by Yakov Merkin
Minutes later, the fleets began to clash, and instantly tens of warships from either side disappeared from the tactical display. Despite their losses, the enemy defense was holding strong. Darkclaw was almost glad that the High Lord would eventually arrive, even if for the selfish reasons of preserving more of the lives of his forces. Even if the battle could be won—which Darkclaw was beginning to doubt after seeing the heavy defenses—it would not be without huge cost.
Moments later, the High Lord arrived. While it made sense that the High Lord could survive in the vacuum of space—he was not a physical being—Darkclaw still could not comprehend how he could travel faster than the swiftest ships in the fleet.
Any thoughts on the nature of the High Lord went out the airlock, however, once the High Lord engaged the enemy defenses directly.
Their weapons passed right through his form—fitting that he would not even shield his own kind—and had no effect. On the other hand, his attacks, lances of the black energy, passed through shield, armor, and hull with no resistance. Legion Navy ships fell like fighters when attacking a dedicated anti-fighter cruiser. So the High Lord truly could project energy beyond his body.
Darkclaw almost breathed a sigh of relief when the enemy fleet began to retreat around the planet. At least they had the sense not to fight a truly hopeless battle, though they had nowhere to run if Dorandor fell. He did not know what he would do if he were in their situation.
Darkclaw then ordered the ground forces to begin their landing, and had the fleet converge over the planet to deal with the Alliance’s static defenses and provide cover for the landing craft. If the Legion Navy wanted to return to the planet, Darkclaw’s fleet would be in their path. He wondered what would happen should the High Lord die while his forces were on the planet. Would there be any effect on the soldiers? Darkclaw would have prepared a plan for retreat, but that would look too suspicious, and if only he knew of the plan it was useless anyway.
As Darkclaw monitored the unfolding ground battle, an urgent transmission came in from Selixan Station. “Executor,” Praetor Shadowpath said, a hint of urgency showing despite his overall cool demeanor. “The station has come under attack! There are nearly two thousand enemy ships to our five hundred. The station’s defenses will not hold long. We need reinforcements.”
Darkclaw was silent. He should have seen this coming. But what was he to do? If he informed the High Lord, he would immediately return to aid the station, and Darkclaw would lose the one chance he had. On the other hand, without his help, the station would fall. “There will be no reinforcements,” he finally said. “The High Lord is presently engaged and needed here, and ships will not arrive in time. You must evacuate the station. At all cost, ensure that all those that are not clones escape. Only save any technical data if there is time.”
“Understood, Executor.” The praetor abruptly ended the transmission.
Darkclaw stared around him, at the officers on the command deck, all clones. Repopulating through clones alone was near impossible. If Shadowpath failed… the Tyrannodons as a species could be doomed to extinction. Was it worth it to keep the High Lord here, if the alternative was the destruction of his species? There is always another option, a voice in Darkclaw’s mind said. He immediately shut it out. There was no second-guessing himself now.
He reverted the command deck to its normal setting and returned to his command chair—with the battle all but over there was no more need for the fleet command—and watched the movements outside: his ships moving into position, landing craft descending toward the planet, Dorandor’s defense platforms lying in ruins along with many of its defending ships. So much was at risk already, and there was no guarantee of any measure of success. Now there was little for him to do but wait. It was all in Dalcon’s hands now.
* * *
First Scion Dalcon Oresh ordered his forces forward, charging along with them over the rubble and debris of destroyed buildings and vehicles. Thousands upon thousands of Tyrannodons had already landed on the outskirts of Dorandor’s major cities, along with hundreds of Felinaris and Snevan soldiers.
Dalcon’s shield absorbed a burst from a Tyrannodon’s rifle, and Dalcon ducked behind cover and fired an energy ribbon into the Tyrannodon’s chest, killing him. Safe for now, Dalcon peeked out at the huge force marching steadily across a public park on its way to the city proper. The Legion was holding for now, along with the remaining Scions, but Dalcon knew that it was only a matter of time. He’d seen snippets of footage depicting the Tyrannodon High Lord destroying the fleet, Darkclaw had truly been telling the truth. None could stand against something so powerful.
