Jasper came flying into the room.
‘Defiant! Defiant!’ Jasper panted.
‘Calm down,’ James ordered.
‘I can’t calm down, Defiant,’ Jasper wheezed through his panting as he doubled over and hurled.
‘It’s all over. They’re here.’
‘Who is here?’
‘The skies gone silver. White and silver-clad zots descend from the Void. Imperials are here, Defiant. Terra save us!’
“Between slavery and extinction, I choose freedom.” - Emperor Mereel of Kragon before the inevitable annexation of his world and his subsequent execution.
Chapter 28. All or Nothing
Leri drove his cybernetic fist into the metal wall, denting it. No one thought this rash. Many would do the same if they had the capacity. Instead, they stared at the ground, others into empty space. Many drew their own blood from too tight a clenched talon. The doctor wept, holding Leri’s daughter in his arms. The chicklet was not breathing. She could not breath. The Xank had stripped her of any capacity to run her own faculties. Broken egg shell and fluid clung to the brainless being. She had not been placed in the Xank life support system. She had no chance. No opportunity to survive. For whatever that would have been worth.
Leri kept his fist in the dent for a bit longer, then withdrew it. He clenched his talons and examined them. Nothing was damaged. He looked over to his daughter and then looked away. The doctor disposed of her.
Similar scenes were rife over these past weeks, as all females were born brain-dead from their eggs. Only those with male children were somewhat spared the torment. Leri envied them.
Wordlessly, his comrades left the hatchery. He did not leave with them. He stared at the dent he had made.
So much power. But for what? His daughter’s shell stood cracked and empty atop the incubator table. He couldn’t change her fate.
Peron waited outside. The Gleran blinked interchangeably between his six eyes. He crossed two of his arms behind his back.
‘Rii…’
‘He did this, Peron,’ Leri interrupted him.
Peron blinked, questioningly.
‘The Lector. He must have known. He didn’t tell us.’
‘He had nothing to do with this!’
Leri looked him in the eyes. Peron flinched.
‘Don’t be afraid. I know you’re innocent. You wouldn’t have known. It’s not a part of your plan. Your lofty ideals. No…I know it’s not you. But your, our, master. The Word Lector must have known.’
Peron seemed to take in a breath. He then spoke more calmly.
‘I, and you, have access to the entire Word Lector archives, all personally catalogued, and many written, by the Lector himself. There is no mention of this in any of them.’
‘He censored it,’ Leri waved the response aside, walking briskly down the hallway. The Gleran followed, as best he could.
‘To what end?’
‘To hide guilt, to prevent me from being too demoralised to fight this war for him. Any number of reasons. All that is important is that he lied to us.’
Peron frowned his insectoid frown. He was not sure of the answer himself.
Xupa saluted as Leri entered his office, Peron in tow.
‘Rii! My condolences.’
‘Stand down,’ Leri snapped. Xupa sat down. ‘Gather the horde. I wish to speak to them from atop the citadel.’
Xupa nodded and began contacting the relevant officers around the city using Xank communication tech.
Leri once again sped down the hallway. Peron’s exoskeleton supported legs were able to keep up – a benefit of his species.
‘What are you planning?’ Peron asked, not breaking his stride.
‘The Xank didn’t mutate one generation of our women, Peron. They mutated our species. They made our seed, or their wombs, unable to birth healthy females. Only men, so to serve them.’
Leri stopped. They were in an empty hallway. Leri was facing the floor, resting his fist on the wall. He shivered. Peron reached in, but Leri looked up and continued the stride.
‘I did not spend my entire life, and the lives of all my ancestors, to watch my people become a species made only for war. They earned a family. They earned tenderness!’
Light at the end of the hallway. Peron squinted, closing two of his eyes.
They arrived on a balcony, overlooking a sea of orange. There were no cheers as the baking sun illuminated the city Kazh-aira. A silent crowd. Barely a buzz of sound.
‘My people!’ Leri shouted, his voice amplified by microphone. His voice would be carried to even those on duty outside of the city.
