He looked at Hamza. “Get ready.”

  “Yes sir!”

  Hamza saluted and turned to carry out his orders. Lena, Zish, and Agrom also went to their appointed positions.

  “It’s bad, isn’t it Beth,” said Logan when they were alone. “That’s why you came down here. You don’t think we’re going to survive.”

  “This might be the last battle of the war,” she said grimly. “But if we lose, it won’t be because Earth didn’t do its part.”

  Chapter 53

  Never make it easy on the enemy. Even when victory becomes impossible, make them earn their garlands.

  - Interview with General Joshua Chamberlain Longmire.

  Admiral Var-Imar watched from the bridge of the Battleship Victory as the broken shells of two nearby heavy frigates burned. They were the last of Victory’s escort and the only things standing between the Alliance’s last ion canon platform and the Sahiradin fleet. A handful of Acula fighters gave chase to five torpedo ships racing toward the lightly armed cannon platform, but they could only delay the inevitable. The platforms had performed their jobs well, crippling three Sahiradin battleships and a dozen other vessels. But they wouldn’t last long now that were on their own.

  “Admiral,” said a Brevian officer to Var-Imar’s right. “The enemy flagship, Retribution, is hailing us. Fleet Commander Taqir is demanding that we surrender and prepare to be boarded.”

  “Status of the fleet?” asked Var-Imar, strangely calm as a bright puff of light in the distance signaled the destruction of an Alliance vessel.

  “Four battleships remain, but they are under increasing pressure. They will not last long. Of the remaining ships, only half still survive.”

  “And the enemy?”

  “They’ve taken far more damage than they could have expected; now they have only a two-to-one advantage.”

  The Rahani admiral slowly nodded her head. The Alliance fleet had performed brilliantly. If the battle had been anything approaching a level fight, the Sahiradin would have been sent fleeing back to Sahir. But it hadn’t been a level fight, and the Empress’ forces were far from withdrawing from the battle. In fact, they were closing in for the kill.

  “What is the status of the ground assault?”

  “Many more transports reached the surface than anticipated. Ghorla’s forces may survive for a while inside D’norah Kûhn, but without support from us, they will not keep the Sahiradin out.”

  Var-Imar silently took in the information, not surprised by any of it. She’d been carefully monitoring the battle’s progress, making adjustments here and there, ordering counter strikes and flanking maneuvers as opportunities presented themselves. But it had not been enough. There were simply too many Sahiradin warships, too many Codex fighters, too many warriors.

  “Do we have any khâls left?”

  “Just one, admiral. Two battleships, Resurgent and Solar Song continue to defend it, but they cannot hold out for long. If we are to withdraw, we must signal all ships now before it is too late.”

  “For what purpose?” asked Var-Imar. “There will be no more battles. This is the Alliance’s last stand.”

  The admiral’s words and her uncharacteristically dark mood gave the Brevian officer pause. Though of less ability than other Brevians, and hence his commission in the fleet rather than a diplomatic post, the Brevian sensed something brewing in the strangely quiet mind of the Rahani admiral.

  “Signal Retribution,” said Var-Imar. “Tell Fleet Commander Taqir if he wants me, he’ll have to come and get me. Prepare to fire on Retribution. Alert the Tullans and Captain Castell that the Sahiradin will seek to board Victory. Deal with them in the only way they understand. The corridors of this battleship will be slick with the blood of our enemies before we surrender.”

  Chapter 54

  You have power over your mind – not over events. When you have realized this, your spirit will be at peace and you will find strength.

  - Baku Nestra (The Way of the Blade), Book IV.

  Lena listened to the sounds of distant battle in the red-lit gloom of the passageway leading to Victory’s bridge. Behind the doors to the bridge was Admiral Var-Imar and a few of her officers who had somehow managed to keep Victory operational far longer than anyone could have expected. Twice, the ship’s weapons systems and shields had gone down, and twice they had been restored. But there would be no third time. Her engines were now offline. Her guns were silent.

  A series of explosions rattled through the ship announcing the arrival of Sahiradin boarding parties. Gunships with borelium-tipped pincers pierced Victory’s outer hull then bored a hole in her metal skin. A force barrier sealed the edges of the breach and hundreds of warriors poured through the openings, killing everyone they encountered as they made their way toward their prize: the bridge and Admiral Var-Imar.

  A few words whispered from behind her caused Lena to look around. It was Bowsong giving a few final hushed instructions to the fifty Serks Lena had brought with her on this doomed mission to somehow prevent the Sahiradin from taking Var-Imar to Sahir to lay at the Empress Khadiem’s feet.

