by Wearmouth
Critical Strike
By
Wearmouth & Barnes
Website: http://www.wearmouthbarnes.com
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ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
This edition published in 2015 by Vast Horizons
This is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed in this work are either fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication maybe reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, transmitted in any form or by any means without prior written permission of the publisher. The rights of the authors of this work has been asserted by him/her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
CHAPTER ONE
Charlie didn’t like to dwell on past nightmares the croatoans brought to Earth, or dream about a better future. He concentrated his energy on things he could change in the present.
Being stranded on an alien planet, under attack from an opposition force, and running low on air gave him all the focus he needed.
At least people on Earth would know they were safe. Hagellan had left his ship tracker in the caves below Unity. One of the croatoans would confirm to Aimee and Mike that the destroyer wasn’t approaching.
Layla and Denver crouched in the dense undergrowth by his side. Light rapidly faded around them after Tredeya’s sun dipped behind the mountain range. Bright red specks swarmed around the scion mother ship, a black prism that hung above the planet, blotting out a large section of the unrecognizable constellations in the star-studded sky.
Peering through a gap in the canopy at their destroyed ship, the glow of fire reflected off Charlie’s visor. A swallow-shaped scion fighter, sleek and black, did the damage. Its engines whined as it banked around the alley and headed back toward the group.
Charlie turned to the three croatoans that accompanied them to Tredeya. “Got any bright ideas?”
“Need to get underground,” Hagellan said.
“You’ve been here before. Lead the way,” Denver said.
Continuous explosions echoed in the distance, creating flashes of light silhouetting the rugged skyline.
“Won’t the tredeyans kill you?” Charlie said.
“No,” Hagellan said. “Follow me. Safe underground.”
“You colonized their planet and destroyed the gate. Why wouldn’t they?”
“Things are not as simple as you think.”
Hagellan turned and clicked at the remaining croatoan guard. It slung its rifle, slid a standard-issue sword with circular holes running along the center out of its thigh scabbard, and hacked a path through the leaves and branches.
Charlie gestured Denver and Layla forward and brought up the rear, keeping his finger on the trigger of his rifle. Croatoans deserved no trust.
They headed in the opposite direction of the damaged gate, between tightly packed floret-shaped trees.
Damp pink ferns covered the ground, soaking Charlie’s boots and the lower part of his cargo pants as he waded through them. Although the sun had set, he couldn’t feel a noticable temperature drop.
A scion fighter screamed over the canopy, rustling the small leaves on the trees. Charlie ducked. A dark thumb-sized insect with four chunky legs dropped on his shoulder. He swept it off and continued forward.
The croatoan guard climbed an incline, plowing through the ferns, swinging its sword in robotic fashion at the dense undergrowth ahead. A shadow moved to Charlie’s right. He turned and aimed but couldn’t detect any signs of movement in the gloom. Any creature would be difficult to hear above the thundering noise of distant battle.
Trees and plants thinned as the group gained altitude and the ground turned to shale and rock. Charlie kept a steady rate of breathing. The supply of root helped, and they were growing it here, but he was painfully aware that they had a limited supply of oxygen.
Hagellan stopped at the summit. He ducked down and watched Layla, Denver, and Charlie approach. The guard sheathed its sword, aimed its rifle skyward, and tracked the distant scion fighter. The circular red glow from the aircraft’s rear engine faded as it maintained a course away from the group.
Charlie crouched next to Hagellan and scanned the area.
They were on the edge of a hundred-meter-wide plateau that dropped away on the other side to a deep valley. In the far distance, a thin orange glow lit the horizon. Another sun was rising on the opposite side of the planet. Behind, flames licked around the charred skeleton of their ship and the shell of the building that controlled the gate.
The ground vibrated below Charlie’s boots. Small stones danced around the plateau’s surface.
“What the hell’s happening?” Layla said.
“Defenses,” Hagellan said. “Tunnel on other side of hill.”
“Why are you waiting?” Denver said.
He stood to advance, but Hagellan held its arm across his chest. “Stop.”
Denver’s hand twitched on his rifle and he glanced across. Charlie shrugged. They were on an alien world, and so far, Hagellan hadn’t strayed from the plan. It was probably their best chance of survival against suffocation and an unknown enemy.
A continuous deep mechanical hum came from the center of the plateau. A thirty-meter gap appeared. Throwing up a faint shaft of artificial light, the gap smoothly opened to form a square.
The metallic V-shaped head of a croatoan pulse cannon rose out of the space.
Charlie instantly recognized the design—the same as the ones mounted on supply shuttles that had made regular trips from the mother ship to the farms spread across Earth—until he blew the mother ship out of the sky.
This version was at least five times larger and attached to a platform that banged into place, filling the gap.
“Now we move,” Hagellan said.
