Annals of the Keepers: War 267 (Book 1 in the Gashnee Saga)

by Hile, Christiaan

  A smile crossed Kason’s face.

  He turned. “Of course, Lieutenant Commander.”

  She stepped up a few feet from him. “I wanted to see how Ramek was doing.” She looked past him at the Reaver door to elicit her concern.

  “I was just heading back to the med-lab to check on his condition now, but before the briefing he was in stable condition.” Kason placed his arms behind his back, not wanting to be over-powering.

  He eclipsed her height by over a foot.

  Droe seemed a bit nervous as she searched for her next words. “I… I wanted to talk to you about the briefing and what Nevlen said. I think he was out of line.”

  Kason got tense at the mention of Nevlen’s name. “I don’t want to discuss it.”

  She tried again regarding that name. “I didn’t mean to bring it up again. I mean, I just wanted to let you know.”

  “I understand, Lieutenant Commander. Thanks for your concern.”

  Kason turned around and headed towards the ready room door.

  Miffed by his reaction and abrupt departure, she followed him.

  The door in front of them slid open with a whoosh. Kason entered as Droe trailed.

  Her first thought was, why is he ignoring me? Her second was why was she following him?

  The door closed behind them.

  White-hued lights adorned the hallway to either side of the causeway, radiating their brilliance up the side of the walls. White and black Reaver regimental flags draped the cathedral-like ceiling.

  Kason approached and stopped before the last large-arched doorway on the other end of the causeway.

  Kason turned to face Droe. “This is as far as you can go, Lieutenant Commander.” He spun and entered the archway.

  A computer chimed, “Please stand still for bio scan.”

  A blue beam of light flashed from the top of the arch with a hum and ran down the archway’s side, incasing Kason in its glow. After stopping at his feet, it retreated back up the arch to the top. Upon completion of the scan, the lights blinked out.

  Beep. Beep. “Welcome, Captain Bender.”

  The large security door slid open.

  Before Kason could walk through, Droe spoke.

  “I just wanted to say I thought your Reaver team did a fantastic job and Nevlen was just jealous of their performance.”

  Kason stopped. He paused before turning. “There are a lot of people who don’t care to see the Reavers succeed, Lieutenant Commander.”

  She pushed. “Name one, besides Commander Nevlen?” Her eyes looked skyward as to draw another name besides Nevlen’s for herself.

  “I can name several who do not support our mission statement, but it’s not my place.” He nodded in her direction.

  “You’re joking right? I can’t think of any other name besides Nevlen’s. I think you are taking this way too hard. I just wanted to give you a compliment on the mission, not strike a nerve.”

  “It’s hard to strike at my nerves, Lieutenant Commander, but since you brought it up I will indulge you.” He paused, not sure if he should continue, but did. “Your father does not look upon us with a respectable appreciation. He opposes the Precepts, which created and support the Reaver Regiments.”

  Taken off-guard, Droe tried to back pedal. “No. He just... You don’t understand.”

  “Can’t find the words?” Kason said.

  Her fluster now turned into agitation. “What are you talking about? I just brought up Nevlen’s position and now you drag my father into this?”

  Kason pressed. “You asked me to name another who opposes the Reavers, I named another, or did I strike a nerve?”

  Her eyes narrowed. “It’s hard to strike my nerves too, Captain.”

  “Lieutenant Commander, do you mind me asking why you changed your last name from your father’s if you support his stance on the policies for the Ordinance?” Kason wanted to take that one back, but it was too late.

  Droe’s face slid from the highbrowed ‘stand your ground’ expression just a few short breaths before to an, ‘I don’t like you much’ appearance.

  “I don’t mind at all, but it’s not what we were discussing. The conversation was about Commander Bossarios and his tone during the de-briefing. I didn’t come here to argue with you, Captain. I’m sorry if I offended you in any way,” she said.

  Before Kason could respond, Droe relaxed her shoulders and smiled. “It’s Droe, Captain.”

  “Excuse-umm-I beg your pardon?”