‘Our enslavers, oppressors, once held our chains. We broke them, and then strangled them ‘till they let go. We showed that Zangorians are a free race. But…we aren’t free yet. Our women have been stolen from us! Even now, they remain in Xank cages. They scream for us to save them. They writhe in generations of pain. They want to scream, but they cannot. But I hear them. Do you? I hear them screaming for us. We need to save them. We will save them! We will free them from this disease. We are warriors. We will go to the heart of our enslavement – we will crush them. We will free our women!’
A few cheers rang out. Not enough. Leri continued.
‘Our brethren from across the stars cry out. They feel our pain. They will help us. We must reach them, unite them. Some will not be able to resist the Xank. Will you let them suffer the chain any longer? I cannot. We must show the Xank that we are no longer their slaves. We are no longer their playthings. We will build mighty warships. Not Xank ships. These will belong to our great people. They will dwarf cities – moons, even. They will blot out the skies of the Xank worlds. We will use them to conquer the stars. We will seek out the Xank and we will kill every single one!’
‘Rii! Rii! Rii!’ boomed across the city, a mini-earthquake followed. Zangorians stamped, fuelling a fervour that wracked Kazh-aira for many hours afterwards. The day that followed, they began.
The Xiu shone gold in the morning light. Crafted from blitz-metal, it would withstand the humidity of Zeruit and the pressure of space. Its smooth sides hid countless compartments, designed to reveal any manner of cannon or fighter. These cannons and fighters, reverse engineered from Xank technology, would be more than capable of competing with their enslaver’s ships.
Unhidden, but by no means inelegant, two massive guns were located on the front of the ship. They stretched multiple blocks across Kazh-aira, leaving huge shadows over the plains below. Scaffolding surrounded parts of the ship. At night, Leri could see sparks erupt from where welders continued work, throughout the dark.
The ship itself dwarfed the capital of this backwater homeworld. Like how Leri’s daughter would have been, her namesake was now the pride of his people.
While Tek’roa’s resources from the War Lectorate allowed them to construct a fleet of space-faring war vessels, the Xiu was a hybrid of new Zangorian and Xank design. It was to be the flagship of their crusade. From there, the war would be planned, fought and won.
Leri watched the finishing of the construction of the ship from his perch on the citadel. On other flanks of the walled city, smaller vessels were being constructed. Further afield, Zangorians were training to pilot these crafts, using the ships provided by Tek’roa. The instructors were initially sparse, with only two pilots who accompanied Tek’roa, but as more pilots passed, they trained even more. As the craftsmen became even more skilled at reverse engineering Xank vessels, they gained even more ships to train with.
On other parts of the planet, Leri’s forces spread out and secured all strategic locations. Kazh-aira was now supported by a planetary network of food and commodities. In these settlements, the squads trained. There was never an idle moment, for they all knew that they were at war.
The golden sun reflected off the blitz-metal of the Xiu. Since the hull had been finished, it had become a welcome sight to Leri throughout the day. He couldn’t have a daughter, but he
could have this – his vengeance, his means to an end. His all.
Throughout these months, he had overseen this work, not only acting as a symbol of Zangorian independence, but as an administrator and judge. Where disputes did rise, as were inevitable in any society, he oversaw the courts to enforce Zangorian law. Otherwise, he delegated tasks and oversaw the training and appointment of new leaders. Sometimes he would train the elite troops. He seldom ever oversaw the construction officially, however. Creation was not his expertise. He did not shape – he reshaped. He left the ways of peace, of crafting the weapons of war, to those with the knack or the experience. But this did not stop him from watching his empire grow. Everything he had worked for, every bit of blood, grit and dirt, went into these ships – the Xiu, among the rest.
So, Leri gazed at the Xiu, namesake of his daughter that had never been, as the sun rose and shone off its titanic hull. But then, the sun did not shine. Darkness replaced the blinding reflections. Shadow. Zipping, and then silence. Everyone stopped. Welding sparks ceased. Workers hung from their harnesses. Pilots-in-training circled and landed. Soldiers looked up from their posts or the range. Craftsmen stopped their hammering, crafting and creating. Leri looked upon the sky.
