by Dean M. Cole
He began to open a direct EON channel to Johnston, but then several laser and plasma beams shot from the carrier and its complement of battlecruisers. However, the beams fell short of their target. They splashed against apparent shielding, soon cocooning the advancing missile in an opalescent egg of deflected light and plasma.
Suddenly, a voice blasted across the EON command channel.
"All ships, this is Admiral Johnston. Fallback to X-Ray, now! Do it now! That's an order!"
X-Ray? That was the designation for their position behind the Moon.
Colonel Giard opened his unit's EON channel. "You heard him, Gunfighters. Jump now!"
To his relief, he saw Richard and Sandy's starfighters exit the battlefield along with the rest of their ships.
Jake's hand hovered over the activator. While watching his squadron and the rest of the units within his wing slip into parallel-space in a series of ethereal flashes, he wondered why the admiral would have them jump to the far side of the moon for one missile. If the weapon was such a threat, why hadn't the Galactic Guardian jumped out as well?
A quick scan of the holographic display showed him that none of the GDF forces were following the human task force. Every Argonian fighter had turned to engage the onrushing missile.
As Jake watched the last of his starfighters disappear into parallel-space, Sandy activated their EON channel. He ignored it. Instead, the wing commander reluctantly followed the Admiral's order and punched his emergency egress button.
***
"Admiral Tekamah!" shouted an officer. He pointed into the holographic display. "Antimatter missile inbound!"
"Shoot the godsdamned thing!" Ashtara said.
"I am, sir, but it's shielded. And ours are still offline."
Tekamah turned to Johnston. "Get your forces out of here. Do it now, or we'll lose all of them!"
He saw questions forming on the admiral's lips.
Ashtara held up a finger. "No time, Bill. I'll explain later."
Johnston nodded and turned away.
Tekamah opened a direct link to the captain of every GDF vessel. "All ships, emergency—!"
"Admiral!" shouted the helmsman. "The parallel-drive isn't responding. It won't come online!"
As he spoke, the officer tried to activate it several times. Finally, he shook his head. "The Zoxyth attack must have taken it out."
Tekamah pointed at him. "Use the gravity drive; get me some breathing room." Then he reopened the command channel. "Ladies and gentlemen, I require your assistance."
A moment later, the battlecruisers and fighters began a sub-light speed retreat as they continued to pour fire into the enemy weapon.
Issuing an emergency command directly from his EON, Tekamah spun the Galactic Guardian's massive and mostly empty stern so that its bulk would shield the rest of the ship.
Two eternal seconds later, their incredible sub-light acceleration had the fleet pulling away from the missile.
Johnston stepped back to Tekamah's side and said, "The last of my ships just jumped—"
Blinding light suddenly flooded the bridge, and the floor smacked into Ashtara.
Then his whitewashed universe snapped to black.
***
As the Turtle slid into parallel-space, the outside star-field began to contract into a sphere off its bow.
Then the shrinking ball of stars flared white!
Reversing direction, the coruscating, blindingly bright sphere expanded and then engulfed the ship as if the Turtle had plunged into a sea of burning phosphorus. With a jarring snap, the vessel fell back into regular space.
Jake and Remulkin lurched from the floor of the ship. Thrown into zero-G, the two men ricocheted off one another violently. The collision sent each of them in a different direction. Tumbling, Jake flailed the air with windmilling arms and kicking legs. Then he narrowly avoided crashing head first into the right side of the view-wall. At the last moment, Jake tucked chin to chest, and his upper back crashed into it. The impact knocked the wind out of him.
Guppy breathing, he floated back across the cabin. Then the colonel heard a snap and a scream. He craned his neck and saw Remulkin flying away from the point where he'd slammed into the seam where the top left side of the display joined the ceiling. Below the man's left knee, his leg now jutted out at an odd angle.
Somewhat belatedly, a web of emergency restraints shot from the walls. Matching the system described by Richard and Sandy, the webbing wrapped each man in a protective embrace.
Dazed and still fighting to breathe, Jake looked around the cabin.