Charlie thought back to Hagellan’s earlier comment about things not being as simple as he thought. They were heading for a tredeyan underground network, and a croatoan pulse cannon had just appeared from below. The attempted colonization of Earth never allowed for known networks, and the only defenses were against humans.
“What kind of relationship do you have with the tredeyans?” Charlie asked.
“Worst of friends. Scion forced us together. They are a machine of death.”
Denver scoffed through the intercom attached to his mask. “They sound exactly like you. Good to know you’re not the universal bully.”
“Idiot,” Hagellan croaked. “They are not life like you or me. The scion are self-replicating entities that consumed all life on their own planet. Croatoans, as you call us, are trying to stop them conquering the galaxy.”
“We might have sympathy if you didn’t try to turn humanity into trays of silver slop,” Layla added.
“It’s all about scale and resources. If you have something they want, they will either take it by force or treaty. It depends on the calculations they make. Tredeya has something they want that can’t be bargained for.”
“Which is?” Layla said.
“It doesn’t matter at the moment. We need to get below the protective electromagnetic shield.” Hagellan raised a gloved finger to the black prism hanging in the brightening sky. “Their ship came to stop the croatoan destroyer. This isn’t a full-scale invasion.”
“How do you know?” Charlie said.
“They regularly test for weakness and deploy probes on the surface to extend their grid. After the ship leaves, the probes will be located and de
stroyed.”
The ten-meter-high pulse cannon dropped to a forty-five-degree angle, spun, and pointed over Charlie’s head. A light blue bolt shot from the muzzle after an electronic thump. It zipped through the sky toward the scion ship, joining around thirty others fired from other locations on the planet’s surface.
When interrogating a captured driver three years ago, Charlie found out that the cannons fired a concentrated bolt of fusion plasma. Even the small ones proved to be devastating weapons on Earth. They had serious stopping power and provided the most powerful threat after the main body of croatoan soldiers left.
The cannon adjusted its angle to the left and fired again. Hagellan and the guard raced across the plateau.
Charlie nodded at the other two and followed. His boots crunched against loose terracotta-colored scree as they rounded the cannon.
Booms echoed in the sky when they reached the opposite side, but he didn’t turn back to look. A scion fighter raced over a mountain at least a mile away and headed for their location. A bright blue projectile fired from under its right wing and streaked toward the cannon, leaving an arc of vapor behind it.
Denver and Layla slid down the edge and ducked behind two trees.
Charlie sprinted after them and scrambled through the pink ferns. His left foot snagged against something and he flew forward, skidding against the alien foliage on the damp ground.
A loud explosion ripped through the air. Dust and small stones rained through the forest, peppering Charlie’s back. He glanced over his shoulder.
Flames and black smoke towered into the sky.
“Keep moving,” Denver said.
He grabbed Layla’s arm and dragged her up. It never ceased to surprise Charlie how easily Denver adapted to every situation. He guessed it was because his son didn’t carry the baggage of knowing his preinvasion world, where most people had it relatively easy.
Hagellan and the guard stepped from behind a boulder and continued down the side of the hill.
The scion fighter’s engine noise changed from a deep roar to a higher whine. Charlie spotted it between the trees, hovering fifty meters to their left. A bright blue light punched from its underside, through the canopy. It moved around the area in an erratic fashion. The croatoan guard headed to the right, putting further distance between itself and the beam.
“Is it searching for us?” Layla said breathlessly through the intercom.
“Searching for anything,” Hagellan said.
Denver paused, leaned against a tree and viewed the fighter through his sights. “If that thing gets any closer, we fire.”
“You got it,” Charlie said.
“No,” Hagellan said. “Don’t attract it.”
“I’m not talking about attracting it. If it finds us, I’d rather get in the first punch.”
“Only talk if necessary. It might detect our communication system.”
Charlie hated the fact that the two croatoans could hear every word he said to Denver on their mask comms, but this time it proved an advantage. He was big enough to swallow his pride over Hagellan’s knowledge of the threat they faced.
The guard pulled out its sword and hacked at the dense undergrowth on the lower part of the slope. The scion ship continued to whine overhead, but its beam became less visible as natural light stretched across the horizon, giving the sky back its orange tint.
Hagellan stopped at the edge of the canopy and gestured between two trees. “The entrance is over there. We have no cover so need to be fast.”
A two-hundred-meter-long field, covered in root, led to a small hill ahead. The smoldering remains of a pulse cannon sat on top of it. A small alien-made structure, like the cream buildings by the gate, nestled between trees at the bottom.
“Ready when you—” Denver said.
Trees only a few meters behind them rocked against the force of the scion ship’s thrust. Heat burned the back of Charlie’s neck as everything brightened around them. He glanced up. A dazzling light in the sky focused down on their position.
“Spread out and run for the entrance,” Hagellan said.
Charlie darted to his right and charged across the root field.
The stubby orange shoots of an early crop squashed easily against the firm ground under Charlie’s boots. In his peripheral vision, Denver and Layla took the direct path, straight for the building.
