by Justin Bell
Primax had challenged the orders of his squad commander which had initiated the test, and to say Primax passed that test would have been a fatal understatement. The trophy strapped to his head demonstrated his success and established his place in the Reblon hierarchy.
“As you command!” shouted one of the other Reblon security guards, gesturing to the two others in his trio, and they all pressed together into a more orderly fashion as they walked the perimeter of the research station. Primax crossed his massive, fur-covered arms, glaring at them, then nodded softly and drew back, vanishing around the corner.
Trailing behind the other two, one of the Reblon guards glanced over his shoulder, scowling.
“Nobody even knows we’re here,” he snarled. “I grow weary of Primax’s spontaneous inspections.”
“Then you’ll grow weary of your head being attached to your shoulders,” one of the other guards replied.
“Shift change,” a voice echoed in front of them. The three guards halted their progress and glared at the three Reblons standing before them.
“Shift change is not for another hour,” the lead Reblon guard reported. “You are early.”
“Primax’s orders,” Gragson replied, his hand drifting towards the small arm strapped to the small of his back.
“And what weapons are those?” the guard asked, looking at the plasma rifles the Reblons were carrying.
Gragson acted fast. His arm snapped up and around, the pistol clutched tightly in his furry fist. It was a slender rectangle with a cylindrical muffler wedged into the barrel. He fired two swift shots of white light, each shot spearing into the forehead of a Reblon guard. The third one turned, lifting his own weapon, a bolted together conglomeration with twin barrels, but to Gragson’s left Claghrek acted faster.
His rifle jumped up into his shoulder and a single silent shot burst from the rectangular barrel punching through the chest of the third Reblon. Within twelve seconds all three of them were down and unmoving.
“Check them,” Gragson said, and the others complied. They quickly stashed the bodies, raided them for their weapons, then moved on towards the East entrance.
“So far so good,” Jugar said as he approached Gragson and Drewsk.
Just as he said that the Eastern door banged open and Reblons spilled out into the clearing next to the research station.
“This is a drill!” echoed a voice from behind them. “Line up by rank and clan! Move move move!”
Gragson halted, glaring back at the two others standing just behind him. This wasn’t part of the plan.
“Wait!” a voice shouted from the cluster of Reblon guards that were pouring out of the building. “You there!”
Gragson looked at Claghrek, then back over at Jugar, his hands now tightened around the double-barreled Reblon weapon.
“Come here!” the Reblon beckoned, gesturing towards Gragson. “Now!”
Gragson took a step forward, touching a concealed device wedged into the crook of his right ear. He didn’t speak, he merely tapped it three times, then hesitated for a moment and tapped it four more times.
“Which clan do you represent?” a large Reblon guard asked, stepping away from the crowd. “You do not look familiar.”
“We want no trouble,” Gragson growled.
The larger Reblon snarled and lifted his weapon, striding towards the other three until he was nearly nose to nose with the Bragdon in disguise.
“Then state your clan,” he hissed, choosing each word. His hot breath puffed from flared nostrils and stung Gragson’s eyes.
Gragson’s lips parted, preparing to form a word, which word he was not sure, but he never got the chance to finish speaking it. A narrow spear of white light streaked over his right shoulder and punched into the Reblon’s face, splashing into a swift, blinding light so bright that Gragson turned away.
“Ambush!” came a gruff shout from the crowd of enemies and chaos reigned.
Another streak of plasma erupted from the east, then a third from the north, slamming into the thickly clumped crowd of guards, and the Reblons scattered. Gragson, Claghrek, and Jugar pulled back, lifting weapons, tracing them across the rushing crowd and opened fire.
“They’ve surrounded us!” screamed another Reblon as he stumbled backwards, slamming his back against the wall of the research station. He swiveled with his double-barreled weapon, drew down on Jugar and fired, sending two thick slugs towards him.
