by C. C. Ekeke
“Most are unperturbed, gathering any data needed for the mission,” Marguliese informed.
Habraum nodded, then broached a topic needling at him for days, “Something happen between you and Tharydane?”
Marguliese’s golden features usually remained emotionless. However, Habraum noted a shift of a subtle distaste on her face whenever discussing Sam D’Urso. “Samantha should keep her ward under tighter restraint. The girl had accessed the ObDeck to watch Tyris and I sparring two days ago. So I confronted Tharydane and verbally chastisted her transgression.”
The Cerc frowned. He liked Tharydane, but wandering about Hollus’s restricted areas was unacceptable. “You tell Samantha?”
“That same evening,” she said. “As expected, she grew antagonistic over my assessment of her parenting. Then Captain D’Urso utilized a string of obscenities—in both Standard Speak and Kedri Common Tongue.”
Sounds like Sammie. Habraum almost laughed, if not for fearing the answer to his next question. “Was Jeremy with Tharydane in ObDeck?”
Marguliese arched an eyebrow. “Yes.”
“We’re hitting some turbulence,” Solrao warned before Habraum could respond. Her hands with their two opposable thumbs waved quickly across the nav controls. “Faroor’s been having mild skyquakes for months—”
Right away, Phaeton shook up and down as if something kept ramming into its underside, despite the vessel’s shock absorbers. Magnetstrapping himself to his seat, Habraum then motioned Marguliese briskly back to the bridge. Onscreen, the towering billows churned and darkened as Phaeton flew further into the atmosphere.
“Rogguts. You call that ‘mild’?” Habraum eyed Solrao in concern after another forceful shuddering. “Raise shields. ETA to the Thasque UComm base?”
“Shields up.” Solrao was all business. The jostling began to subside considerably. “ETA is in thirty-five macroms.”
Habraum furrowed his brow. “Try contacting—”
“Already did, sir,” Solrao interrupted. “Skyquake interference is disrupting comms. I can speed—”
Something savage and powerful smacked Phaeton’s port side, whirling the battle cruiser abruptly aboutface. Cockpit lights flickered and sputtered briefly.
“WHOA,” Solrao exclaimed droopily after regaining control. “Didn’t feel like a skyquake.”
“Something hit us.” Habraum scanned the viewscreen, seeing flashes in the towers of black, churning clouds surrounding them. “Get us out of this upper atmosphere!” The sliding door’s hiss signaled Marguliese’s exit.
Solrao dove, cutting through the skyquake rumblings, weaving around Faroor’s incoming and outgoing traffic lanes. Despite her incredible maneuvering, a thick and unnaturally serpentine bolt struck under Phaeton’s tail, knocking them forward into a full forward roll.
Habraum lunged forward to sweep his hand across the nav consoles, activating a number of smaller holoscreens around the main viewscreen. One gave view to Phaeton’s bridge.
“—the Five Hells!” Khrome bellowed on the screen, trying to steady himself. Marguliese was somehow standing secure, observing the goings-on outside with the TriTran. Habraum glimpsed Liliana securely in her seat, properly terrified. Khal, Tyris, and V’Korram were also seated and wary.
“Strap in, kids!” Habraum barked over Phaeton’s comms. “It’s gonna be bumpier than expected.”
“These lightning strikes appear exceedingly potent,” Marguliese deadpanned, barely alarmed by their situation.
The bullnecked Thulican wheeled around and glared at her. “It’s like we’re getting targeted—” Khrome’s golden eyes went impossibly wide. Habraum knew that look. “By the Twin Spheres!” Khrome exclaimed.
Marguliese eyed him with dawning recognition. “Are you construing what I am construing?”
“Yes. Move,” he ordered. Marguliese obeyed, and the Thulican began tacking furiously at the TriTran console. A number of holograms detailing the current weather patterns popped up in front of him.
Habraum’s attention was jarred back to the cockpit as another strike slammed into the ship’s nose. Phaeton weaved around several brilliant and immense forks of lightning, finally breaking out of the malformed billows…
…and barreled straight for a gigantic commercial starliner directly in front of them.
