by A K Lambert
“And we must focus on how we can use our psychic abilities to redress the balance of the war,” Camcietti said.
Tauriar continued, “We aren’t ready for that, the necessary skills still need much work. And should we even use this power? We haven’t concluded the ethical debate yet.”
“We need to complete both of these tasks, and quickly,” Domeriette replied.
“Precisely. Our long-term efforts to broker peace lie in ruins. This latest aggression is unlike any previous Trun campaign. Kam Major is correct, the tide is turning irretrievably against us. We need to prepare. Plan a strategy and implement it. Domeriette, as our new Elder, the final decision rests with you,” Camcietti concluded.
“Thank you for reminding me, Camcietti. We have debated this for many months, and we know our outgoing Elders thoughts on the matter. Now is the time to take action. I have decided, and I recommend to you all, that we dispatch our three youngest Royals to safe and secret off-world locations. Princess Domeriette, our eldest princess, will remain here. We need her psychic abilities. The two princes and the younger princess must be sent away for their protection, and to preserve our culture if the worst was to happen. Eight to ten years should suffice. We will have stabilised the situation we are in by then. Are you in favour, councillors?” Domeriette asked.
“Agreed. Though I will miss helping my young prince grow up,” Ventar said.
“Agreed. The time has come for decisive action. In the right location and with a skilled Life Team their training can be every bit as thorough as if they were here,” Tauriar offered.
“Agreed. Though I’m glad I don’t have that decision to make yet. The Royals’ journeys and the planets they will settle on could be fraught with dangers,” from Camiette.
“Ten more years and you will, and yes, there will be dangers. But there may be great adventures as well. We must now be decisive and push on. I’m confident we will be able to bring this conflict to a peaceful conclusion. But as Ventar said, more work is needed. We just need more time.” said Domeriette.
* * *
Chancellor Bana Domeriette opened her eyes, placed her hands in her lap and smiled. ‘Thank you for your patience.’
‘Bakta, Have you captured our complete discussions?’ He nodded. Domeriette continued, ‘We want you to prepare the three youngest Royals for evacuation to safe havens.’ The look of relief was evident on Bakta’s face, but he remained silent.
‘Kam Major. You shall continue to marshal the defence of our nation. We need to keep the Trun at bay for the foreseeable future. There is no one in the realm more suited to this task,. Kam Major’s face gave nothing away, but her posture and shoulders straightened noticeably. ‘Please implement as soon as possible the second of the three evacuation plans you have proposed to us. The element of surprise is imperative.’
‘Cascan Ofier, please relay our decision to the Civil Council and thank them for their support.’
‘In the meantime, we shall evaluate possible new strategies for the defence of Bala Verceti.’
Chapter 3
The Attack
Preenasette - Trun Space - 2000
* * *
The Space Dock Attarri 6 duty officer rubbed his eyes and looked at the screen again.
Still there.
A wave of craft heading from Vercetian space in numbers not seen in his twenty years at this station.
He glanced around the control room of the ageing maintenance and overhaul space dock, seeing his colleagues moving away from their stations to view mimic screens, the quiet now turning into a low hum.
He hit the analysis button, and his screen started lighting up with little orange tags attached to the white dots that were marching relentlessly towards him. Three battle cruisers were tagged. The first one was spearheading the Armada and the others moving to each flank. The next tags identified twelve bifighters: six deployed to the spearhead cruiser and three each to the flanks. Finally, fifteen delta spheres were bringing up the rear. He hit the second button to confirm what he already suspected. The orange projection lines from the cruisers slowly moved off in three differing directions, but the predictive arcs they followed all converged at the same point—Attarri 6.
The duty officer opened communications. ‘Central Command, do you see this?’ The space dock commander and a small group of his co-workers now standing over his shoulder, also trying very hard to take in the current situation. ‘A Vercetian fleet comprising thirty vessels, three of which are battle cruisers. The current course confirmed as being inbound to Space Dock 6.’ One of the cruisers now erupted with a plethora of tiny white dots cascading from its core. ‘Wait, the left flank cruiser is now deploying arrows.’ He paused and looked at his commanding officer who gave him an approving nod. He continued, ‘Awaiting your instructions.’
Central Command Duty Officer Anton Pilz viewed the flurry of information bombarding the peripheral screens in the Main Control Hub—the heart of the massive space station in geosynchronous orbit over Trun.
His team was rapidly transferring information onto the 3D holo-projection system. Segments of the display came into focus, occupying the centre of the hub, processing massive amounts of data. With the view of the Vercetian armada came the darkness of the surrounding space, contrasting with the lightness of the peripheral work zones. An amphitheatre was playing out a drama in space with a ring of technicians as the audience. First, the central battle cruiser appeared, a floating grey image quickly finding its definition, a technological sculpture enacted at blindingly fast speed. Moments later the other shapes appeared, replicating the vessels thousands of miles away. Soon the whole picture was complete.
The spaceport officer’s assessment appeared accurate, thought Pilz. ‘Launch your fighters to engage the arrows, then lock down the station. Full defensive mode. A squadron will be with you shortly.’
‘Understood, central command.’