  Particle gun blasts and roaring voices echoed down the corridor. T
he Tullans had announced their presence to the intruders. General Ghorla had chosen the T’kuri Clan to defend Victory. Better disciplined than other clans and deadly with their Kurmae, a kind of war hammer with a curved spike protruding from the back, the T’kuri would exact a high price from the Sahiradin. Yet, it would not be long before superior numbers and the presence of Karazan warrior-priestesses prevailed. The enemy would soon round the corner and find Lena and her Serks waiting for them. The Humani were the last line of defense, the final obstacle before the blood thirsty servants of the Empress reached their prize now locked behind the bridge’s sealed blast doors.

  Lena glanced behind her. Bowsong calmly returned her gaze. She took in his broad, flat nose and weathered skin stretched over high cheekbones. His hair was flat and black as night, his eyes dark as coals. He’d been among the first five Serks on Isle Royal Lena had trained in the Way of the Blade and was easily the best of all of them, not just because of superior reflexes or balance. He was different from the others on a deeper, primal level. He was a natural hunter, a predator who feared nothing because he accepted everything. This gave him an unsettling appearance of calm even in the thick of battle. Unlike most other warriors, Bowsong had no war cry or howl of rage. He was always silent, deadly, and proficient, devoid of malice for his foe but utterly without pity. He never hesitated, never stayed his blade.

  Looking past Bowsong, Lena took in the faces of the other Serks. Dressed in green and tan Special Forces armor, each was ready for the fight to come. The women had their hair slicked back and braded into a tight pony tail. The men’s hair was close cropped on the sides, though some had shaved their heads entirely. Many wore beards, some trimmed to a point, others forked and braded. None had ever crossed swords with a Sahiradin warrior or Karazan. All were eager to do so.

  The echoes of ringing swords and blasters faded to be replaced by the sound of boots striking the deck plate and rustling armor. The Sahiradin had overcome the Tullans. They were coming. The enemy was nearly upon them. Lena could now hear orders being issued in Sahir.

  Lena raised her sword and engaged her antiballistic shield. She activated the force shield on her left forearm. Then she lowered her blade and pointed it toward the onrushing enemy. Her Serks did likewise. The people of Earth might never hear stories of this fight, but the Sahiradin would tell their brethren of the ferocity of the few Humani who stood guard over their admiral.

  The first row of Sahiradin rounded the corner and saw the wall of Serks facing them. They did not slow their pace but charged on. Lena and her Serks surged forward, cutting through the first rank of warriors. They then formed a wall, cutting and thrusting into the mass of white haired, blue-eyed warriors seeking to enter the bridge. Lena’s silver blade, Vasaiya, cleaved through the enemy’s armor and scale-covered skin with ease, severing limbs, impaling breasts.

  With a subtle sign from Lena, the wall of Serks gave way in the center, allowing twenty warriors to pass through only to find themselves isolated against Serks in the rear as the wall closed behind them. A few Humani were wounded in the ensuing fight, and two fell dead, but Bowsong and the other Serks made quick work of the over-confident warriors. The Serks then gathered the hands and feet of several fallen warriors and heaved them over the wall of swords into the ranks of the Empress’ forces, a promise of what awaited any who dared cross the line.

  A screeching voice shouting in Sahir came from somewhere in the rear of the tightly packed warriors. A path opened and ten Karazan in blood-red armor dashed forward. The force of their assault and the precision of their sword strikes forced the Serks to give way. Warriors filled the opening and forced it wider. The Serk line was breaking apart. The wall was no more and a series of smaller battles ensued. Bowsong severed a Karazan’s sword arm then pierced her throat. Lena dropped two using a combination of feints that caused them to commit in one direction just as Lena attacked in another.

  Despite their individual victories and the number of Sahiradin and Karazan lying on Victory’s deck, the Humani were forced to give more ground. Slowly but steadily, they withdrew toward the blast doors separating them from Var-Imar and the bridge. Soon their backs would be against the doors. They would have no room to maneuver and would soon be cut down.

  Lena fended off a series of thrusts then looked to Bowsong and gave him a quick nod. He responded with a crisp command to the Serks. This would be their final surprise for the Empress’ hordes. The thirty remaining Serks now struggled to form a line of four deep. The front two held firm while those in the rear prepared themselves. Then as one, the front two rows dropped to one knee while the two rows behind fired arrows and short spears into the Sahiradin line.