Solrao gasped and wrenched her hands to the right just in time—so close that Habraum saw each expertly etched letter of the SolluStar Spaceways logo on the titanic vessel’s starboard side—twisting and diving down. The Ibrisian continued narrowly ducking around several civilian vessels scattered by the skyquakes and lightning.
All the while Habraum remained calm and quiet, even as numerous superior aerial maneuvers that Solrao could have executed popped into his mind. However, the Cerc refrained from side-seat piloting. Since their time together in the AeroFleet, he trusted Solrao’s flying skills almost as much as his own.
Habraum instead watched the smaller holoscreens displaying Phaeton’s rear. Only flickering light flashed from the dark swell of clouds shrinking behind them.
“We’re clear,” he sighed in relief. A beep on the nav console’s comm signaled a message from the bridge. “Go ahead,” Habraum answered.
“Captain,” Khrome’s motorized voice came through clearly, “that was unlike any lightning I’ve ever seen from other planetary weather systems. Thanks to our shields, they didn’t cause physical damage besides minor superficial burns. But whatever exotic energy they were made of disrupted energy output of the ship’s systems— particularly the stellar drives.”
“He’s right, sir,” Solrao confirmed drowsily after inspecting her nav console. “We can’t stay up much longer unless we reset the output levels.”
“Khrome,” Habraum spoke to the comm systems. “How long will this reset take?”
“Fifteen to twenty macroms, after shutting down primary systems.”
“Ollrigh’.” Habraum scratched the back of his head. He disliked this, but what choice was there? “Take us just over Thasque, behind the cloud cover.”
“You sure?” Solrao countered, her eyes voicing more shock than her drowsy drawl.
“Won’t be for long,” Habraum replied amiably. “We’ll fix the issue and head for the base.”
Phaeton began its slow descent. Habraum heard the angered bleeps coming from outside as countless lanes of hovercars scattered haphazardly to avoid the massive descending cruiser. The Cerc felt a twinge of guilt each time Solrao repeatedly said, “Sorry!” through gritted teeth to every hovercar.
“We’re here to help them, Solrao,” Habraum said with a sympathetic smile. “They can deal with us causing a spot of traffic.” His words noticeably calmed the pilot.
Once free of hovercar traffic, Phaeton now hovered behind a conveniently low haze of clouds.
Habraum was about to congratulate her until one of the smaller viewscreens caught his eye. Its focus happened to be on the heaving, moving throng of pedestrian traffic in downtown Thasque’s Supreme Commons. A hooded figure was slinking through the crowd, shorter than most. The Cerc caught the briefest glance of the face under the hood—a Farooqua lacking any normal pelt.
Habraum stood bolt upright. A Ghebrekh?
Solrao, noticing the Cerc’s reaction, frowned. “What’s wrong?”
The hooded Farooqua vanished behind a gaggle of spectators. Sending V’Korram, Khrome, Tyris, or Marguliese down would draw too much attention in a crowd of mostly Ttaunz and humans. The Cerc bit back a curse. “Transmat me just beyond the crowd,” Habraum ordered, still fixated on the viewscreen.
Solrao peered at him curiously. “Sir? I’m about to shut down primary systems—”
“Get me down there. Now.” Habraum combed the viewscreen for his prey. “And scan for any other Ghebrekh.”
Solrao nodded obediently and activated the transmat protocol.
Moments later, Habraum shimmered into existence far below Phaeton. A few nearby pedestrians gaped. He ignored them and strode toward
where he last saw the Farooqua.
It was mid-afternoon in Thasque city-state, the breeze gentle and warm. High above, Herope’s bright pink glare slowly burned the roiling storm clouds. Buildings in this part of Thasque stood no higher than ninety stories, most constructed with the Ttaunz’s pillared Neo-Classical architecture. Many edifices bore hedonistic mosaic portraits of famed Ttaunz on their walls. However, they were marred by the plethora of gigantic holo-billboards on the sides of or floating in between each building, all advertising products from other memberworlds.
Habraum stayed focused on that Farooqua. Mostly Ttaunz milled about, looking as if they constantly smelled rotten food. Ttaunz males donned flowing robes of Pallanorian chael and long hair in ludicrous braided styles. The females in turn wore their hair short and spiky while dressed in elegant sundresses and light coats. Other pedestrians included mostly humans, some Nnaxans with their tentacle-like craniowhisks, and a few other Union races.