Pilz hastily gave the orders to dispatch the standby squadron. Another quick message appraised his superiors of the situation. The Supreme Commander was on the space station carrying out a scheduled review. He would be much too close for comfort.
In no time at all the Supreme Commander’s voice broke through the flurry of activity in central command. ‘Officer Pilz, report current status.’
‘A Verceti armada is on course to arrive at Space Dock Attarri 6 in twenty-five minutes. Three battle cruisers, twelve bifighters and fifteen delta spheres. Fifteen arrows have been already launched by one of the cruisers, with the other two deploying more as we speak. I’ve instructed the station to dispatch all available 3W fighters to engage and then proceed with lockdown protocol. Squadron XB3 is readying for immediate deployment. Estimated time of arrival thirty two minutes.’ Pilz took a deep breath, feeling that he’d been efficient enough in his assessment of the situation. Supreme Commander Zander ruled with a rod of iron, and everyone felt his wrath at some point or another.
‘I’ll be there presently,’ Zander said.
A few minutes later he entered the hub, his bright red cape flowing gracefully behind him, exposing the ebony black lightweight body armour he always wore. His head cap captured the dancing lights emanating from the peripheral screens and brought out the hue dark of aquamarine that most Trun naturally had.
Pilz handed his control station to one of his sub-officers and stood up for a better view of the fleet. The vessels appeared to be stationary, the only movement being the smaller ships drifting away from the cruisers. He watched Zander stroll into the swirling mass of ghostly apparitions perhaps to try and get into the head of the Vercetian commander and fathom out the real intent of the attack formation. All around him the arrows were leaving the cruisers, blinking out of existence as they reached the outer limit of the holographic domain. Pilz watched him stop and contemplate a bifighter tactical twin-cannon ship. Zander waved his hand gently through it, perhaps with admiration. These were formidable ships, light, agile and heavily armed. The Trun would have them soon; their
spy network in Verceti had recently stolen the plans. The remainder of the fleet was made up of silver delta spheres, fifteen of them. An odd choice, Pilz thought. They were modestly armed and not what you would consider attack ships. More suited to long range reconnaissance. He wondered if the Supreme Commander would pick up on that.
Zander joined Pilz and instructed him to recalibrate the holographic view to include the space dock. Pilz sent a whispered message via his face communicator and the view of the fleet pulled back until the complete saga could be seen unfolding.
Commander Dori Mancer appeared on the other side of the Supreme Commander.
‘What is happening, Domantry? This aggression is most unlike the Vercetians. And why on this facility?’
Zander’s number two clasped the barrier rail with large calloused hands that had seen more military action than any other Trun. He leant forward, struggling to focus on the armada, well aware that his old body was failing him in so many ways. But he still had the respect and admiration of his men and was determined to see his young prodigy succeed in the top military job. That job had never interested him. He was a leader of men and an astute strategist, but in his heart, he was a fighter, happy to be in the thick of it with his troops.
‘What is their intent? I can’t see the rationale behind this attack.’
‘I agree,’ replied Zander.
Pilz couldn’t resist joining in; it was rare to be in such company. ‘Why so many delta spheres?’ He kept his gaze straight forward.
‘My thoughts exactly,’ the Supreme Commander replied and then went completely silent. A minute later he turned to Pilz. ‘How many of our TW Spheres have we available for immediate deployment?’
After another whispered message, Pilz replied in a very nervous voice. ‘Six, sir,’ desperately aware that he had given the order to proceed with some unscheduled maintenance work and many were unavailable.
‘Only six!’ roared Mancer, turning to confront Pilz directly. ‘Is that all?’
‘Dispatch them immediately,’ Zander interrupted, ‘and let’s hope for your sake that that is enough!’
Chapter 4
The First Trials 1
Zerot - 200 Years Earlier
* * *
Birjjikk strode into the combat arena and glared up at the Elders. They were ignoring her, talking in small groups, backs to her. Their murmuring created a dull drone that reverberated around the cavern.
She was sure they were enjoying having her fate in their hands, deciding who would fail and who would progress forward in the First Trials of Academy 188.
She continued into the centre, stepping around chunks of flesh and patches of blood.
My comrades have been busy. But I shall be busier. I shall drench this cavern in blood. The Elders shall no have reason to fail me.
She stood there in the silence.
How long will they keep me waiting?
The celestial monoliths that adorned this place of death looked down on her. They would wait. They had watched and waited for thousand of years. Today’s carnage would be a tiny drop of what they had witnessed.
But, they haven’t seen me.
Birjjikk’s concentration sharpened as the Elders began taking their seats and a hush fell over the arena. Judgment would now begin.
She checked her weapons and took a deep breath. She was ready.
The creaking of rusty hinges broke the silence. In semi-darkness, Birjjikk’s opponents were herded into the pens, gates slammed shut behind them. She couldn’t make out the shadowy figures, but she could smell their fear.
The pen on her left opened and into the light a white beast appeared—a Shantra Bear.
It immediately moved back into the shadows and sauntered around the perimeter of the arena, its eyes fixed on her. It moved slowly in the oppressive heat. The beast stopped at an object previously unseen by Birjjikk, and with its massive paw flicked it from out of the shadows into the light.