His hand went to the compartment in his armor where he was storing the makeshift device Darkclaw had given him. There would be one chance, at least, thanks to Darkclaw.
Suddenly the sounds of battle quieted. Dalcon looked out from his cover again and saw why. The High Lord had touched down. It—he?—was the most terrifying thing Dalcon had ever seen. The High Lord looked roughly like a Tyrannodon, if Tyrannodons were nearly featureless, black as space, and at least seven meters tall, but he looked twisted as well. He was no longer a physical being but something more, something wrong. All around the High Lord was nothing where dozens of legionnaires and Scions had been fighting. Dalcon spotted a few who were still alive, cowering—as he was—behind whatever was available. The Tyrannodon forces had stopped, and were standing behind the monster.
Dalcon opened the compartment and held the device in his hand. He looked up at the High Lord once more, then held the button that would power it up. Darkclaw’s message had been terse, but it had told him what he needed to know.
“Another Scion,” he heard a disembodied voice say. The High Lord. “But not just any Scion, the one who has information that I require. Your former master has told me much about you, Dalcon Oresh. You know, your kind are far closer to my power than any other, even my own Tyrannodons. Just imagine what power you would wield as my servant, with your power, mine, and your inner fire. There is no reason to throw your life away for a worthless cause.”
“I refused, Gendae, and I refuse you!” Dalcon shouted more defiantly than he felt. Did the High Lord know where he was, or had he simply sensed his general presence? There was little time, and the device had yet to activate. “I will fight you to my dying day for what you did to good people! You are a blight upon this galaxy!”
The High Lord appeared to shrug. “Then we are doomed to disagree. It truly does not matter to me. It was your friend who asked for me to grant you one more chance. But I see you are stubborn. Your death will be painless… probably.”
Dalcon needed more time. He had to keep the High Lord talking. “You spoke of information that I possess that you require. Would you kill me before obtaining it?”
“So you admit to knowledge of the traitor’s identity.” Dalcon immediately felt an immense pressure on his mind to tell the High Lord everything, to not resist.
But he did resist, bringing everything he had to bear in that defense. A wall of the power he possessed, a wall of will, and even a wall of fire. But he was faltering all the same. He would not last long.
As Dalcon felt his mental defenses crumble, the device began to glow. Dalcon rolled out from his position and threw it toward the High Lord, and the device picked up speed as it flew.
The High Lord did not seem to notice, and the pressure on Dalcon’s mind intensified even as he shoved every thought possible in front of the key one—he could not fail. “I see you will be difficult. No matter. You will break before long—I have all the time in the universe.” The High Lord turned to his forces. “Advance, but leave the Daeris Scion alive for now.
Only then did the energy being notice the small projectile speeding toward his chest. “And what is this plaything, Scion? Surely you must know by now that I am indestructible. Even if your weapon could hurt me, it would not matter!” The High Lord remained still, but formed a small sphere of black energy, which arced around the devi
ce and destroyed first its propulsion system, then most of the rest of it. The seeker tumbled to the ground. The energy dissipated on contact with the claws—Darkclaw’s claws. “You see? Fighting does you no good.” Dalcon had time for a moment of horror—they had failed!—before the High Lord breached his defenses and found what he was looking for.
* * *
Darkclaw watched from the safety of the Hudecar’s command deck s the High Lord personally joined the battle on Dorandor. The Alliance’s defense forces, which had been solidly holding their own against Darkclaw’s army, stood no chance. Just about all of the Alliance military personnel that had been protecting the capitol had been completely wiped out, and the city itself was heavily damaged in the fighting. But Darkclaw could see that Dalcon, who would have defended the capitol either way, was still alive.
