The Empire

by John Dizon

  At once the pirate lunged, swinging his blade with a downward slash behind which he invested his full force. Drachna had to use all his strength to block the blow, causing him to tumble backwards in recoil. Molybden swung again, putting his great weight behind a blow that Drachna was barely able to avoid. It was enough to force his sword back, the pirate's steel landing close enough to gouge into Drachna's right tricep. He cursed and swore as he stumbled backwards, blood spewing from the fresh wound.

  "It doesn't have to end this way," Molybden insisted. "My craft is moored along this dock. Neither side would even consider wasting energy on a ship fleeing the battle. We can leave together, you can patch your wounds and we'll make a fresh start. You don't need to die here."

  "Let's end this, then, shall we?"

  Molybden was angered that Drachna not only spurned his offer but continued to offer resistance. He roared as he charged at the Cetan, putting all his weight and might behind a killing downstroke. Only Drachna parried the blow, whirling as he did, swinging his blade upwards at a diagonal angle as Molyden tried to recover his stance. Drachna's sword sliced up through the giant's tunic, ripping a path across his Adam's apple. It severed his throat, causing him to choke on his own blood. Molybden stared in disbelief as he clutched at his neck, finally sagging to the floor.

  "You're right," Drachna smirked, trying to block out the stinging pain from over a half dozen significant wounds. "It didn't have to end like this."

  He sheathed his sword and pressed a button on the remote control on his belt. It caused the portal to slide open, allowing the captain to leave the chamber and the pile of bodies behind.

  ~+~

  "Woo hoo!" Captain Necromicon crowed as he led his men onto the illuminated loading dock. "This looks like it'll be a cakewalk. Fewer and fewer of those attacker ships outside are being blown out of space. Drachna must be running out of sailors by now. We'll go up and take the bridge, seize command and call a truce with all those comet heads out there."

  "Let's keep our guard up," Stuttgart warned. "Drachna's no fool. If his forces are being decimated, he'll divide his crew into small ambush teams and wait for invaders to come aboard. The Cetans have a history of being skilled guerilla fighters, long before they became Cetans."

  "I'll lead a fire team down the right corridor," Colditz suggested. "Stuttgart, you go left. Captain, it's best you wait until one of us makes contact before you engage. This way we can back each other up in case there's a trap ahead."

  "You know, that sounds like a pretty good idea," Necromicon grinned. "Say, if either of you come across the galley, maybe you can bring back some cake. I could use some sweets right about now."

  "All you're going to end up with is a gulletful of waste, you dolt."

  The squad froze in its tracks as they watched a dark figure step out from behind a row of shipping containers. They saw Grav Drachna, his black uniform drenched in blood, lowering his gory broadsword in their direction.

  "Will you look at that!" Necromicon marveled. "Just like a captain on an ancient pirate ship! Why, he's taken his sword off the wall just for us. Maybe we should all put down our blasters before one of us gets cut."

  "There's over three dozen trespassers soaking in their own blood on these loading docks," Drachna warned. "Get off my ship or suffer the consequences."

  "Isn't that something!" Necromicon chortled. "I wish we'd brought a tricorder. Hot damn, when I come to the end of my career I want to go out just like that. We salute you, Captain Drachna."

  "Very well," Drachna stepped toward them. "You've been warned."

  "Take aim!" Stuttgart roared. "Fire!"

  At once the pirates opened up a volley of xaser fire, the beams smashing into Drachna as rockets. Though his starsuit protected him from the searing heat, the force of the blasts sent him careening into the far wall. His drenched garments were as a squeezed-out sponge, blood spurting out in all directions as it covered the whitewashed wall.

  "Go ahead and tie him up so he doesn't hurt himself," Necromicon ordered. "Two of you put him on our ship. And be careful with that sword, I'm keeping that for a souvenir."

  "That's Grav Drachna," Stuttgart warned. "If you don't put him down right now, you're giving him a chance to escape at some point. You're putting lives at stake."

  "Oh my gosh," Necromicon held his gloved fist to his mouth. "Do you really think he can snap those titanium steel ties? He must be a superman!"