“Cover!” Gragson shouted, glancing to his left while lunging the other direction. The two shots hit Jugar high in the chest and carried him off his feet while Gragson was already adjusting aim and returning fire, slamming three plasma beams into the torso of the assailant. Reblons pushed past them in their frantic charge to find cover, and even as Jugar stumbled to the ground and began shifting back into his Bragdon form, massive, fur-covered beasts trampled over him, firing weapons wildly into the darkness.
“Claghrek!” Gragson shouted. “On my flank! They are scattering to return fire, but have left their post!”
Claghrek nodded and ran forward, catching up to the disguised Gragson. “Is Jugar gone?” he asked and the pilot simply nodded as they ran, sliding through the oncoming horde of Reblons who dashed past them.
Up ahead the east entrance to the research station stood and just as they approached, three Reblons pushed out of it, their weapons up and in defensive posture.
“You there!” one of them shouted at Gragson, turning his weapon towards him. “I don’t recognize you!”
The Bragdon pilot in disguise already had his pistol up and around and squeezed off two shots, striking the enemy in the forehead. Two other Reblons turned towards him, firing their weapons and Gragson pitched forward, curling his shoulder and rolling across the metal plated ground. As they adjusted to track him, Claghrek closed the distance and was on top of them. He slammed one massive fist into the first one’s jaw, driving his head back against the wall, and the second lunged, swinging his weapon like a baseball bat. Claghrek twisted and dodged right, letting the gun crash into the wall instead of his head. It only took a moment and Claghrek knocked the weapon from his hand, then buried an elbow into the temple of the Reblon. He caught his own momentum and spun the opposite way again, striking him a second time with the edge of his hand. Even as the Reblon’s head snapped back, his mouth split into an angry smile.
“Is that the best you can do?” he growled.
Twin shafts of plasma buried themselves under his chin, and his eyes went wide, then he slumped towards the ground.
Gragson tapped Claghrek on the shoulder as he ran past, towards the open door and the Bragdon nodded, moving into a run himself. With his shoulder as a battering ram, the pilot turned sideways and barreled through the entrance.
Primax’s massive fur-covered frame filled the entire hall. His eyes were narrow and piercing, a milky white underneath the polished bone helmet which covered his head. In one hand he carried one of the familiar double-barreled weapons, while in the other hand his fingers wrapped tightly around a thick, but withered club, adorned with more bones, jagged and sharpened into a mace of corpses.
“Foolish lizards,” he snarled. “You’re fighting for the wrong side.”
Gragson lowered his gaze and his defenses, letting his Reblon form melt from his body, his entire frame shifting and shrinking back into the lithe, leather-skinned shape of his Bragdon heritage.
“We fight for our own side, ape,” he hissed. “This station threatens Braxis as much as Athelon.”
“It certainly does now,” Primax replied. “Consider any treaties null and void.”
Beside him, Gragson could see Claghrek also shifting back into his familiar Bragdon shape, still clutching his plasma weapon.
“Move aside and we will let you live,” Gragson said. “Resist and you will die.”
Primax smirked, his muscular face twisting into a strange contented grimace. Claghrek wasted no more time. His shoulder to the wall, he lifted his weapon and fired, but P
rimax was already on the move. Sliding past the streaking beam of energy, he swung his withered club and shattered the weapon in Claghrek’s hand with one massive swing. As he attacked one Bragdon, the other drew on him and fired his pistol, but Primax stepped aside from that attack as well. The plasma beam struck his double-barreled weapon and sent purple electricity streaking all through it, jarring it from Primax’s massive fist.
Barely noticing, the large Reblon continued moving towards Claghrek, who back pedaled, but realized he had nowhere to go. The club swung again, this time a swift, arcing backstroke, and when it struck Claghrek in the face, its momentum did not stop, it continued slamming into the metal wall behind him.
Gragson winced at the carnage, turning away as Claghrek toppled over onto the floor. Primax laughed a hearty, growling laugh and lunged towards the Bragdon pilot.