Many fell to the ground as a thunderous bang echoed across the land. Leri’s grip upon the wall of the balcony kept him steady. Where there had once been open sky, there was now a host. The morning light was blotted out by inky black vessels bearing the flag of the Xank. They hung in the air, more warping into position with zips and sonic booms. They waited, and as promptly as they had arrived, they fired.
Buildings exploded, covering the dropships as Xank slaves flooded into the city. Leri didn’t leave his perch. He knew his people would know what to do. He watched from the tower of his ancestors as a sea of Zangorian orange, robot grey and Gleran green amassed around the city. His free Zangorians prepared to meet them. Melee and chaos erupted in the streets. Workers of peace became warriors once again. They fought, talon and claw. Blood and plasma. The Xank had come to make their stand, slaves and all. Free Zangorian, versus their oppressors. They gave it their all. For they knew that without victory, there would be nothing. Leri watched his empire burn. This would be the end – one way or the other.
“We glorify war not to promote it, but to trick the veterans that their sacrifices were not in vain, and ourselves that we did not murder a generation of young due to our own cowardice.” – Justification of the Ganymede Incident, presented by an Anonymous commander to a journalist after the battle. The statement was never officially published.
Chapter 29. Fall of Nova Zarxa
White-blue light sizzled as it cut through the Geradite roofing of the Nexus hub. Underneath, assorted Defiant soldiers aimed at the sky and varying entrances to the market place. They did not know what the enemy looked like. They only knew the sight and smell of the plasma torches burning through the walls and roof. There were no clicks of weaponry, chatter or oaths. Only the fearful panting of those who feared their time had come.
Dixie stood among them, a chevron showing that he led this motley crew. He wore dark Kevlar, the blue chevron on his shoulder and the black-and-blue Defiant flag upon his chest. He wore an anti-kinetics helmet with advanced heads-up-display and mini-deflectors. His advanced gear didn’t change a thing. They were still insurgents, criminals, thugs. He knew this. The uniform was only a pretension, an upgrade that masked the truth. Dixie took the role of squad leader, but he didn’t truly believe that they were a nation. They were killers, blessed by a killing God.
A spark fell onto the shoulder pad of a Defiant to Dixie’s side. It sizzled through the material as the man hastily patted it out. Dixie only glanced at him for a second, not removing his sights from the half circle forming on the roof. He would not miss the first opportunity to fire.
He held a new assault rifle. It was a welcome upgrade from his home-made bolt action. There were benefits to peace, it seems, as his weapons of war became better. Through the holographic sights, he watched the circle burn bigger.
It had only been minutes, but seemed as if they had been waiting for hours. Dixie had been ordered by Darren Peterson to secure the Hub while the Defiant himself rushed to Underbelly Alpha. They had finished mopping up Yellows, Berrin and what he was told were Zerian operatives, when they got the call to dig-in. Imperials, command said. Dixie acted like he knew what that meant. Sure, he did. He knew they were the great enemy that the Defiant kept going on about. Despite Dixie’s belief in the Defiant’s power, however, he didn’t really understand. The fight was for them to survive, to secure this new home. It was to make those Zarxian zots pay for treating them like pit-slugs. Dixie had been a Zenite back in Galis. He was trained to kill humans. He had only ever killed humans. He didn’t really comprehend what killing an alien would be like. Nevertheless, he stood and watched the glow grow.
Nexus civilians lay cowering underneath tables, counters and behind stalls. There had been no time to evacuate them. Defiant forces had to assault the Hub and eliminate the hostiles while avoiding collateral damage. The call to reinforce the Hub, and the plasma cutting on the roof, followed soon after. Now, Dixie stood, leading his squad to defend the people he hated. The thought brought a sneer to his face. But he did not shirk his duty. If a Zenite was taught anything, it was to hold the line.
A crash. The glows stopped. Defiant opened fire. Rounds ricocheted off the sides of the hole. No one fell.
‘Hold fire!’ Dixie shouted, amplified through his squad transmitter.