A few feet to his right rear and wailing in pain, Remulkin floated upside down. He hung between the left side of the view-wall and the console. Like a spiderweb, the restraining system held him immobile. It had arrested the liaison's tumbling flight just before he would have slammed head first into the pedestal's curved glass top.
Jake craned his neck, trying to look through the view-wall behind him. In brief glimpses, he saw a slowly rotating star field. The detonating weapon had left the Turtle dead in the water, had knocked the ship's systems offline and even degraded the emergency equipment.
He listened for the hiss of escaping atmosphere, but Jake could barely hear his own heavy breathing above Remulkin's cries.
"Lieutenant Remulkin! Shut the hell up!"
The Argonian stopped mid-wail, his head snapping back as if Jake had slapped him.
Giard held his breath, listening intently. Aside from the pounding of his heart, the cabin was silent. The hull seemed to be intact.
Remulkin began panting.
Jake looked at him. The Argonian started to struggle against the webbing. He screamed each time the shockwave of his movements reached one of the fibers holding his wounded leg.
The colonel activated his EON. Electronic noise like snow on a television screen flooded his vision. What kind of weapon could do that? Had they been nuked?
Every time Jake managed to turn his head enough to look outside, the webbing tightened and turned him away from the view-wall.
"Fuck!" he said between the scientist's yowls.
"Screw you, Giard!" Remulkin said. "This hurts like hell!"
"No," Jake said. "It's not you." He nodded toward the view-wall. "It's the other ships, the Guardian's fleet. They're probably in worse shape than we are, possibly a lot worse."
Jake saw the Argonian bite back another scream. Then the scientist gave him a quick nod. When he did, the sweat puddling on the man's face broke free and floated away in undulating blobs.
Colonel Giard struggled against the restraining system again. Finally, it loosened enough for him to turn his entire body toward the view-wall.
Parts of the wide display no longer worked. A checkerboard pattern of card table-sized black panels obscured much of the outside world. As the sliding field of stars scrolled across the dead portions of the display, the points of light disappeared and then popped back into existence. Snowy video noise obscured a few other areas, but enough of the view-wall still worked for Jake to discern the outside world.
Remembering the Turtle's programmed trans-lunar escape route, he stared through the display. "Come on, let me see it," he whispered.
Finally, the Moon slid into the field of view. Soon, it filled the screen and just as quickly began to recede.
Jake focused on the movement of the background stars.
"Oh, thank you," he said as he released the breath he'd been holding. The weapon had knocked the Turtle's drive offline before it started to fly toward the Moon. They were adrift, but at least they weren't falling into the planetary body's gravity well.
The colonel continued to watch the precessing stars. Soon the ship's slow tumble should bring the Galactic Guardian and its fleet (or the remnants of both) into his field of view.
Jake glanced in the direction in which the Moon had scrolled. Thank God you made it out, baby.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
"Status?" Thrakst said weakly.
&n
bsp; No reply.
He had collapsed to the floor after activating the micro-jump. Now he shakily rose to his knees.
"Status?!" the Lord said through a coughing roar. His head lolled. Using his arms, he pushed his upper body off the floor. Finally, the after-image of the Zox-focused gene weapon's molten lava pain began to release its grip.
Slowly, he lifted his head. As Thrakst scanned the bridge, he saw the reason for the silence. The weapon had almost completely obliterated his crew. A couple of officers started to move, but most had succumbed to it, had vanished. Only piled uniforms and armor remained where they had stood.
"My Lord," said a surprisingly strong voice.
Still slumped over, Thrakst turned to its source. Raja Phascyre towered over him, staff clenched in his fist. A stream of emotions burned from the old warrior's only eye.
"Raja, what is our statu—?"
Phascyre smashed his staff into the side of Thrakst's head. The blow sent the kneeling warlord sprawling across the bridge floor. In his weakened state, he struggled to regain his footing, but Phascyre was on him in an instant. The warrior assailed him. Each blow sent the Lord's head crashing into the floor. His world spun. Then he heard a growl from across the room.
The storm of impacts ceased.