Gragson tensed and braced himself for the slamming impact of the barbed club, having nowhere else to go in this narrow hallway and no other defense in mind.
But the impact didn’t come.
For a moment, Gragson opened his eyes and saw that Primax’s club embedded itself in the wall, the sharpened bone caught in the punctured metal plating. Primax turned towards it, his eyes widening, grabbing the handle with his other hand to pull it free. Gragson turned, swinging his pistol up and fired the remaining plasma into the back of Primax’s thick, shaggy skull.
The large Reblon howled and surged forward, slamming face first into the wall, then spun and clumsily tumbled to the ground, his entire head engulfed in a pungent, hairy smoke storm.
Before he even hit the ground, Gragson was on the run, feet slamming down the hall towards the generator room. This had already taken too long and their window closed more by the second.
Chapter Four
It was like someone was slicing open the darkness, a narrow gash of white light split open space itself, drowning out the surrounding stars. Within the narrow bands of white, a dozen shapes appeared, dark and angular, obscure streaks abruptly halting and forming into coherent objects.
“Iridium Squadron, hyperspace jump is complete! Reblox satellite at sector four seven!” Redax Northstar dropped his throttle, easing the narrow ship into a cruising speed his body still recovering from the rapid exit from hyperspace.
“Long range sensors are showing shields are still active!” came a voice from Redax’s communications channel.
“Those blasted reptiles!” Redax brought his ship around, keeping the Reblox weapon satellite in view. “Weapons ready, Iridium!”
The command was unnecessary. Even as he spoke the words, Redax could see the bright streak of approaching fighters, a cluster of Reblox ships in low orbit, just waiting to respond. This whole plan had just gone significantly sideways.
“Evasive maneuvers!” Redax shouted. “We have incoming enemy fighters!”
Reblox ships seared towards them, hacking through space trailing narrow gouts of blue flame. As they approached, they broke away, spiraling apart and swirling back towards them, the flame intertwining in a hypnotizing pattern.
At once cannons mounted near the nose of the Reblox fighters burst and stuttered with rapidly expanding energy, slamming out from energy packs and arcing plasma through the air. Iridium Squadron separated, the ships making a well-calculated spread pattern, out from their center, a reverse convergence of sorts, and the first Reblox volley scattered through empty space.
Redax brought his own ship around, bringing one of the enemy fighters into his cross hairs and he pulled on the control stick triggers, spearing the ship with twin bursts of energy. Both beams punctured the left fuselage of the triangular fighter, sending fuel blasting out into space, and directly afterward, the ship seemed to fold in on itself, then blast outward in a bright bloom of metal shrapnel and ignited energy.
Redax dove his ship down through the cloud of spent plasma, the purple light clinging to the edges of his ship, then he pulled upwards as two Reblons converged on him, weapons exploding. His ship split the two beams, missing them both, and he rolled it back left then returned fire, sending his plasma straight into the canopy of the oncoming enemy.
Rattles of enemy fire scattered over his hull and zipped past his view screen and off to his right he could see one of his wingmen’s ships blasting apart into fragments. He craned his neck to read the ship markers and realized he couldn’t even tell who it had been. A friend had just died and at this point he didn’t know which one.
“They’re all over the place!” a voice shouted in his comm unit. “We’re outnumbered!”
“Be calm, Iridium,” Redax replied. “We just need to hold them off until those shields are dropped, then we move in, launch, and get out!”
“Do we know if the reptiles are alive down there?”
“Let’s hope.”
If the Bragdons were dead... if they’d failed in their mission, then Iridium would fail in theirs. They would die, and Athelon would be next.
FIVE TO ONE? GRAGSON didn’t like those odds.
With one careful step after another, the Bragdon pilot remained pressed to the wall behind him as he progressed down the hall. Their stolen schematics told him the generator room was just up ahead, but at least five Reblons stood at the door on guard. Five big, mean looking Reblons.