Then the High Lord stopped, and began to talk to Dalcon, trying to win him over, and when that failed, to learn the identity of the traitor—Darkclaw himself. Then Dalcon began to talk to the High Lord, buying time while he activated the seeker. It would be mere moments.
It would be so easy to warn the High Lord. A simple mental call would be more than sufficient to stop this, to return to how things were. There might even still be time to save Selixan Station. After all, what would happen next? Darkclaw would find himself in a leadership position that he was not ready for. For all he knew, he would cause more problems.
No. In order for the Tyrannodons, the galaxy, to have a chance for peaceful coexistence, the High Lord must die. At any cost.
Then Dalcon hurled the seeker, even as the High Lord stared at him, likely trying to force his way into the Scion’s mind to learn the identity of the traitor.
The High Lord did not detect the tiny projectile at first, but as it picked up speed the High Lord took notice. He reacted as he would to just about any attack, snidely remarking on how useless it was, then effortlessly crippled the seeker, and its remains tumbled to the ground.
Darkclaw’s heart nearly stopped, and he sat frozen in his chair. No! They could not fail, not when they had been so close. But their only plan had failed. The weapon—his claws—was intact, but with no way to get them to target, they were worthless.
Darkclaw muttered one of the many prayers he had learned recently, and reached out to the claws, which still felt as though they were attached to his fingers. There had to be a way! But he knew he had seconds. Once the High Lord learned what he needed, Dalcon would die, followed shortly by Darkclaw.
When the claws remained still, Darkclaw resorted to a desperate, irrational action. He thought of all the people he had come to know and respect: Nayasar, Felivas, Dalcon, Kalviss, Lisar, Ship Commander Gadelius, Praetor Keeneye, the Felinaris, Snevan, and Talvostan people, as well as his own. He was failing them. The High Lord would kill them all! Darkclaw roared and lunged forward, hands outstretched, as thought he meant to impale the High Lord from orbit.
He stumbled from the chair as the command crew looked at him quizzically. But Darkclaw paid no attention. The claws were moving! They rose up from the ground and flew toward the High Lord.
The High Lord, on the ground, glanced at the moving projectile as though amused, and fired a small sphere of energy directly at it.
But his sphere of energy dissipated when it made contact with Darkclaw’s claws. Darkclaw involuntarily flexed his fingers as the claws encountered resistance, felt them take damage from contact with the High Lord’s energy.
The High Lord, realizing that something was not right, attacked again, his energy destroying the remnants of the device—normal matter could not stand against any amount of his energy. But the claws, despite taking further damage, kept moving, and struck him directly in the chest. The High Lord, who had just begun to speak, stopped mid-sentence, then started screaming as his body began to fold in on itself, in much the same way the destroyed avatar had, and all sensation of the disembodied claws was lost —did the impact somehow destroy them?
Then Darkclaw felt the High Lord’s presence reaching for his mind. It had come far too quickly to even think of deactivating the innocence chip, but it did not matter. Darkclaw could tell that the High Lord knew. While he doubted it would do much good, Darkclaw resisted. The mere action gave the High Lord pause for a moment, and then his presence grew indistinct as the High Lord’s power began to fail. Had they done it?
Down on the planet’s surface, the High Lord turned his head upward, and to Darkclaw’s eyes he was staring directly at him. He could feel the High Lord attempting to mount an attack, but his power was failing.
“DARKCLAW!” the High Lord roared as his body continued to compress itself, then his only remaining arm reached up to the sky, and an enormous bolt of energy flew from it.
Seconds later, the High Lord’s presence vanished completely, ending his attempt to attack Darkclaw’s mind. Darkclaw felt himself being lifted off the floor by his crew—when had he fallen, how long had he been there, frozen? He couldn’t believe it. It was done. The High Lord was dead, nothing but a black mass on the ground, receding into a small sphere, just like the avatar. They had won!