  Momentarily stunned by the rapid projectile volleys fired at point blank, the Sahiradin lost their momentum. Lena, Bowsong, and the first two lines of Serks didn’t waste a moment and charged ahead, pushing the enemy backward, tearing into them with a ferocity the Sahiradin had never before encountered. The invader’s line bent for a moment then burst open as the second wave of Serks, having dropped their short compound bows, joined the fray.

  Behind the Serks, the blast doors opened. Admiral Var-Imar and her few officers dashed forward. The admiral held a thin blade that emitted bursts of green energy on contact. She glided toward the left line of the Sahiradin, deftly avoiding blows, and pierced the side of an enraged warrior.

  On the defenders fought, slashing and stabbing with the efficiency and precision born of Lena’s rigorous training. Tirelessly they strove, knowing there would be no retreat and no fate other than to join their fallen brothers and sisters lying at their feet.

  Lena felled a Karazan just as the warrior-priestess lunged forward. After slaying her, Lena didn’t give the dead daughter of Pashira a second thought. Lena’s conscious mind had receded into the mists of her subconscious. She moved without thinking, struck without forethought, twirled and dodged without pause. Lena was now in that rare place where Masters of the Way lost all sense of self and channeled the power of the Void, becoming its instrument of action and vessel of power. Though weary, she felt no fatigue. Though surrounded by enemies, none could pierce her defenses. She was a continuous blur of motion. All succumbed to the silver light of Vasaiya.

  There was a stir among the Sahiradin. For the first time in the lives of the warriors present, they felt fear as they beheld Lena’s brilliant dance of death. But was not fear of their demise, for that thought was alien to them. It was the fear that they were witnessing something beyond the powers of the material world, some awesome expression of the Law, the cosmic order of things. But this manifestation of power was being applied against them, not in their favor. It was this that gave them pause. A sliver of doubt in the righteousness of their actions entered their minds. Yet, despite their growing unease, there was no possibility of yielding, for to die in battle in the service of their Empress was the most honorable end they could achieve.

  Lena switched Vasaiya from her right hand to her left, and sliced first low then high, feeling it bite deeply into flesh. She watched as the Karazan standing before her dropped to the floor, her sword clattering loudly in the otherwise silent corridor. Lena finally looked around her. She saw only Bowsong and fifteen Serks. All were bathed in the dark blood of the Sahiradin. Admiral Var-Imar stepped forward, sword in hand, and nodded her head in appreciation.

  They all exchanged looks of disbelief. The bodies of Sahiradin lay in heaps around them. Somehow, they had survived the onslaught.

  But there were no cheers or words of congratulations. Victory was still dead in space, defenseless. The Alliance’s fleet was shattered. Only a few ships scattered here and there continued to resist. Behind them, the large view screens of the bridge bathed the corridor in flickering red and yellow light as Sahiradin torpedo ships destroyed the ion cannon platforms in the distance.

  The sound of approaching footfalls caused Lena and the others to turn toward the far end of the corridor. Then they heard voices, incoherent at first, but growing r
apidly louder. There was a series of commands. The footfalls were in perfect step with each other as they came around the corner. It was Sahiradin, hundreds of them. Their leader signaled for a halt. He silently took in the scene of slaughter, registering the number of warriors and Karazan who had fallen to so few Humani. His eyes went to Admiral Var-Imar, the purpose of his mission. The Sahiradin commander’s expression changed from stunned disbelief to grim determination as he reached over his shoulder and drew his blade.

  Lena responded by squaring her shoulders. Her few remaining Serks formed a line on each side of her and prepared themselves for the next assault.

  Chapter 55

  A warrior’s greatest joy is in battle. There is no other endeavor so fulfilling, so honorable, as testing one’s martial skills against those of a worthy adversary. It is the crucible which burns away the impurities of the unessential, leaving behind only the hardened core of what truly matters. But the Sahiradin must take care their love of war not be turned inward, for then it would be war without end. We must strictly adhere to the Law’s Rule of Three Unities: unity of spirit, unity of purpose, unity of obedience.

  - Bara Visch, Third Warden of the Citadel to Queen Souk.

  “Report status of the Separatist fleet!” demanded Fleet Commander Taqir.

  Taqir was still fuming at Kurak. The despicable Master of Ships and Warden of the Citadel, had used the Kaiytáva to bring Havoc into the midst of the Sahiradin formation to deliver additional Codex fighters – fighters Taqir had not requested. No doubt Kurak would declare that by delivering the fighters he rescued Taqir and the fleet from destruction and tipped the scales in favor of the Empress’ forces. He sought to steal this great, though costly, victory for himself. Yet, even more galling to Taqir was the fact that the added fighters had actually proven to be necessary to overcome the staunch defense of the Separatist fleet.