It was the mutilated body of one of her Academy. Judging by the slim torso, it looked like Garkkikk.
Had the bear done that?
Blood was still evident on the fur around its mouth and long white fangs.
Is it showing me my fate?
A second gate opening to her right caught her attention.
Four small feline animals entered the arena: Tagras. The animals’ prominent burning red eyes locked onto her; their yellow fangs bared. One began stalking her with the others following its lead, black and white striped fur looking magnificent and menacing against the dull granite walls.
Birjjikk was aware of her vulnerability, positioned directly between the felines and the bear. She stepped backwards bringing both into view, and in doing so exposing the line of sight between the bear and the Tagras. The first of the felines paused momentarily, assessing this new threat.
The pause was all Birjjikk needed.
She sheathed her sword and unclipped the scissor blades from her belt. With one eye still watching the bear, she coiled her body, then threw the blade set at the lead Tagra. She watched its trajectory and willed a minor directional adjustment. As the point of contact approached she initiated the scissor action, the blades flashing together in the dull light, slicing off its leg.
Perfect technique—that will impress.
As the Tagra crashed to the ground, howling, Birjjikk drew her sword and set her stance. The remaining Tagras were momentarily in disarray. The bear was still pacing, moving into the arena now, trying to get to her blind side. The three remaining felines regrouped and charged at her.
Birjjikk pointed her left arm at them and from her forearm armour guard released a spray of small steel darts. Not designed to kill, but to disorientate and infuriate. With the same hand, she reached for her dagger.
My speed is my greatest weapon.
A dart close to its eye had severely impeded one of the Tagras, but the others, now wilder with fury, were in full flight. They leapt. But Birjjikk jumped higher. From above she drove her dagger straight down at the one nearest to her. The blade struck its neck but lacked penetration; she had misjudged the distance. Cursing her sloppy technique and sure that the Elders would have noticed, she landed back on her feet, facing the impeded feline that had only just reached her. It met the fury of her sword. She spun around and drove her sword into the staggering Tagra, hoping the Elders would think that was her plan all along. The third Tagra had overrun, directly towards the advancing bear. It tried to turn but, lacking purchase, couldn’t escape the bear’s lunge.
Birjjikk stared into the bear’s eyes, then at the feline pinned under its massive paw. The bear stared back, baring its teeth, challenging her.
Kill it then, beast, was her first thought, thrown at the bear with raging venom.
The bear started. There’d been a reaction, its eyes widened, then narrowed again.
A perceptive animal? Am I in your mind, beast?
She focused. Kill it. She pointed straight at the struggling Tagra.
The bear looked down at the stunned feline, then back at Birjjikk. It stood up on its back legs and roared.
Birjjikk wrestled with the beast’s will, sweat forming on her forehead.
Kill it, beast.
It roared again, louder.
Kill it, beast. Now!
It slammed its paw down hard, talons sinking deep into the Tagra’s neck. The Tagra screamed. A scream that slowly abated as the life left its body.
The bear looked at Birjjikk again, this time, a questioning stare.
Stay. Get down.
The bear relaxed. A puppet with its strings severed, the tension gone from its body, its front paws remaining draped over its limp trophy.
You are mine.
She recovered her dagger, then strode to the whimpering Tagra with the missing leg. She kicked it to one side, enjoying the feeling of inflicting extra pain on the pitiful animal, picked up her scissor blades, attached them to her belt and returned to the centre of the arena. She looked defiantly at the
Elders, awaiting the next challenge.
Chapter 5
The Battle
Preenasette - Trun Space - 2000
* * *
Pilz watched the Vercetian armada close in on the spaceport like the three pronged claw of the Rizontella desert scorpion. The Trun fighters and the arrows were playing cat and mouse with each other, bright flashes blinking on then off as they took hits on their protective shielding—dancing hors d’oeuvres as the prelude to the approaching heavy artillery.
He was still standing with Zander and Mancer, desperately hoping that the delta spheres had little importance in this unfolding game. The three-pronged attack was centred on the far side of the spaceport, forcing the Trun squadron to travel further before joining the battle. They would also be met by a flanking cruiser before they could engage with the main force.
The bifighters broke off from the cruisers and began attacking the spaceport shield. The cruisers were yet to join the fray.
‘This isn’t right,’ exclaimed Zander. ‘There’s no conviction in the Vercetians attack.’
‘None at all,’ Mancer added.
Pilz moved to the side as the two men delved into the enemy’s tactical errors. ‘The cruisers should be firing now.’
‘The space dock’s shield generators are vulnerable, but they’re ignoring them.’
‘The bifighters aren’t coordinated.’
‘The spheres are playing no part.’
A sub-officer came running up to them and addressed Zander. ‘Supreme Commander. We are getting unconfirmed reports from Bala Verceti of unusual activity around the Life Teams. Nothing firm just yet, but it appears they may have left the planet.’
‘It’s a ploy,’ Zander said through clenched teeth.
One of the delta spheres peeled off and headed away from the spaceport and the planet. Twenty seconds later another followed it.