  “You can call me Droe, Captain. I didn't mean anything by the conversation. I just wanted to let you know I’m on your side, Kason.”

  “I am sorry, Lieutenant Commander, I mean Droe. I’ve had a lot on my mind, to include Commander Nevlen.” He paused, contemplating her.

  For the first time he realized how beautiful she was. Her long dark hair fell down one side of her face. Her green eyes sparkled. Her lips were full and her skin looked soft.

  He realized he had been staring at her for several moments now.

  Droe cocked her head as to ascertain why he wasn’t speaking.

  “If you don’t mind, Droe, I would like to carry on our conversation at another time.”

  “Yes, Captain, that would be nice.” Droe smiled, delighted at his suggestion.

  Kason was not in his element. He knew he had to leave before things got out of control, and made himself a fool. If it wasn’t too late already.

  “Thank you for your understanding,” he said.

  Kason turned and entered the ready room without hesitation. The door closed behind him and locked with a clank.

  Data Cell 6

  The light in the room shined down upon the Kryth commando. Lintorth raised his hand to block the unyielding intruder as he strained to open his eyes.

  The room was blurred for a moment.

  Lintorth looked around to get a sense of where he was. He knew he wasn’t captured by the unknown enemy, since neither strap nor cell awaited him.

  He spied some coveralls on a chair near the wall, the only real furniture in the room besides the table he was on.

  He brought confirmation of what he had already surmised: he was on a cargo ship. The smell and stains that coated the walls were a clear sign to the origins of the vessel. They were most un-official cargo runners, the kind of low-life Kryth Lintorth loathed and exploited within his own intelligence apparatus for the Domain.

  A shard of pain shot through Lintorth’s body as he attempted to rise from his prone position. He felt the crude metal brace bite into his left leg.

  Lintorth was in no mood to deal with this discomfort or some malpractice medical device the likes of which he would not even place on an injured Aythra.

  With one rapid movement, he lifted himself up and off the table and found the clothes on the near chair.

  Lintorth clenched his teeth as he stared over the room. “Where is my armor? Where is my cape?”

  His mind pictured the degenerates aboard this tub. He could only imagine what they did with the cape as it was no doubt lying around some filthy bunk, used as drapes or as a nice rug somewhere aboard the ship.

  Lintorth’s mind was now focused.

  His anger obscured the ache in his body as the notion of the future existence of the Domain and the Kryth Mahr race was at hand. He must reach the communication room onboard and send a warning to his intel network regarding the new unknown invaders in the Sol System.

  Lintorth exited the room and limped down the hall at the fastest pace allowed by the metal contraption secured to his leg.

  He reached up with a hand and pulled off the haphazard bandages placed on his face by who knows-what-unpracticed scum.

  Ahead, he spotted two of the crew from this ship; they looked to be guarding the door to the bridge of the vessel.

  “Funny,” he said to himself, wondering what they were guarding the bridge entrance of a run-down cargo ship for. Smirking, he knew full well whom they were safeguarding it from.

  The two Kry
th stepped forward from their positions at the door to intercept the unknown ‘striped face’ approaching.

  “Stop right there,” the tall, skinnier one said with some forced bravado.

  Lintorth looked over both. “I must be allowed to speak to the captain of this ship. It’s of vital Domain importance that I do.”

  He already knew their answer, but had to wait until their response fell from their grimy mouths.

  The short stubby guard puffed up at what his skinny partner would say next, as he too was feeling his comrade’s swagger.

  The scrawny sentry responded, “Captain does not have time for you. Now go back to your room until you are called.”

  “Yeah, go back to your room before you fall down,” the short one snickered.

  Lintorth, though wounded, closed the final few feet of the gap from the two with lightning speed, driving his hand against the tall Kryth’s throat and into the door behind.

  With his other hand, Lintorth had already un-sheathed the crewman’s knife, thrusting it against the throat of the other so-called bridge guard.