A few more shots but then they halted. Dixie looked around the room. Defiant still stood at their positions. Civilians cowering. Masks on all friendlies. Fumes wouldn’t harm them.
‘Grenades!’
Dixie dove for cover as circular objects dropped from the roof.
Explosions of sparks and blue energy detonated around the surface of the Hub. Dixie watched from his haven as fellow Defiant had arms ripped off. A Defiant, healthy on one side, turned to reveal that half his body was blackened. He collapsed to the ground. Without orders, the survivors opened fire.
The projectiles blocked any view outside the hole. Dixie couldn’t give any orders over the transmitter. And then everything went black.
After the lack of light, everyone noticed the chill. The façade of warmth in Nexus had been destroyed. They were freezing.
The firing stopped. Nobody could see where they were aiming. Those with night vision fumbled to turn their apparatus on, to no avail.
Then an oomph. A scream. A shout. Someone fired.
Skite, skite, skite.
A bang. A crash. A zip…. with clicks, the backup generator turned on. Civilians screamed as silver-clad figures were intermingled among the group. Defiant opened fire. Dixie pulled the trigger, releasing the load at the nearest alien.
The figure batted the rounds aside, and then shoved in Dixie’s direction. Dixie was flung backwards. He crashed with a thud into a hardware display.
The figure was bathed in silver. Its armour had no eye holes, no features. It seemed to be made of silver itself. It brought up a sceptre, crowned with a crystal, and then was shot. Pale liquid squirted from the hole in its head. Annabelle helped Dixie up.
‘You ain’t got permission to die yet, Zenite.’
‘Roger, Blade.’
Dixie promptly lifted his weapon once again and killed what he now knew could be killed.
An Imperial fell from the roof with barely a thud and then began firing energy blasts from a staff-shaped firearm. Dixie let him eat carbon rounds. Annabelle watched his back, taking down Imperials who were now attempting to flank from the south.
A Defiant fell, and then another. Dixie and Annabelle sprinted for new cover, taking it at the office of a mining recruitment stall. Dixie pulled the trigger. Clicks.
‘Cover me.’
Annabelle didn’t respond. She was also reloading.
A Defiant was flung through a window. Dixie pulled out his pistol and began firing. H
e dropped his handgun as his own hand was flung into his face. Annabelle fired at the Imperial as it gestured wildly. Annabelle’s gun was flung out of her hands. She didn’t hesitate. She charged at the alien, drawing her knife. The Imperial caught her by the neck in its silver-clad fist. This pointy-eared figure glared at Annabelle as she tried to breathe. It tore off her mask.
‘No!’ Dixie shouted.
The Imperial dropped the limp corpse and advanced.
‘Arcuru dalaraka, eraztar!’
Dixie dove for Annabelle’s gun. He opened fire. A shot hit. Another. The bullets didn’t penetrate. Dixie didn’t stop firing, even when the trigger only caused a click.
Tears streamed down his eyes. Tears for Annabelle. Tears for Zona Nox. Tears for the Zarxian grako that he was going to die to protect. Tears for himself.
‘Kera darath.’
There was black.
Another explosion wracked Underbelly Alpha. James watched as the walkway connecting the hangar to the rest of the city was shot down by Imperial fighters. From his vantage at the edge of the shielded hangar, James could see the Kolheim, among other assorted ships, fighting the speedier Imperial crafts.
‘The Defiant will deliver us victory!’ Gretswald announced, matter-of-factly.
Nobody replied.
We weren’t ready. James frowned behind his mask.
His motley crew stood off to the side. Reinforcements had arrived by foot just before the walkway had been blown. They now held the area from the swarms of Imperials who flooded in.
James would have very much appreciated Marshal’s council, but that was out of the question. The man fought, but didn’t speak.
‘If we’re going to have any chance,’ James said, partly to himself, ‘we’re going to need to secure one of the orbital guns.’
Jasper nodded. Alex Yurgan was checking over his guns again.
Rise of the Defiant: Book Two of the Warpmancer Series Page 22
