by Dean M. Cole
In spite of the exertion and the comfortable temperature of the air, a chill ran through Jake as he dodged another pile of empty clothes. Again he abandoned his controlled jog for a sprint. Assisted across the ship's narrower width by the resumed conveyance force, he quickly closed the gap. Ahead, the lights turned left into another opening. Approaching it, Jake reached out for the near side of the doorway, using its fluted trim to brace himself. Releasing it, he slid to a stop in the center of the opening.
He stared into the maw of an empty vertical shaft. The site generated a foreboding déjà vu. Even without a damaged car partially obscuring its door, the elevator shaft reminded Jake of the one they had used to access the enemy's bridge.
Suppressing the dread that threatened to freeze him in his tracks, Jake stepped into the shaft. Unlike its Zoxyth analog, this one had normal gravity. Confused, Jake looked around. Then an invisible force identical to the one in the Turtle gripped his lower extremities and lifted him. Accelerating upward, he soon flew in formation with the flowing lights.
The ceiling rapidly approached. Just before he slammed into its solid surface, the metallic panel evaporated. Passing through the opening, he emerged into an empty room. The ceiling-turned-floor rematerialized, and Jake gently landed on its reconstituted surface.
Looking up from his spacesuited feet, Jake whistled his relief. The room's white walls softly glowed. Overhead, the gently arched ceiling formed a flat dome.
Again, the sound of static filled his ears. Worried the floor was dissolving under his feet, Jake leaped to the side, but the sound continued from behind him. He spun around in time to see a table and control panel manifest out of the floor.
"Gotta love those nanobots," Jake said as he stepped up to the pedestal. Multiple arcane controls covered its concave surface. However, one glowed and pulsed with the same color and frequency as the lights that had led him to the room. An Argonian word sat at its base: Activate.
With no other apparent options, he haltingly reached for the control. "Here goes nothing." After a slight hesitation, he toggled it.
Unexpectedly lifting Jake off his feet, an invisible force cocooned his entire body and propelled him across the empty room. Rotating him into a prone position, it drew his rigid body toward the new table. He futilely struggled to free himself from its iron grip.
With mounting horror, Jake felt consciousness slipping from his grasp. "Oh my G—" he began but never finished. The black, velvet-lined abyss of unconsciousness wrapped its icy fingers around Jake and sucked him into its cold embrace.
CHAPTER SIX
Red light flooded the otherwise dark, dank bridge.
"Lord Thrakst, I have multiple targets exiting parallel-space," shouted the communications officer. After a brief pause, he looked up, eyes burning with excitement. "It's the Helm Warden and fleet, and they're still ten standard units out, my Lord."
"Just as I planned: perfect timing and distance! The Forebearers smile upon us," proclaimed Thrakst. "Order the fleet to form on the Tidor Drof in a standard defensive formation. I will have the head of any commander whose ship takes offensive action!"
"Yes, my Lord," said the communications officer as he bowed deeply.
Turning to the weapons officer, Thrakst growled, "What is the status of the fleet's gene weapons?"
"Lord, eighty percent report recharged and ready for deployment."
With a satisfactory nod, Thrakst returned his attention back to the view-wall.
The gene weapon's only pitfall was its long recharge time. He turned to Raja Phascyre: the wizened Zoxyth warrior posted on his right. "Thank the Forebearers we staggered the attack to preserve our combat readiness. I hope Commodore Salyth had the foresight to implement the same."
The Raja nodded. "As do I, my Lord." He drew a long, raspy breath. "The silence screaming from Sector Sixty-Four makes one wonder."
Shaking his massive head, Thrakst growled through clenched silver fangs. "Don't make me come out to that Forebearer-forsaken corner of the galaxy, Salyth."
"Lord, the Helm Warden is trying to hail us on an in-system frequency."
Forgetting Salyth for the moment, Thrakst grinned at Phascyre. "So, they've noticed our subspace jammer." Raising his voice, he turned to the officer. "Do not reply."
"They're also trying to call the planet, my Lord."
"Are they receiving a response?"