  “Like I said, I would like to speak to the captain of this ship. Do I hear any, and I will repeat this only once, do I hear any objections from either of you two?” His eyes blazed with death as he contemplated the sentries’ fate with the question.

  The guards began to shake their heads in immediate acknowledgment.

  Lintorth heaved the throat-gripped Kryth down the hall while still keeping a steel-tight edge with the blade to the other. With a wave of the knife towards the hall, the pudgy Kryth, now dazed, removed himself from the presence of Lintorth and scurried down the corridor and out of sight.

  Lintorth turned and entered the bridge. The door swished open.

  A small bridge lay before him; he noted how feeble it was compared to the awesome sight of a Legion Flag battle bridge. Two consoles flanked each side of the walls, which were wider than the breadth of the doorway he entered. Only four crewmembers monitored the ship’s readouts to their fronts, doing their monotonous duties and ignoring the Kryth soldier’s presence, on purpose.

  On one monitor, he noticed the ship’s course was headed to Drekka 7, a mining colony whose surface was pocketed with precious itar ore deposits. It seemed the captain of this tub was engaged on a supply run for the colony, profitable without a doubt. Unfortunately, the captain and his ship were travelling the opposite direction Lintorth had to go.

  Up in front of a viewing window was a large ornate chair with lavish jewels and ornaments imbedded in its metal surface, which sat elevated above the rest of the room.

  The chair swiveled around. There sat the fat captain of this vessel.

  Lintorth’s eyebrow peaked as he observed the cushion this over-weight captain perched himself upon; it was upholstered in the crimson red material from his cape.

  The chubby thighs lifted themselves off the pad with a breathless grunt, as if some worren beast was giving birth, Lintorth thought.

  The captain of the Selkon’s Drift spoke.

  “Who authorized your entrance to my bridge? I did not,” the chubby captain lumbered down the few steps of his self-ordained throne.” No one called you to me, soldier of the Domain. Now get off my bridge before I have you shot.” He finished wiping the bits of drool from around his mouth.

  “It is vital I communicate with Dranneous Kor to report an invasion of Kryth territory, Captain. I do not wish to take this ship by military law unless I have to.” Lintorth stared straight into the captain’s eyes to reassure his host that he was serious of his request and intent.

  The fat captain chuckled.

  “Ha! You threaten me. Who are you? You would be no one if I didn’t stop to pick up your life-pod in the transport lane circles ago. Do not threaten me, pata. This is not a military ship and you have no authority here. Now, get off my bridge.” The captain snapped his finger to signal one of his crew.

  The crewmember emerged from his seat, and with the sound of metal against leather, pulled his holstered weapon towards Lintorth.

  The aim never came.

  A flash of blade made contact with the poised arm of the crew member, who attempted to obey his captain’s order.

  Blood shot forth from the severed hand as it made its way to the floor. The maimed owner writhed in pain as he doubled over, clutching the stump at his wrist.

  Shouts issued from the rest of the crew watching the scene unfolded as they left their seats.

  “What’s he doing?”

  “This isn’t a military ship.”

  “What the…”

  Before the fat and past-his-prime captain could pull his own blade, Lintorth was on him twisting the pudgy arm, spinning the slug, and slamming his face with a grunt into the cushion of his own chair.

  Lintorth issued a warning in case any of the remaining crew had some bold streak left in them.

  “I am taking command of this ship by the order of the Si Lord who has given me full authorization in security matters of the Domain.” He glanced around looking for any disapproval but found none. “Now back to your posts, scum!”

  The crew fumbled over each other trying to get back to their stations.

  Lintorth motioned towards the missing-limbed crewmember on the floor. “I want you to set course for the Dranneous Kor system. Now!”

  With a slip in his own blood, the crewmember shuffled towards his console. With his one good hand, he punched the course into the computer.

  “Course changed, sir… I mean Captain.”

  Lintorth, satisfied with the outcome, thinking only a hand had to be severed in this matter, now turned his attention to the fat ex-captain.