  "You know how I feel about taking lives," Colditz pulled the helmet off the fallen captain's head. "But I agree in this case. He may have suffered a cut here and there, but all the blood on this wall is definitely not his."

  "All right," Necromicon sighed. "I guess I'll do the honors. Bring that sword here. I'll make it quick."

  "Don't move!"

  At once the loading dock was stormed by a dozen armed troops, their xaser rifles trained at the intruders. Although Necromicon knew their starsuits would absorb the heat of the blasts, their unprotected heads would be fried like bacon.

  "Well done, men," Drachna staggered to his feet. "Tie their wrists and take them to the brig."

  "Sir," the squad leader spoke up, "maybe it's best that we execute them right here. Having a dozen hostiles aboard in this situation may pose a severe hazard."

  "Name and rank, soldier."

  "Imperial Starship Trooper Lieutenant Ovechkin, sir," the fair young man snapped to attention. "I didn't mean to overstep, sir. It's just that we've lost many of our comrades over the past hour."

  "At ease, lieutenant," Drachna ordered. "I appreciate your concern. It's just that I have a history with these fellows. After this is over, we're going to have a long chat."

  "Aye aye, sir."

  He stared at Drachna for a moment before speaking candidly.

  "Captain, I'll send a fire team to escort you directly to sick bay."

  "For what?" Drachna snorted. "To take my temperature?"

  "Sir, I have a considerable length of combat duty. I know that at least a couple of those wounds require immediate attention."

  "Captain," a second lieutenant appeared. "I've got a backup squad outside. We can split our forces so that two continue patrolling the corridor and a third provide escort for the robotic units repairing the nacelle area."

  "Robotic units! Do you have robotics fixing my nacelle?"

  "Sir, our units in that sector are under intense enemy fire."

  "You can't use robots to repair that kind of damage. If anyone does anything causing irreparable harm to this ship, I'll hang them right where the nacelle falls off."

  "Yes sir," the second lieutenant took his leave.

  "Captain, please," Ovechkin entreated him. "We can't afford to lose you. At least let the medics take a look at you. They can at least stop the bleeding."

  "You're a good man, trooper," Drachna smiled grimly. "I want you to split your forces starboard and portside. I want you to personally take charge of defending my nacelle. If Commander Aries questions you, tell her you are under my direct orders."

  "Yes sir. I'll defend the sector with my life."

  "I know you will," Drachna replied.

  "Sir," a security officer came up with a small group behind him. "We're having a slight problem here. These detainees are pulling rank, demanding to have a word with you."

  "Your mother's a detainee," Damien and Michael forced their way past the guard.

  "Gentlemen," Drachna did his best to assume a commanding posture despite the fact he felt as if he had taken a bath in broken glass. "I'm in the middle of a crisis situation here. Is there something I can help you with?"

  "We signed up for this mission to help you crush the Black Revolution," Damien insisted. "We've paid our dues, we've lost good men in the process. We sold our souls for you. Now there's a squadron of Revolutionary Guards buzzing this ship. They've taken up a position two hundred kilometers from our portside. We request permission to attack and board their cruiser."

  "Do you know what a wastestorm's goi
ng on out there? You'll never make it."

  "You know our credentials," Michael was adamant. "We fought the Battle of Uranus. You were there, you know what it took to survive. We can make our way through and board those bastards."

  "You know, my mother once told me a story about an ancient prophet who was about to cast demons out of a man possessed. They begged him to send them into a herd of swine rather than be sent back to hell."

  "And?" they asked.

  "So go ahead," Drachna smiled grimly. "I cast you into the swine. Enjoy."

  "Thank you, sir," they were grateful as they left to rejoin their crew and meet their fate.

  "I'd better get back to my post, sir," Ovechkin spoke up. "Godspeed to you."

  "Careful. That implies belief."

  "I am a believer, Captain."

  "Then may God go with you."

  They gripped each other's forearms before Drachna retrieved his sword and rushed past the troopers en route to his next expected rendezvous.