Habraum combed through the crowd with his height advantage, right as a strange sensation prickled the edge of his thoughts. Habraum wheeled around and saw him, the Farooqua near a small fountain. As the crowd milled about, the Farooqua smoothly gestured his arms about with eyes closed in what resembled a kineticabulary prayer. At a glance the Cerc guessed his age to be fifteen, like Tharydane.
Habraum watched as the Farooqua flung open his robe, revealing an emaciated build, furless and sparsely tattooed. A throbbing red bulb was fused into his chest.
His eyes widened. He had studied enough footage of the Ghebrekh to recognize an impact bomb.
A Ghebrekh suicide bomber. How did he sneak into the heart of downtown Thasque?
The Cerc glanced this way and that, weighing his miniscule options.
Warning the crowd would only create chaos and more collateral damage when the Ghebrekh detonated his bomb.
Transmatting the Ghebrekh away from downtown might work. Habraum slapped his wristcom. “Reign to Phaeton,” he said quietly. Habraum heard only static.
This reduced his options to one.
The Brigadier captain slapped his wristcom again. In a bright shimmer, Habraum’s civilian clothes morphed into his white, green, and gold armored Star Brigade uniform—the flash suit. The Cerc grimaced and strode quickly, shouldering through the wall of pedestrians. Several beings stared at what to them was outlandish apparel. Habraum couldn’t care less. His attire was the least of their concerns...
He tactfully scanned the number of civilians between him and the suicide bomber, who hadn’t seen him yet. That moment, the crowd parted, giving Habraum a completely clear shot.
Make it quick. Make it count. The Cerc aimed a glowing fist at the Ghebrekh to fire…
The Farooqua stretched one hand for the heavens, while the other reached for the bulbous red bomb on his chest—
A bright crimson burst of energy streaked forward, striking the Ghebrekh’s head off his shoulders.
Instant terror. The Farooqua’s body sank to the ground without a head, quickly trampled by screaming bystanders frantically rushing in every direction toward others either clueless or too slow to react.
“HALT,” a sonoramp-boosted voice roared. “Make no sudden movements.”
Habraum froze and glanced up. To his shock, half a dozen Ttaunz MetroPol officers floated just off the ground on sleek maroon hoverbikes, surrounding him. They wore golden helmets fashioned like sunbursts and carried long, blocky pulse rifles—each trained on various points of his body.
Are you greybricking me? Habraum stood steadily against the frightened swell of Ttaunz shoving into him and slowly lowered his glowing fist. His thoughts were on getting that corpse. But he knew an explanation was needed. “Listen, I’m—”
The explosion rammed the Cerc from behind, a full-speed hovertram of unyielding force.
No heat or light—just a pure kinetic eruption mushrooming outward, knocking bystanders clean off their feet.
For a long moment, Habraum was weightless—until he slammed chest-first into a floating hoverbike. He felt his bones creak, heard the air rush from his lungs in a rattling wheeze.
The Cerc slid backward and landed hard on his shoulders. The screams sounded so far away…the sight of sentients lying on the ground or still standing began smearing together in one messy blur…
Where’s the pain? All Habraum felt was a warm tingle creeping up the sides of his neck.
Then, he felt nothing…
Chapter 20
Habraum slowly floated back up into the waking world…
…and collided into a world of hurt. Pain shot down his spine, filled every breath he took, and kept drilling at his forehead from inside his skull. In a twisted way, Habraum was grateful. Pain means I’m not dead. He attempted to wiggle his extremities. Ten fingers, ten toes, all working.
The images the Cerc saw when his eyes opened were fuzzy, running back and forth, panicked. But there was no sound, akin to someone hitting a mute button. Habraum focused on the closest figure, slender and female, kneeling over him with her hands on his chest. His vision soon sharpened and she came into focus: oval face with a cleft chin, short pixie-cut hair, worried brown eyes—Liliana Cortes in field uniform. Relief washed over Habraum. Lily’s lips moved, but no sound came out.
The doctor looked pale with worry under the pinkish glare of Faroor’s sun. She spoke again.