Thrakst looked up in time to see his suddenly not so cowardly communications officer, fist raised high overhead, charging the Raja.
Turning from Thrakst, Phascyre rushed the officer. The gap collapsed, and the Raja slammed bodily into the aspiring warrior. The smaller Zoxyth bounced off of his chest like a balloon. Flying backward across the bridge, the young officer didn't stop until he slammed into his own console. With an audible crack, his spine snapped, and his body came to rest bent at an unnatural angle.
Roaring, Raja Phascyre raised his staff high overhead and spun it like a copter beetle. Taking a giant step, he lunged forward. With a single hand, the old warrior snatched the rotating staff mid-spin and drove it down into his prey. Contemptuously, he speared the junior officer's abdomen instead of his heart. The blunt tip of the ceremonial Crozier of the Forebearer passed through the hatchling's gut like a lance passing through putrefied fat.
Dazed by the Raja's attack and still lying prone, the Lord couldn't rise from the floor. As he watched Phascyre dismantle the officer, he tried and failed to comprehend the warrior's actions or understand why the enemy's repurposed gene weapon hadn't fazed him.
Phascyre wrenched the staff from the fallen officer. Tangled on the end of the square metal rod, his intestines scrolled out of his abdomen and followed the crozier across the floor.
Leaving the mortally wounded hatchling lying in his own effluence, the Raja slowly walked back to Thrakst. "Why can't you just die already?" he said with a snarl.
"What are you doing, Phascyre? Why?" But as he asked the question, Thrakst suddenly knew the answer. His eyes widened with understanding. "It was you," he growled. "You told them we were coming. You gave them your genetic code to make sure it spared you." He pointed an accusatory talon at the Raja. "Coward! Traitor!"
Again a storm of emotions streamed across the Raja's remaining eye. "No, old friend. It was you who betrayed the empire, you who led us into this unwinnable war, you who employed a weapon of genocide, and you who dishonored the Forebearers." Phascyre shook his head and swept an arm toward the distant battlefield. "And it was you who forced the High Council and me to sacrifice an entire fleet!"
Apparently registering Thrakst's surprise, the Raja nodded. "Yes, the High Council sanctioned my deeds." Then the warrior's scarred face darkened. "Those and more, old friend."
"Phascyre," Thrakst said. "How could you do this? How could you aid those who tossed a dreadnought into our planet, scarred Zoxa?" The Lord shook his head. "They took my family."
"No, Thrakst. You killed your family when you started down the path to genocide. When you wouldn't heed my advice, I took it to the High Council. I told them of your scheme to develop a gene weapon. They had begged you not to take the battle beyond our borders. When they discovered your plans to rain genocide down upon the Argonians, they ordered me to warn the GDF, to alert them of the location of your science team."
"You led Tekamah to the Forebearer's Solitude?"
The Raja nodded. "That was before I became the Fifth Columnist, but yes, I did."
"Fifth Columnist?" Thrakst said. Then deeper understanding washed over him. "You killed my family!"
"No!" Phascyre said. His face darkened again. "You killed them along with this entire fleet. I wanted to kill you sooner, but couldn't risk one of your dreadnought commanders escaping with a cursed gene weapon. Now that you are out of the way, the High Council intends to work with the GDF to suppress this genocidal technology."
"You are all fools!" Thrakst said in a roar.
Shaking his head, the Raja sighed. "This is futile. It is time to finish it."
Phascyre started spinning the staff above his head again. The last of the communications officer's innards flew from the end of the staff and fell to the floor. Glaring down on Lord Thrakst, he said, "If they will have you, old friend, give the Forebearers my regards."
The Raja snatched the spinning crozier with both hands and drove it down. According the Lord his deserved respect, he aimed for Thrakst's heart.
The warlord tried to roll out of its path. However, weakened by the enemy's gene weapon, he was too slow to avoid the Raja's lightning quick assault.
He was going to die.
Here!
Now!
At the hands of the traitor who'd cost him his family!
Suddenly, something flew across the bridge. With a thud and a muffled snap, a fist-sized stone slammed into Raja Phascyre's head. Having come from his blind side, the jagged rock knocked the polished black stone from the Raja's scarred eye socket.
