The Vassal World (The First Exoplanet Book 2)

by T. J. Sedgwick

  Sorensen was relieved to see that it extended around the top of the cube and had space for at least four more amongst the protruding pipes and cabling. Like undersized ramparts around a castle wall, it would offer a degree of concealment and cover. It looked like it had the fixtures so that a cover could be attached to it – he was pleased it wasn’t, or access would have been impossible. He reached down after Powell made it halfway up, hauling him the rest of the way and directing him into the corner farthest from the entrance. Next was Christina, the chivalrous Romero refusing to be second even though his rank as Defence Secretary called for it. She got to the top, lay down behind untested cover with still no sign of an enemy advance. Sorensen looked down at Wilke as Romero climbed towards the top. He was signalling that he’d seen something from the direction of the entrance, but Sorensen couldn’t make out what it was. Wilke mouthed the word, which he lip-read as ‘Probe’. He quickly understood why the enemy had delayed – they were scoping out the smaller lab with some sort of probe. Wilke must have spotted it poking around the corner. The enemy would, no doubt, have seen General Rafai from their vantage point, but the rest of them should have remained hidden unless they’d seen Wilke peeking at them.

  Just seconds later Sorensen heard the familiar sound of something metallic rolling across the lab floor, moments later another, then another.

  Wilke only heard the third stun grenade enter, by which time the first one had burst into life depriving him of his sight and sound as the lab erupted into the pew-pew-pew of plasma fire. He instinctively raised his makeshift weapon – the length of tubing he’d found – but by this time was already in the eagle-eyed sights of the first Guardian to enter. He felt the intense heat of plasma rip into his torso, before the next made him blackout forever, never to awaken.

  Rafai had managed to shield his eyes – but not his ears – from the flash-bangs. He was still an excellent shot and forced all but one of the commandos to remain behind the cover of the entranceway. The other Guardian-impostor had crouched behind the particle gun, nearby the dead engineer, from where he’d killed agent Wilke. He had the equipment cube covered now and Rafai knew it’d only be a matter of time before they perished.

  ***

  Leader Adai watched the security camera feed anxiously as Rafai – one of his top generals – was all that stood between the humans and the murderous intruders.

  “Where is that security team? How long until they’re through the door?”

  The Guardian-impostor in the room reached to his belt and unhooked a plasma grenade, leaving a troubled Leader Adai even more so. He breathed a sigh of relief though as he saw Rafai start to retreat into the relative safety around the cube’s corner – he must’ve seen the killer reaching for the grenade. Now it all depends on where that grenade explodes, thought Adai.

  ***

  As the Guardian-impostor released the grenade, McIver was halfway up the equipment cube. There was a deafening, muffled boom, which shook the room. All at once, the main lab next door exploded into a fierce gun battle as the plasma grenade rolled along the floor just below McIver’s feet. With just milliseconds left to live, it was nearly the end of the line for him. The pulse of superhot plasma roasted alive the husband, father and grandfather, sending the distinguished General into the eternal darkness fifteen light-years away from those he’d loved.

  Rafai had heard the tinkling sound of the rolling grenade and knew what it was. He hadn’t managed to get around the corner of the cube quickly enough to escape the blast. He felt the searing heat burn through his delicate amphibian skin, destroying flesh, fins and nerves alike. Crying out in agony, he hauled himself by his large webbed hands to where he’d intended to go on foot. He looked back and realised he’d dropped his service weapon around the corner and into the likely path of the onrushing enemy.

  With his three squad-mates busy fighting the security detail next door, the Guardian-impostor advanced quickly on the right side of the equipment cube. He felt sure he’d suppressed his enemy with the grenade. His plasma assault rifle was raised to his dark visor, his mind numb and mechanical in its deadly intent. He was closing in for the kill and he would spare no one.

  After Wilke’s death – which Sorensen soon intended to avenge – he’d heard the plasma grenade go off and felt its heat wash past him, protected by the metal surround. He’d heard the final screams of McIver too. And the slump of his body hitting the deck below. Then the unmistakable Outcast cries from poor Rafai, which continued, now as more of a whimper. The ex-SEAL was now mentally back in the place he’d been in the service – ready to hunt and kill – the cold, psychopathic part of his mind primed and ready. He focussed his hearing, trying to isolate the in-room noise from the raging gunfight next door. His senses were sharp. Time had slowed to a crawl. There! Footsteps were advancing – probably the bastard who’d thrown the grenade closing in to mop up. He had no idea if the Guardian-impostor suspected a lone Rafai or the rest of them hiding above. Logically it was the former or else another grenade would have found its way amongst the bodies of Powell, Romero, Christina, and his own. The footsteps were closer now and he chanced a peek over the metal rampart. The armour-clad, commando was all black except for the red insignia of the Guardians of Peace on his chest and he was just two metres from the cube. Sensing the crouching Sorensen, the killer looked up from his weapon giving Sorensen his one and only chance to act. As the killer went to raise his weapon the former SEAL had already jumped and was sailing through the air towards him. Sorensen’s shoulder connected with the killer’s face visor toppling him backwards with his human adversary on top. His weapon had fallen a short distance from his exoskeleton hand. The visor felt surprisingly hard to Sorensen, but the Guardian-impostor was lighter than he was, even with the suit of seemingly lightweight but tough armour. He knew that punching the armoured head would only break his hands, so he clasped the stunned killer’s helmet and bashed it on the deck again and again. The Guardian-impostor sucker punched Sorensen in the side with his right hand, sending the human rolling off him. He gasped for breath after the mechanically aided blow badly fractured two ribs. If only he’d rolled me off the other way I could’ve retrieved the gun, thought Sorensen laying on his back, wondering if this was it. The killer sensed he’d stunned the human and he grabbed for his gun at the same time as rising to his feet. He stood over Sorensen for several seconds studying his quarry with interest before raising his assault rifle. Sorensen closed his eyes and thought happy thoughts that he hoped to take with him to the other side. He saw the brightening behind his eyelids and heard the plasma blasts as they came. The next thing he felt was the hard blow to his uncovered shins as the falling Guardian-impostor landed on them. He opened his eyes half-expecting to see another world, but was pleased to see the dead killer at his feet, shot by the sole-survivor of the security detail.