Hagellan and the guard broke left, bounding much faster than any human could manage, but taking a wider route.
A gust of warm wind brushed past Charlie. He looked back. The fighter descended to the ground and settled halfway across the root field. A red laser shot from just below its sharp front end and focused on the croatoan guard.
Denver and Layla reached the building first and fiddled with the black pad by the side of a metallic gray door. Hagellan pushed them both out of the way and pressed his hand against it.
Charlie cut across and hugged the edge of the small building.
The croatoan guard moved in the opposite direction and threw its rifle to the ground. The fighter’s laser beam continued to track around its torso and helmet.
Charlie grabbed Hagellan’s stocky shoulder. “What the hell is your pal doing?”
“And why isn’t the fighter firing?” Denver said.
“The scion calculate everything. A single guard running away without a rifle doesn’t carry a threat. A pulse cannon gets an immediate response.”
Two electronic beeps sounded above the door and a green light winked. More croatoan engineering, Charlie thought.
It smoothly slid open, revealing a light brown corridor carved out of solid rock. A noise like a muffled drum echoed through the valley. Dirt flew from the field in even spacings of five meters toward the guard as the fighter’s gun on its left wing strafed the ground. The guard took a hit to the center of its back and slumped to its knees. A second burst smashed through its helmet and it fell on its side.
“Inside. Quickly,” Hagellan said.
The group dashed inside the corridor. Charlie entered with trepidation, but whatever they were going to meet inside couldn’t be as bad as the thing that hunted them outside. They had no choice.
Hagellan held its glove against the internal pad for the door. The fighter’s laser swept across the root field and came to a rest on Denver’s chest.
CHAPTER TWO
Denver dove to his left and rolled against the coarse, rock floor. The scion fighter’s gun rattled, thundering projectiles against the thick metallic door as it slammed shut.
A quiet electric hum replaced the outside noise.
Charlie held out a hand and hauled Denver to his feet.
“Thanks, Dad.”
“Better the devil you know,” Charlie said with a sly glance at Hagellan.
Layla ran her hand along the smooth limestone-colored walls and gazed down the three-meter-wide slope that disappeared into the distance.
A thin strip of bright yellow lighting ran along the ceiling. Solid silver grills dotted the left-hand wall at regular intervals. Denver shouldered his rifle and peered through one, seeing a dark square shaft behind it, presumably for ventilation.
“Follow me to the central area,” Hagellan said.
The croatoan’s dull charcoal uniform creaked as he turned and headed down the tunnel. Denver resisted the urge to shoot him in the back of the head.
Since landing, he’d wanted to say many things to Charlie and Layla that weren’t for the alien’s gnarled earholes. Part of their success on Earth was coming up with clearly communicated plans to achieve their objectives. Everybody could be trusted to carry out a role. Hagellan couldn’t be trusted to know their next moves.
“Hagellan,” Layla said, “what did the tredeyans do when they visited Earth?”
“Collected resources until they had enough. They haven’t visited for hundreds of your years because they figured out a way to produce them themselves.”
“What resources?” Charlie asked.
“We all see th
ings in different ways. What a croatoan might find useful for one thing, a tredeyan will find another purpose.”
“That’s as clear as mud.”
“You will see.”
They continued down until the tunnel split into four directions. Hagellan trudged through the left passageway. Denver purposefully stayed out of the conversation to remain on his highest level of alertness. A single moment of careless chat could cost them their lives. He’d seen people drop their guard and pay for it more times than he cared to remember.
Hagellan rounded a bend in the tunnel, but Charlie and Layla stopped and sprang back. Charlie held up two fingers, indicating company.
Denver hugged the wall and edged forward to peer round the bend.
Two stocky aliens, around five feet tall and dressed in dark purple body armor of interlocking metallic plates, stood on either side of a thick metal door. Both had semitranslucent ivory skin on their faces, no visible hair, and dark beady eyes that flittered as if surveying every dark corner at once. They held stubby black carbine rifles against their chests.
One of them gargled something to Hagellan, sounding more human than croatoan, but still unrecognizable as a distinct language. Hagellan clicked a reply and the door groaned open with a low metal screech that echoed along the tunnel.
“Come this way,” Hagellan said through the intercom. “They are two tredeyan wardens. You have no need to fear them.”
Denver glanced back at Charlie and Layla. They were committed to following, no matter how weird things looked. Going back outside to face the scion fighter wasn’t on the agenda, and they needed oxygen.
“I’ve got your back,” Charlie said. “We haven’t got a choice.”
A muffled explosion boomed overhead and the ground shuddered.
Denver instinctively ducked.
Hagellan and the tredeyans stood firm, showing no signs of distress, as though they were used to coming under fire from an alien bombardment. He knew that croatoans did react when they thought they were in imminent danger; he’d seen it countless times in their body language on Earth.