Thrown off by the impact, Phascyre's thrusting blow ran wide. The staff gouged through Thrakst's chest scales and flesh but glanced off of the underlying bone plate, slamming into the floor with a spray of rocks.
Phascyre roared again as green blood spilled from the re-injured eye socket. Knocked loose by the impact, the polished rock and its long, gold anchor bolt fell onto Thrakst's chest. A snapped off, sharp-edged piece of the Raja's skull still clung to the gleaming bolt's threaded end.
Thrakst grabbed the polished rock and placed it against his palm. Slipping the bolt between his middle two talons, he clenched his fist and aimed the bony tip of the makeshift weapon at the Raja. Then he punched Phascyre in the face. With a satisfactory pop, the bone-tipped rod slid through the traitor's remaining eye. Finally, the Lord opened his palm and shoved the rock home.
The blinded, double-crossing bastard clutched his face and screamed. Blood poured between his talons.
"I seriously doubt the Forebearers will have you, old friend!" the Lord said, pouring derision into the familiar honorific.
Still lying on his back, Thrakst unsheathed his leg's dewclaw talon.
"But if so, you can give them your regards in person!"
His foot shot out lightning-fast. Then fanning green gore sprayed the ceiling as the razor-sharp appendage separated the traitor's head from his shoulders.
***
Lord Thrakst struggled to his feet. His head spun, but through a force of will he remained upright, somehow holding onto the only thread of consciousness that the Raja had left intact. Some distance away, he saw the gutted communications officer writhing on the floor. The little warrior's innards lay strung across the deck in a trail of gore that extended to Phascyre's motionless remains.
Walking unsteadily, the Lord staggered across the bridge. Collapsing to a knee beside the fallen officer, Thrakst placed a hand on his chest.
"Thank you, warrior," the warlord said reverently. "If you hadn't thrown that rock, the Raja would've killed me. You have earned a seat with the Forebearers."
"I didn't do it for you or your damned Forebearers," the mortally wounded officer said with surprising strength. "I did i
t for my family." He paused and thrust a finger at the Tidor Drof's main display. "Tekamah killed all of them. When the bastard crashed the Forebearer's Solitude into our planet, I lost my entire village. And he did it with the Raja's help."
Thrakst barely registered the officer's words. He had followed the hatchling's gesture and now stared into the indicated display through wide, bloodied eyes. "I don't believe it," he whispered.
The ship's external cameras still tracked the enemy fleet. Several light-seconds away, the Galactic Guardian and its seven battleships tumbled across the backdrop of the nearing planet. His antimatter missile had found its mark. It had vaporized the back half of the carrier.
Still pointing at the display, the officer said, "It's beautiful, my Lord. It's a ruined relic." Through gurgling blood, he added, "And I know you'll ensure that its masters follow it into oblivion."
A fit of coughs and spasms wracked the hatchling.
"We have won, my Lord. We have—"
He and his words died mid-sentence as Thrakst—weary of the officer's verbose passing—terminated the discussion with a swipe of his forearm talon. "Give Commodore Salyth my regards," the Lord said distractedly as he continued to stare at the display.
A moment later, the warlord dropped the officer's headless body to the floor and then wiped blood from his own face. "Thank the Forebearers," he whispered. Thrakst couldn't believe the missile had hit the carrier. He had fired it in a last ditch effort to keep the damned Argonians busy. The Lord had kept the heavily shielded weapon in reserve for just such an event, but he'd never imagined it would actually get close enough to faze the fast ship, much less destroy it.
Blinking blood from his vision, Thrakst dragged his gaze away from the incredible image. A sole Zoxyth officer stood nearby. His stupid, confused eyes stared at the two lifeless bodies.
With a mighty effort, the Lord climbed to his feet, steel talons scraping and clawing for purchase. Rising to his full height, Thrakst glared down at him. "Our work is not done," he said wearily. "Move to navigation. Transfer sensor data to the station and prepare to resume combat operations." When the hatchling still didn't move, the warlord yelled, "Now!"