Gragson was one of the best pilots in the Bragdon fleet, especially for his age, but he was a pilot, not a ground pounder. Not a warrior. He could hold his own, that much was certain, but five huge, tough looking Reblons against him?
What choice did he have?
Claghrek and Jugar were both dead. Who knew about the rest. If he didn’t drop these shields, Iridium Squadron would face annihilation by Reblox interceptors and their vile weapons system would be free to glass Athelon and Braxis both.
That could not happen.
For a moment he considered shifting again, becoming a Reblon, maybe even changing his form to look like Primax. But that took a lot of energy, and if it failed, he wouldn’t have the strength to fight. He needed all the strength he could get, and his best shot right now was the stealth and sneak of a Bragdon, not the rage and raw power of a Reblon.
In his right hand he clutched one of the Reblon shotguns, a weapon he had liberated from a fallen guard. It was large and powerful in his hand, but somewhat clunky, much like the Reblon race itself. The weapon was the opposite of stealth and sneak, but he didn’t have much choice. He’d emptied his plasma pistol into Primax’s skull, after all.
His shoulder pressed tight against the wall, Gragson took another three careful steps forward, his mottled skin darkening with the shadow of the low light in the hallway. The Reblons were thirty yards away. Then twenty. Now, almost ten. He could hear them mumbling amongst themselves, trying to decide what they should be doing, whether they needed to maintain security at the generator room or move out to provide support for the others. Raised voices echoed in the hallway.
Gragson kneeled low and touched his ankle, his mind working. One more crouched step forward, he trained the weapon on one of the Reblons, the one gesturing and making the most noise.
He drew in a deep breath.
His finger squeezed.
The shotgun blast roared in the relative quiet of the hallway, silencing the murmurs from the guards outside the generator room. The largest one, the one gesturing wildly, grunted as his feet left the floor and went tumbling backwards, arms pinwheeling.
Even as the first guard struck the wall, Gragson stood and charged forward, swiveling at the waist and firing again, both barrels exploding into the chest of a second Reblon.
“Bragdon invader!” shouted a third. “Who would dare?”
Gragson cocked his arm back and threw the weapon, slamming it into the face of the third Reblon who stumbled, but did not fall. The last two converged on him, growling and extending their massive arms. Gragson ducked, lowering his hand and plucking the jagged Bragdon blade from the sheath on his ankle. He swung it up and around in a brisk curve, tearing a ragged trench through
the Reblon’s armpit. The creature shrieked and withdrew though the wound was far from fatal.
Gragson set his feet and charged to the right, sneaking under the lunging grasp of the last guard and squeezing through the door into the generator room. As he dashed forward, he could hear the clatter of weapons being lifted and moved into firing position. The Bragdon made one last lurch to the right, then halted and spun himself around, standing tall in front of the three Reblons who pressed their way towards him, weapons drawn.
“Shoot me if you dare,” Gragson snarled.
Their weapons blasted.
They fired more quickly than the Bragdon pilot anticipated and as he charged to his left, a sharp kick of pain flared in his right side, which picked him up off his feet and swung him around, agony tearing apart his entire right side. But as he spun he saw several other shots streak clear of him and slam directly into the console he had been standing before.
The console controlling the complex generator system.
Sparks exploded from the equipment and as the lights dimmed all around, the layered, metallic computer exploded, showering him with hot metal fragments and broken glass.
He hit the ground shoulder first, the world around him swirling into a gray mask of nothing and the lights blinked into darkness.
REDAX HAULED ON THE control stick, sending his ship surging to the right as he narrowly avoided the exploding remnants of another wingman. Metal shrapnel spattered the hide of his ship, and the starfighter controls thrashed in his hand as he maintained control, even as he saw six Reblon Interceptors banking around to come towards him.
They had drastically underestimated the resistance that would be present at the satellite, the perimeter thick with the Reblox fleet. If they’d underestimated the size of the fleet, what had the Bragdons faced on the surface?