  ~+~

  As had all the others, Von Kilgore rolled an illumination device into the dark loading dock shortly after anchoring his warship to the metallic hull of the starship. He cautiously led the way, his xaser pistol in one hand and his foot-long bayonet in the other.

  "All clear?" Zane asked, carefully beckoning Eleos and Alanis onto the dock. She held her son's hand tightly, in fear of their lives after witnessing the horror of the space battle outside. Ships were exploding across the void, with twisted steel and mutilated corpses floating listlessly throughout the haze. It seemed as if it would go on until everyone and everything was destroyed.

  "I'm pretty sure the entire crew's focusing on defending that rip along the nacelle," Von assured him. "We should be able to make it to the upper decks and take out one of the guards. They'll have to know where Miss Stone is being held. Once we get her, we'll get the hell off Neptune, as they say."

  "You pirates get stupider than Jupiter…as they say."

  The four trespassers' blood froze upon hearing the familiar voice. Drachna appeared as a vision from Hades, the massive captain emerging from the shadows in his blood-drenched garments, broadsword pointed towards them menacingly.

  "You don't look too good, Captain," Von tried to sound casual. "Just give us the girl and we're outta here."

  "The girl?" Drachna scoffed. "Do you mean Styrena?"

  "Oh, waste me," Von shook his head. "Now he's taking it personal."

  "You don't think I went to all this trouble to gain some political capital," Drachna waved his sword. "Turn around and get back on that ship, and take the woman and child with you. Otherwise they will see something they don't want or need to."

  "I hate to tell you this, but I'm a Federal agent," Von revealed. "That's the reason I went to all this trouble. Look, bring her here and come with us. I'll get you political immunity, I swear it. You bring her daughter back, the President will give you anything, you know that."

  "My ship is in danger, you can see that. I can't leave, and she won't leave without me. But you can, and you will."

  "Sorry, Captain," Von pointed his pistol at Drachna. "Now you're going to have to take me to her."

  "It's going to get a bit stuffy in here," Drachna walked over and activated a panel on the wall. "I suggest your friend get the woman and child out before things get worse."

  "What are you doing?" Von jerked his pistol at Drachna. "Get away from there!"

  There was a hum and a hissing sound as Drachna punched a button before slowly moving towards Von.

  "Take your shot," Drachna challenged him, "or raise your blade. You'll have only have time for one or the other."

  "All right," Von holstered his pistol. "Have it your way."

  As he warily crouched toward Drachna, he realized the captain had set the chamber for decompression. The air was slowly being sucked out of the room and the temperature dropping as the artificial atmosphere dissipated. Eleos frantically looked to his mother as he found it difficult to breathe.

  "Son of a bitch!" Zane snarled, whipping out his bayonet and charging at Drachna. The captain brought up his sword and parried the blow as Von came up on his right. Von's bayonet ripped through Drachna's cape, slicing through his deltoid muscle. Drachna managed to roll away, tumbling towards Zane with a slashing blow that cut into the man's calf muscle. Zane swore in agony, staggering backward before collapsing against the wall. Alanis cried out, rushing to his side. As Von closed in, Drachna lunged and ripped him across the belly. Von swore and cursed as blood spurted from his abdomen across the floor.

  "Surrender, you fool, or I'll take your head off," Drachna regained his feet.

  "You look like a bucket of blood, and I can't tell if you're half full or half empty," Von crept toward him. "I think one more cut will take you down."

  "You're not going to be the one–-," Drachna said before Von charged into him. The agent parried his thrust before bulling him against the wall, reaching up and yanking his helmet off.

  "I bet you've got a breath mask in here," Von pulled back, tossing the helmet over to where Eleos cowered. "Now let's see how your wind holds up."

  "Far longer than yours," Drachna shoved away from Von, circling again.

  "Look, you don't have to die here," Von insisted. "Just radio the bridge and have Ms. Stone brought here. We'll leave quietly. I'll contact Necromicon and tell him to call off the attack. He has no other reason to be here."