The communications officer studied his station. After checking the entire electromagnetic spectrum, he said, "No, my Lord."
Sitting back in his black throne, Thrakst threw his head back and laughed. "The planet is dead, Tekamah. You're too late!" His manic laughter echoed off the cavernous bridge's damp stone walls.
***
"Admiral, the Zoxyth are not responding to our hails," reported the communications officer.
Tekamah stood from his force field chair. With his EON, he accessed the bridge section's holo-generator. A new holographic rendering of the Chuvarti system coalesced in the air above the elevated bridge section. Following another EON command, the point of view zoomed in, and the planet filled the display. Through the translucent rendering, Admiral Tekamah counted sixteen enemy ships around the globe.
Depicted in red, they streamed from various points above the planet. Scanning the group, he quickly picked out the Tidor Drof.
"There you are, Thrakst."
The rest of the enemy fleet moved to take up defensive positions around the bastard's ship—a standard Zoxyth tactic when faced with overwhelming force. Glaring at the gathering enemy formation, Admiral Tekamah said, "What about the planet?"
"Nothing, sir. Aside from a few automated beacons, I'm receiving no non-natural transmissions coming from the planet."
"What? That's not possible. Zoxyth never had subspace jamming capability. Even if they do now, jamming the relatively narrow band of subspace is one thing, but the Zoxyth can't jam the entire electromagnetic spectrum."
"No, sir, they're not jamming it. Aside from our fleet's internal radio chatter and the same from the Zoxyth, there are no radio transmissions coming from the planet."
Scanning the data streaming through his EON, Tekamah came to the same conclusion.
"Damn it, Feyhdyak," Tekamah whispered to himself. "I could really use a little intel here. This is shaping up just as your last report described."
When he'd received a report that the Zoxyth had split their forces—half to this Sector and the other half to Sector 64—Admiral Tekamah had dispatched a task force headed by Admiral Thoyd Feyhdyak aboard the Helm Warden's sister ship, the Galactic Guardian. Simultaneously, he'd led the other half of the Galactic Defense Forces here.
Now the Galactic Guardian was a day late in reporting back. Their last report had drawn a very similar picture to what now lay before Tekamah.
"Order the fighter squadrons to perform a standard encircling maneuver," Tekamah ordered through his mounting concern. "I want those dreadnoughts boxed in."
"Yes, sir," responded Tactical.
Tekamah monitored the commands as they flowed across the battle network. Manipulating the hologram, he zoomed in on Thrakst's command ship. Shaking his head at the all too familiar sight of the Argonian skull clamped in the Zoxyth's jaw, he panned down to Chuvarti's surface. Over the blue and brown planet's equator, it appeared Thrakst had taken up station, hovering in space directly over the settlement's capital city.
"Maneuver two battlecruisers between the enemy fleet and the city below," the admiral ordered. "If this standoff turns hot, I want it protected from falling asteroids."
Tekamah felt his short hairs standing on end. Why are they dropping into a defensive position? They reserve that for dire, fight-to-the-death circumstances.
"Any response from the surface?" he asked again.
"No, sir."
"What areas of the planet have they attacked? The capital looks unscathed."
"None, sir," replied the officer with a confused tone.
"What?" Tekamah asked with matc
hing confusion as he watched the first fighter squadron begin to take up position around the enemy fleet. "That makes no—"
"Admiral! We are receiving a transmission from the surface now," interrupted an officer from the communications console.
"Thank the Gods! Whoever it is, tell them I want this planet's governor on the horn now!"
The officer shifted uncomfortably. "There's a problem, sir."
"What?" Tekamah asked shortly.
"It's better if you see for yourself, sir."
Not waiting for the officer, Tekamah snatched the data stream with his EON and fed it directly into the holoprojector. Expecting to be addressing a military commander or planetary dignitary, he was shocked into silence by the image of a sobbing middle-aged man.
"Who is this?" Tekamah demanded.
Looking like he might collapse, the weeping man only shook his head.
"Son, please calm down," Tekamah said.