  “I will let you sit in this obscene throne and overlook your pathetic crew while I use your communication room.” Lintorth motioned towards another door on the bridge. “Is that your private quarters?” he signaled to the ex-captain.

  With a nodding head, the ex-captain agreed. “Yes.”

  Lintorth released his grip and turned towards the private officer’s room.

  The ex-captain had other ideas, as he wasn’t finished with his unwanted guest.

  He pulled a plasma gun from beneath the folds of the crimson pillow on the chair. He aimed it at Lintorth, who had already turned around from the raucous sound of the draw.

  The glory of downing a Kryth commando danced in his mind as he squeezed the trigger on the pistol. The sound that issued was not from plasma discharge but rather of bone crunching and gurgling under the strain of a knife blade penetrating the skin folds of the fat ex-captain’s throat.

  The plasma weapon flew in the air as pudgy hands grasped at the now blood-soaked collar. The ex-captain rolled to the floor and wheezed as rushing air passed through the open neck wound, spitting minute showers of blood around.

  The ex-captain lay writhing in death throes as Lintorth stood above.

  “If anyone was unsure of my orders or of my authority,” Lintorth paused to add to the moment, and to give the crew no hesitation of who was in charge, “I will leave him here for your displeasing sniffs as it will give you a tangible reminder that I am in no mood to be trifled with.”

  He turned and snatched up the crimson chair cushion making his way to the captain’s personal quarters.

  Lintorth entered the office and made way for the communications station.

  He sat down, first placing the caped pillow.

  The monitor to his front came to life as lights streamed from around the console. He voiced his commands and keyed in the encrypted code to ensure his private message only met the one he intended to receive it. He was bypassing the lower echelon ranks of the Kryth military to deliver his confidential request.

  Lintorth tapped his impatient fingers on the glass console, wanting it to respond quicker with the acceptance from the other party he was trying to reach.

  After thirty minutes of waiting, Lintorth stood to stretch his cramping leg.

  He spotted a vial of obbal juice on a table top across the room.


  Cursing his leg, he limped towards the drink and poured himself a glass. He downed it, not knowing how thirsty he was or remembering the last time liquid had touched his lips.

  A sound beeped behind him, an indication of an inbound transmission.

  Lintorth hurried back to the console, flask in hand.

  He punched in the decryption codes and waited for the response.

  The screen flashed: INCOMING MESSAGE.

  He waited for the image of the sender.

  With one last flash, an image of another Kryth Mahr appeared on the monitor. The face was familiar to Lintorth.

  This Kryth’s face was more angular than Lintorth’s own, he always thought, not possessing the broad, heavy features and wide forehead. The angular face suggested wryness tinged with a controlled amusement.

  A broad grin spread across Lintorth’s face as he paused to take another pull from the flask before speaking.

  “Voskal Lat, a bit pressed for time, friend? If you had waited any longer, I could have been in Dranneous Kor with my dispatch in hand instead of using this slow mode of communication,” Lintorth griped.

  “Testy today, aren’t we.” Voskal Lat cocked an eyebrow, surveying his friend with a practiced eye. “I was beginning to wonder why we couldn’t find you, but now I see it’s because you were in disguise, my slashed-face comrade,” he commented.

  “I’m so impressed by your wit, Voskal,” Lintorth stroked the wounds on his face. “You’ve had ample time to polish your repartee in my absence. It is good to know that the intelligence service has some use after all.”

  Voskal feigned disappointment. “Lintorth, you misjudge me. After all, the intelligence service always stands ready to assist our allies in the military. No sacrifice is too great for the continued well-being of the Domain,” he said.

  Lintorth chuckled. “Yes, it is. Well, my ally, we have handiwork to initiate, enemies to locate, and secrets to uncover.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Have you not heard?” Lintorth asked.

  “Heard what?” Voskal queried; all humors from his voice replaced with a sudden cautiousness.

  Lintorth studied his friend for a moment before replying.

  “The Domain has been attacked, Voskal. We are in great danger right now and no one realizes it. Not even you and your network of spies.”