  ***

  With the base secured and all-bar-one of the twenty-four intruders dead, the grim task of removing the bodies would begin. The corpses of the dead Outcasts would be cremated, as was their tradition. Those of General Fred McIver and Secret Service agent Bill Wilke would need to stay on Exelon until they could find a safe way to return them to Earth. The FTL technology on either Exelon or Earth was too inaccurate to send anything back to a precise location on Earth and the Korgax still dominated space – the destination for all FTL transits. With the unwilling assistance of the sole surviving Guardian-impostor, the inquest into the attack would urgently begin.

  Chapter Eight

  May 9, 2063: Outcast Underground Base, Exelon

  It had been four weeks since the inexplicable attack on the Outcast base by what looked like their own crack troops. The price paid in Outcast and human lives had been high. The final body count stood at three-hundred-and-five military and civilian Outcasts, and twenty-three intruders. And two humans – Secret Service man, Bill Wilke, and General Fred McIver. Sorensen had suffered two broken ribs and some bruising, but had recovered well, even though his ribs w
ere still tender at times. General Rafai wasn’t so lucky and had lost the use of both lower legs. Outcast surgeons would be fitting robotic surrogates within the next week, restoring his ability to walk and swim. The damage to the primary control hub, spacecraft hangars, lab and other parts of the base would take many months to repair. Some things like the dozens of fighter drones were currently irreplaceable. The badly burnt bodies of McIver and Wilke were on ice until they could find a way to send them to Earth, where their grieving families awaited. After they’d gotten over the shock and grief of losing their colleagues, both humans and Outcasts-alike forced themselves to focus on what the hell happened. Nothing like it had occurred before, and everyone in the sprawling underground complex was on edge. Until they’d examined the intruders’ bodies and interrogated surviving attacker, answers and counter-measures may be beyond their grasp.

  Powell finalised the comms protocol with the operator fifteen light-years away on Earth before VP Blake Jefferson spoke on the EQP transceiver. The President felt stranded on Exelon and had questioned the decision to go there many times. Was it a knee-jerk reaction to the devastating Korgax attack on Earth? On the other hand, was it a crucial show of faith in the olive branch the Outcasts had offered them? They had started to form an excellent working relationship with the Outcasts, who appreciated that they’d sent the President himself and not just some lackey in a suit. The human-Outcast bond had been further strengthened by the actions of Jake Sorensen who’d saved General Rafai’s life. The Outcasts now considered him a hero, awarding him one of their highest honours. On balance, Powell still felt it was necessary to be there in the medium-to-long-term. Even if things seemed civilized and normal on Earth right now, he knew there was more violence still to come. The storm was coming and they needed to be ready for it. Once the resettlement programme got into full swing – or didn’t, if tomorrow's UN Summit didn’t work out a plan – then the delicate balance of power and geopolitics would shift inextricably. At the time, Powell and the rest arrived on Exelon they didn’t know where the Korgax attack may lead – so preserving the President was vital. More may arrive in future – many more – if they didn’t find a way to stop the asteroid hurtling towards Earth. Try as they might, the Korgax seemed to have no interest in dialogue. They’d made their demands and that was that. They seemed utterly uncompromising and indifferent to humanity. Powell suspected only actions, not words, would appease the enemy. Their harbingers of death could continue to orbit Earth, enforcing compliance and meting out punishment at will. Things were as grave as ever and there was still no clear route to victory, despite the slow, continual infiltration of Gaia by the Outcasts’ lightly armed covert forces.

  “Stephen, this is Blake. How are things going today?”

  “Good morning, Blake. Okay, all said and done. Before we get to business, can you update me on Alyssa and Saskia?” he asked, wanting to see how his wife and daughter were since he’d last spoken to them in person two days prior.

  “They’re both fine, Stephen. I attended the ticker-tape homecoming with them by my side yesterday afternoon in Manhattan. I’ll arrange to have the data chip sent through with the video once we decide when the next capsule is coming.”