  "Necromicon?" Drachna grinned. "I'm afraid I've got a surprise for you."

  "And I've got one for you," Zane gasped for air as he aimed and fired his pistol. Drachna sensed his move and lowered his head, hunching his shoulders so that the blast hit him in the back. He was sent sprawling across the floor, losing his sword as he rolled over. He looked up and saw Von's bayonet hovering over his face.

  "Game over, pal," Von said, having trouble drawing enough air to speak. "Call the bridge or I'll cut your head off."

  "Circumcise yourself," Drachna was also nearly out of air.

  "Suit yourself," Von said. He raised the blade overhead and put his remaining strength into a downward stroke before he collapsed into darkness.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  V on Kilgore felt himself plummeting into hyperspace. It was an eternal drop through time and space that would probably have no end. He saw Zane falling at a distance from him, and though he cried out, no sound could be heard. It was almost as if they were stones sinking beneath the depths of a great ocean. Past Zane he could see Alanis and Eleos dropping, and they both seemed as lifeless as Zane.

  Only when he turned to his left, he saw Grav Drachna dropping at a short distance from him. Drachna's face was filled with that officer's arrogance, his eyes burning with hatred. Von found he was able to swim somehow, and he rolled to his side and began broad-stroking his way toward the starship captain. Soon they were within reach of one another, and they lunged for each other's throats. He felt Drachna's great strength, and he realized he was in for the fight of his life…

  "He's coming around."

  "Thank goodness."

  Von woke up to find his hands clenching the wrists of a medic, who was gently restraining him from bolting upright. He relinquished his grip and the medic stepped away. Von began focusing through the blur and was astonied to see the President at the foot of his bed. Marcella Stone smiled softly at Von's expression.

  "My, aren't we glad to see you back to normal," Marcella greeted him.

  "Madame President," he managed. "It's an honor."

  "How are you feeling?"

  "Not so hot," he admitted.

  "We lost you there for a while," the medic revealed. "The five of you had been dead for quite some time by the time our rescue team located you. We got you aboard and began resuscitation immediately. Restoring your brain cells and reprocessing your blood was the hardest part. Then there was reactivating all your vital organs. You were almost at the point of no return, but modern science prevails once again."

  "Five?" Von squinted. "Yo
u don't mean you actually–-?"

  "I can't tell you how grateful I am for your efforts in rescuing my daughter," Marcella replied. "But Grav Drachna did have something to do with it."

  "Well," Von grunted. "I guess science does work in mysterious ways."

  "You go on and get dressed," she told him. "I'll have my men escort you to the conference hall. There are a few people there who are dying to see you."

  "Not literally, I hope. Say, where are we, anyway?"

  "You're aboard the starship Challenger, the best in our fleet. I'm sure you'll appreciate the amenities."

  He was given a dress uniform by an orderly, and soon he was admiring his image in a full-length mirror. His athletic build was enhanced by the form-fitting navy blue suit and patent leather boots. He cursorily inspected his body as he dressed and saw how well they had tended to his wounds. The superderm patches had bonded perfectly to his skin, making it nearly impossible to tell where he had been wounded. They even managed to make some older scars disappear.

  "My regards to the tailor," Von nodded to the orderly.

  "That's standard gear these days," he replied. "There's a microchip stitched into the fabric that makes it fit like a second skin…no pun intended."

  "Well, let's get me into general population," he grinned. "I can't wait to see what the women's uniforms look like."

  The orderly waited outside, and Von took extra moments to admire his image. He felt as if he had reached the peak he had sought all his life. It seemed a century since he joined the Starfleet Academy as a brash teenager. It seemed as if the fun would never end until World War III was declared. The entire population of the Earth fled into space and never stopped roaming. Only on Alpha they were so close to building a primitive semblance of what once was. And it made him feel as if he actually had a purpose in life.

  He had come back from the dead and was greeted by the most powerful woman in the System. He would probably stay on with an empowered GIA. He would use the job to establish connections that would be otherwise impossible. Having his own trading company would assure his prosperity. Things were looking up, all the cold hard years not in vain.