In an apparent nanobot-enhanced parka, the stranger continued shaking his head. Between sobs, he whispered, "They're all dead."
"What? Sir, please. This is Admiral Tekamah of the Galactic Defense Forces. Who is dead?"
After the agonizingly long seconds it took the message to make the round trip, the man replied, "They're all dead." Between sobbing gasps, he added, "My family, my coworkers … everybody. They're all gone." Finally drawing himself up, he said the last part with conviction, anger apparently edging out the man's despair.
"I'm very sorry to hear about your family. What's your name, sir? And what do you mean? How many died; where did it happen?"
As he waited for the light-speed-limited signal, he again wondered how in the hell the Zoxyth had gotten their talons on subspace jamming technology.
Looking down, no longer weeping audibly, the man appeared to be trying to collect himself. In the holographic rendering, only his chin protruded from the parka hood's shadow.
Steadied, the man's voice returned. "My name is Remulkin Thramorus." As his head slowly raised, the distant room's light chased away the hood's shadow. A hate-filled fire burned from the man's holographically rendered eyes.
It was a look Admiral Tekamah knew too well. He took an involuntary step back as his sense of foreboding quadrupled.
"Everybody is dead!" he growled. "The whole godsdamned planet has been wiped out. I think the only reason I'm still alive is because of this," he said with a gesture to the walls. "It's an uncharted polar science station. They didn't know I was … here."
Remulkin swayed mid-sentence. The sound of a tremendous explosion blasted from the display and his holographic image rocked violently.
"The Zoxyth are firing on the planet's northern ice cap," shouted the female officer at the tactical station.
The holographic man shook his head. "Guess they know I'm here now."
"Do we have any ships close enough to cover him?"
The tactical officer also shook her head.
Tekamah saw small rocks falling through the image. Flinching, Remulkin placed an arm over his head.
"Mr. Thramorus, I still don't understand," Tekamah shouted over the din of the Zoxyth attack. "What you're saying doesn't make sense, son. There's no sign of attack anywhere on the planet."
His sense of foreboding and frustration mounted as Tekamah waited for the reply.
Shouting over another barrage of enemy fire, Remulkin said, "All I know was one moment my family was there. Then, after a blindingly bright flash, they were gone. Nothing left but their godsdamned clothes lying empty on the floor … as if my wife and kids had been …" Thramorus paused. Tekamah saw and heard the man swallow down a sob, then the holographic man's tortured eyes glared from the image. "As if they'd been … vaporized."
Tekamah froze: it was only a second, but it was a second that would haunt him for the rest of his days.
The crushing realization of the trap he had sailed into buckled his knees. A seat raised from the floor to catch him, but Tekamah pushed off it, leaping into action.
Turning to his tactical comm, he shouted, "Fall back, fall back, fall back! All units are to break contact with the enemy."
Several officers stared back in bewilderment.
"Now!" he screamed.
Torn from their momentary paralysis, the officers dove into their assignments.
Knowing that the light of the fighters he was looking at was several seconds old, Tekamah feared what may have already happened.
He watched with mounting horror as the message took too long to propagate. The subspace jamming was limiting their communications to the speed of light. The farthest ships, the fighters surrounding the enemy formation, wouldn't get the message for a few more seconds. The sheer size of his fleet and the volume of space it occupied compounded the problem.
Lasers wouldn't help either. They had the same speed of light limitation, couldn't get there any faster than the message, and at this range, they'd barely warm the hulls of the enemy ships.
He could only hope the Zoxyth would hesitate.
CHAPTER SEVEN
A tremendous roar echoed off the wet bridge's stone walls as an infuriated Thrakst blazed across the room, sparks flying from his armored talons. His arm flashed past the tactical officer's neck. Green mist sprayed the adjacent console. Frozen in place, the officer stood motionless.
Turning his back to the fool, Thrakst glared through the view-wall. A leisurely backward kick sent the dead officer's body sailing while his severed head rolled off its shoulders and fell to the floor.
Raising his forearm to eye level, Thrakst flicked out his black tongue. Licking green blood from his retracting talon, he said, "You failed."