  “Hope they enjoyed it. How was the turnout and how was it received?”

  “For once, it was all-round positive news. Parties lasted well into the night and gave the people something to be happy about. As for Alyssa and Saskia – yeah, they had a good time, I think. Your daughter started talking about how she’d been inspired by the whole Atlantic thing: taking out all those destroyers, then setting off the nuke and escaping to tell the tale. She mentioned wanting to volunteer…”

  “Hope you talked her out of it, Blake?” interrupted Powell, as he consciously checked the validity of that stance as Commander in Chief. He concluded the protective father had reflexively trumped the patriarch-of-the-nation role. But only to his friend, Blake. If it came to it he’d speak to Saskia and reassess his position.

  “I did, actually. I convinced her that her work as an MD – once she’s qualified – will be valuable no matter what pans out in future. And I truly believe that, or else I wouldn’t have said it, of course.”

  “So you convinced her?”

  “Yeah, I’m pretty sure I did, Stephen.”

  After some further catching up on personal matters, Powell switched modes from husband and father back to US President. “Okay. Well, let’s get to business. Let me update you on the Outcasts’ inquest, which they’ve just concluded. Gotta say, they like to keep things close to their chests – I guess they wanted to get all the facts right before they divulged all the details. So a lot of this is as new to me as it will be to you. They examined the twenty-three dead intruders and made, well, what I can only call a shocking discovery. The attackers were none other than members of the Guardians of Peace troop that went MIA during an assault on an enemy base on Gaia over a year ago. They checked their genetic code – similar to our DNA – and found a match. What was even stranger was the surviving intruder. They tried interrogating him. He looked just like a normal Outcast – at least, I couldn’t tell there was anything suspect about him and, outwardly, neither could the Outcasts. Once they tried to talk to him though they found there was something very different about him. They tried both audible speech and their weird telepathic talk and concluded the same – this guy had been brainwashed somehow. Despite his own body’s appearance, this guy nevertheless believes he’s a Korgax-supporting Alpha. What’s most worrying for us though is this: he not only described the Outcasts as his sworn enemy, but humans too. All Outcasts and all humans. Somehow the Korgax had turned this guy and made him into a terminator working for them.”

  “So did they work out how?” asked an engrossed Jefferson.

  “They did, but only after they’d dissected their first intruder. The Korgax had implanted some kind of control chip in their brains. Thing couldn’t be extracted completely. Blake, this tiny square chip looked like it had grown tendrils into the subject’s brain – just about as thick as a hair, no more.”

  “Damn...” was all Jefferson could say.

  Powell continued. “You know where this is going now, don’t you, Blake?”

  “I’m afraid I do. So what’s the opinion of the Outcasts and, I guess Christina, on whether they can do this to us?”

  “We’ve shared the cached internet computer with the Outcast medical staff and they aren’t certain. But they definitely feel it’s something that’d be on the Korgax’s to-do list if they haven’t done it already. Christina isn't a medical doctor, but has suggested a list of experts we can send the details to. She’ll transmit the test file later today, after her call. They’d obviously need to capture the ‘right’ people to brainwash first, and, as far as we know, they have no presence on Earth. But, as Diego has suggested, we need to start drawing up a list of who we need to warn about this threat.”

  “Will do. And another thing: were the attackers coming to assassinate specific targets, including you?”

  “We still don’t know. We could have been targets of opportunity or just incidental to the attack on the base.”

  They continued to go through the details of the inquest before turning to the subject of the following day’s UN Summit on Tropical Population Resettlement.

  “Okay, understood, Stephen. So I guess I should update you on tomorrow's summit…”

  “Yes, please do.”

  President Powell endorsed the US pledge to process 100,000 settlers a month at specially constructed centres all over the country. Adjoined to the centres, millions more would be housed in basic holding camps. Priority would go to Singapore and Malaysia as WGA allies with no land outside of the tropics to settle their own people in. It was crucial that this influx of biblical proportions was controlled. It would take years, but there was no other way to avoid the strain on communities becoming unsustainable – both socially and politically. They had no doubt that the orbiting Korgax enemy would be watc
hing summit intently. It was a widely held belief that the outcome of the summit would influence the enemy’s eventual invasion of Earth. It was a simple ultimatum – evacuate the Tropics and we’ll come in relative peace; don’t, and we’ll do it for you with deadly force. According to the Korgax edict, only securing a full resettlement then actioning it would save the lives of countless millions of people in the Tropics. The 375 Nemesis asteroid was there as an insurance policy against further attacks on the Korgax fleet. The fact it still hadn’t been diverted from its collision course with Earth told them something vital – that there were limits to the enemy’s knowledge of human and Outcast space capabilities. If they knew what Powell knew – that, presently, there was no challenger to the Korgax fleet – then they surely would have been apt to correct the asteroid’s course by now. Or perhaps they’re just playing it ‘safe’ in case we do muster a worthy challenge, thought Powell. In any case secrecy had to be maintained for now.