“Executor, incoming energy signature!” exclaimed the flight controller—he almost sounded surprised at his outburst. “It is on a direct collision course with the Hudecar!”
“Onscreen!” Darkclaw ordered, and saw the High Lord’s last action headed directly toward them. He found himself unable to move. What could he do?
“Take evasive action!” he shouted. It did not matter now that he expressed feelings openly. “Now!”
Less than a second later, the Hudecar began to move, painfully slowly, out of the way. Too slowly. They would not make it.
“Impact in twenty seconds!” announced the sensor operator.
“Brace for impact!” Darkclaw shouted.
Seconds later, the ship shook violently as the energy bolt hit it and passed right through.
“Losing power! The ship is going down!”
Darkclaw was about to give the order to abandon ship when the mental equivalent of a sledgehammer to the head hit him, and everything went dark.
CHAPTER 27
Nayasar stared out at city, one of Dorandor’s larger ones, as her forces advanced. Fortunately, she was not attacking the capital city, but being on Dorandor again so soon after the disaster of her self-imposed mission made her uneasy. Not that it impaired her ability to command, of course.
She was overseeing an offensive through a large suburb on the outskirts of the city of New Erisel, on the way to the city proper. Despite knowing that this battle was likely going to be cut short, and that once the High Lord was killed a ceasefire would be arranged, Nayasar and her command staff had, along with their Tyrannodon and Snevan counterparts, crafted complete invasion plans. In part, this called for massive troop landings outside of the major cities, and to push through the less densely populated suburbs to the main city, due to the ground-based defenses within the city that were designed to stop transports from landing inside them. Also, landing further away gave the attacking forces time to organize themselves before coming into contact with the Legion defenders, which were primarily deployed within the cities.
Thus far there had been few encounters with the defenders, but now that they were entering a more developed area Nayasar expected heavy resistance to start; plus, the familiar scent of Legionnaire armor was getting closer.
To deal with that, she had ordered the armored vehicles to advance quickly into the area to take central locations and deploy soldiers so that at least they’d have footholds. If this battle plan was carried out to completion, it could well take weeks, if not more.
Intermittently, her mind would turn to Darkclaw and the true goal of today’s operation. She had been such a fool to have wasted the time doing something ultimately for herself when she could have helped more. Maybe they would have found a more sure solution. Though there already had been one victory that day, she realized with a smile. She had beaten Felivas onto the planet.
“Nayasar,” Felivas said over their comm link, as though the thought of him had conjured up the channel, “we have confirmed contacts.”
“Understood. Feel free to engage. I’ll bet we’ll run into them soon enough over here.” Felivas was commanding the attack groups that were approaching the city from another angle; there was no sense in clumping everyone together in one huge force when there were multiple avenues of attack.
“Srei Felitzvah,” a lieutenant said as he ran up to her a few minutes later. “Our forces are coming under attack.”
“About time.” Nayasar walked over to Tofermier, her shuraf mount, and got on her back. While Nayasar was commanding the operation from the ground, she would not be fighting on the literal front line this time, but would command the mounted cavalry personally and serve as a response team for any units that needed support. The added height was also useful in seeing what was happening on the fly.
“All forces advance,” she ordered once she was ready. “It’s sixty miles to the city, and if I’m going to be here overnight, I’d rather be in a city mansion than some backwater neighborhood!”
Nayasar brought up a small tactical display on her multitool as the battle was joined. From the limited information she had available, the Legion forces were heavily entrenched and had evacuated the area. This was both fortunate and unfortunate; Nayasar did not want any more innocent blood on her hands, but the enemy in better positions would mean more of her own—Felinaris or Tyrannodon, there was little distinction to be made now. The sooner this ended the better. The Galactic Alliance had learned its lesson and suffered enough.
The memories of the aftermath of Selban had not gone away, but Nayasar was able to hold her feelings at bay. She had done all that she could to stop and then to avenge the dead. There was no more to do aside from remember.