The offensive, squeaky voice of the betraying human echoed across the bridge.
"Why am I still hearing that vile thing? Where is that signal coming from?" Thrakst roared.
"It's coming from the planet's closest polar region!" shouted an excited junior officer at the communications console.
"I have it," replied a fierce and wizened old voice from behind Thrakst.
An energy beam shot from the Tidor Drof, striking the planet's ice cap.
Thrakst turned back to find his old comrade and friend, Raja Phascyre, had taken over the failed officer's weapons station.
Raja fired again, and another energy beam sought out the damned Argonian.
Thrakst nodded his thanks. "Send him to be with his Gods, Phascyre."
Feeling the element of surprise slipping through his talons, Thrakst turned his attention outside. All of the enemy ships in the magnified view of the Helm Warden's arrayed fleet appeared to turn away in unison.
The spread-out waves of enemy fighters occupied several light-seconds of space. From the camera's point of view, the only way all of the ships could appear to turn simultaneously was in response to an order from the Helm Warden at the far side of the enemy formation. The image of their response and the radio signal that generated it both radiated through the formation (and toward Thrakst) at the speed of light. Each ship reversed course as soon as they received the order. While they turned in the staggered order caused by their distance from the Helm Warden and the speed-of-light-limited transmission, the apparent image of them turning in unison could mean only one thing.
"Tekamah knows!"
Spinning on Commander Phascyre, he shouted, "Fire the gene weapon! Now!"
Phascyre hesitated.
"Now!" Thrakst roared.
Having reversed direction, the enemy squadrons blasted away from his gathered fleet.
"Firing now, Lord," Phascyre said finally. His grizzled hand slammed down on the weapon's activator.
The glorious and cleansing energy wave burst from the Tidor Drof, quickly closing on and then enveloping the closest wave of the fleeing cowards.
***
"Come on!" Admiral Tekamah growled. In the magnified display, he watched the retreat order propagate through the waves of fighters at the agonizingly slow speed of light. Finally, it reached the formations closest to hi
s command ship—2nd and 3rd Squadrons. In sequence, they each instantly reversed direction.
"Thank the Gods."
An eternal second later, the fighters of 1st Squadron also received the order and zipped away from the enemy formation. Before Tekamah could take a breath, a brilliant white sphere of energy exploded from the center of the enemy fleet.
Like the spreading maw of a ravenous monster, the ball of light expanded behind the silhouetted fighters of 1st Squadron. The sphere quickly filled the narrow field of view and became a wall of light. Tekamah issued an EON command. The image zoomed out, and the rendered wave of light returned to its true spherical shape. Like a miniature supernova, the ball of energy continued to swell. An instant later, the monster swallowed 1st Squadron's fighters. Appetite unsated, it reached for the retreating ships of 2nd and 3rd Squadrons. Just as the sphere began to fill the expanded field of view, as it closed on the tiny black silhouettes of the fighters, it faded to black.
The holographic ships continued their mad dash for safety. However, behind them, the green renderings of 1st Squadron began to tumble across the void.
In a dry croak, Tekamah whispered, "No."
***
A roar echoed off the bridge's stone walls. Falling silent, Thrakst glared at the partial victory manifest across the main display.
Like daggers jabbing into his ears, the Argonian's shrill voice again blared from the radio, shattering the silence. The Lord turned a burning red eye on his weapons officer and growled. "Send Ancestral Nemesis to vaporize that planet's pole!"
Turning from the officer, Thrakst dropped into his cathedra and gestured to Raja Phascyre.
As the wizened warrior approached, Thrakst drew him close. "Now Tekamah knows our ability and plans." Pausing, he glared through the display.
The Raja nodded. "Yes, my Lord. They won't let another ship within firing range." Turning from the image of the fleeing enemy ships, Phascyre's sole eye gave Thrakst a questioning look. "What are your orders, my Lord?"
"They won't let us get close," Thrakst said again. Suddenly his eyes widened. "Unless they don't see us coming."