“—tain Nwosu! Can you hear me?” As if someone flicked on a switch, Habraum could hear. She was shouting over the blaring MetroPol and medical vehicles on scene, the shrieks from injured civilians. Liliana leaned in close, both hands on his face as she yelled, “Captain Nwosu, we need to move you—”
“I hear ya, Cortes,” Habraum said woozily. His skull pounded, but the pain everywhere else was subsiding. Liliana slipped a slender arm around his waist to help him stand up. Nothing felt broken or dislocated, just sore.
“Your uniform’s body armor and its low-grade forcefield protected you from any major injuries,” Liliana called out, letting go once he stood steadily. She looked angry. “Why do you keep trying to get yourself killed?”
Habraum gave a rueful shrug as he took in his immediate vicinity. Several elegant, ancient Ttaunz buildings had chunks from their lower levels scattered everywhere. Gigantic blimp-sized repair mechs floated between buildings damaged by the impact bomb. Medical transports and Ttaunz MetroPol hover vehicles blanketed the pink sky above, blocking off hovercar traffic.
But Habraum’s attention zeroed in on the bodies around the two Brigadiers, at least fifty or more. The six MetroPol officers and several bystanders had suffered far worse fates, sprawled in mutilated or crushed postures. The injured survivors just beyond the half-mile blast radius were more numerous, all screaming for help.
Droves of medical workers and medroids swarmed the bombsite, both military and civilian. Amidst shouted orders and blaring din, they quickly loaded as many victims as they could onto available ambulances. And of course the panicked crowds stood and stared, held far back by holo barriers.
This wasn’t the Ghebrekh that Habraum had killed. The blast came from behind…
There was a second suicide bomber, the Cerc realized, horrified and angered.
He swallowed those feelings and curtly asked, “Why didn’t Solrao detect the second bomber?”
“One moment, he wasn’t there. The next, he was. Just like the other two bomb sites.”
Habraum watched Lily as if she’d sprouted a third eye. “The other two?” he repeated.
Liliana’s face darkened. “This was…” she swallowed hard, “one of three impact bomb attacks around the city-state. All occurred simultaneously.”
Habraum closed his eyes, his achy brain sagging under the weight of that statement.
“The rest of CT-1 is at the second bombing site triaging with UComm.” She glanced over her shoulder. “The damage there was the worst.” Habraum followed her gaze and felt a chill. Less than a mile away, one of the other ugly mosaic buildings had utterly collapsed into
a mammoth heap of rubble. A tower of thick dust spiraled skyward as tiny vehicles buzzed like small flies around the ruins.
“Stay here and aid the medics.” Habraum started for the more devastated area. The thundering in his skull was making everything spin.
“Captain!” she called out, eyes wide. “You should not be—”
“Crescendo,” Habraum barked out the doctor’s codename, startling her. He stopped and spoke less curtly, knowing she meant well. “I’m fine. Now go.”
Liliana nodded and turned to jog daintily over to the medical workers.
As soon as she was out of range, Habraum doubled over and vomited. He wiped his mouth with the back of his right glove and shook his head to clear it. That reduced the nausea. His headache, however, only lessened by a fraction. He couldn’t worry about that now.
“Okay.” The Cerc straightened up and broke into a run. After pushing through a seemingly endless throng of onlookers, he finally reached the second bomb site. Hard to fathom that one heatless impact bomb did this.
Marguliese and Tyris strode forth when they saw Habraum, followed by the massive V’Korram.
“Captain,” Tyris greeted, crystalline form tinted pink under Herope’s glow. “Glad you’re alright.”
“Feeling’s mutual.” The Cerc stared up at the looming mountain of rubble before him. “Give me the story.”
“Three Ghebrekh entered this planetary-history museum,” Tyris answered, “and detonated impact bombs.”
“Same with the explosion at a secondary school in Eastern Thasque,” V’Korram growled.
Habraum shook his head in disbelief. “Rogguts,” he exclaimed quietly.
“So far,” Marguliese added with her usual emotionless wording. “There were 230 beings inside this building, including fifteen children.”
The casualties and Marguliese’s detached delivery made Habraum look away.
He spied Khrome lifting pieces of craggy debris twice his size, and tossing them aside effortlessly. Khal stood close by, his handsome face a mask of concentration as he reached out with empty hands and telekinetically levitated chunks of wreckage onto the same pile Khrome had started.
