by Tom Dublin
And there was nothing she could do to protect herself.
The result was a strange sensation of calm. Soon, she would be setting off on her own Journey Back to join Tor Val among the gas clouds of the Ordon Nebula. If there was anyone left on Alma Nine to launch her casket out into deep space, that is.
She heard a sudden agonized grunt from Adina, and tried to angle her head to see where the human was. But, she found it impossible to move.
At Bay Don's feet, Adina screamed inwardly as she concentrated on her spine and limbs, forcing them to transform into their werewolf form beneath her clothing.
She writhed in agony as her vertebrae separated from one another, the fibers of the soft discs that lay between each of the bones ripping apart before glueing the vertebrae back together in a more lupine configuration.
Dense fur cascaded down her thickened arms and legs, stopping at her cuffs and the tops of her boots, her shirt and overall trousers bulging as new, more powerful muscles filled the unsuspecting material.
Her semi-transformation complete, Adina climbed awkwardly to her feet, praying her werewolf ankles wouldn't give way under the intense pressure. Staggering over to a metal filing cabinet, half werewolf and half human, she quickly pulled out each of the drawers with her unchanged arms, casting them aside like dead weights until all that was left was the empty frame.
This she dragged across to where Bay Don lay, staring feebly up at the rapidly growing bulge in the ceiling. Dropping down to lie beside her, Adina pulled the steel-framed cabinet over them just as the supports gave way, showering the office with massive amounts of deadly debris.
Bay Don felt Adina's body changing back in the darkness beside her, the human's cries of pain barely audible over the clanging of wood and brick against the exterior of the filing cabinet.
"What are you?" she whispered.
Alma Nine, Taron City, Weather Control Center, Temporary Laboratory
Jon Rey felt the pressure begin to build on his shoulders almost an entire minute before the alarms went off.
"OK, everyone," he announced. "Gravity surge approaching. You know what to do."
All around the temporary laboratory, scientists abandoned their work and sprang into action, aiming to prepare the room for another gravity surge within the 30 second target they had set themselves.
With much of their usual lab destroyed by the first attack, plans had been made to move the most vital parts of the organization's equipment to a more secure environment. That way, the scientists would be able to continue their research into what was causing the gravitational waves to sweep across the city and what, if anything, could be done to stop it from happening again.
The first task had been to excavate an unused basement room, originally included with in building's blueprints as a combination bomb shelter and panic room. Built with several layers of brickwork, the floor, walls and ceiling were all fortified with sheets of strong metal, adding an additional layer of protection for anyone fortunate enough to be selected to occupy the room in an emergency.
Upon the colonists’ arrival at Alma Nine, they had been made privy to stories concerning their nearest neighbors - the five planets making up an area of space known as the Ordanian Hub.
These planets orbited a dark energy star, and were populated almost entirely by thieves, vagabonds and murderers.
Never had the oft-used phrase 'birds of a feather flock together' been more appropriate.
The two largest worlds - Talth and Skolar Major - were rumored to be controlled by some of the most violent families in the history of organized crime. Believing themselves to be safe from even the most eager officers of the law, these Mobsters filled their planets with goons, hitmen, drug dealers, money launderers and every other type of lowlife individual they could make contact with.
The result was a political and financial ecosystem that - so far - appeared to govern and police itself with an astonishing level of success. Thugs and racketeers were dispatched by the heads of these families in order to establish Mafia outposts in other systems, feeding back the profits from their many questionable enterprises via a variety of smuggling routes.
Skolar Minor and Beema played host to organizations embroiled in the seedy business of people trafficking. Regular slave markets and auctions provided well-to-do but immoral oligarchs with all the servants, unpaid laborers and prostitutes they could ever need.
The final - and smallest - planet, Chakk, was where these gangsters and wrongdoers went to kick back and relax. With an unofficial treaty ensuring no business transactions or plots for power or revenge were enacted, Chakk had quickly become the resort of choice for just about every outlaw in the Ordanian Hub. Many of the wealthier criminals had gone so far as to buy pieces of land and build their own vacation villas there.
This was the reasoning behind the Weather Control Center's newly excavated basement shelter. Each major building constructed in the early days of Alma Nine's colony included such a space, stocking it with canned food and water should the room be required in the event of an incursion.
But, as time progressed and the residents of the Ordanian Hub appeared not to even notice the new arrivals to the previously uninhabited planet, these extra safety measures fell out of fashion. Most were stripped of their supplies and some, like the one Jon Rey and his fellow scientists were now working in, had been blocked off completely.
In addition to the tungsten-lined walls, shelving units and benches built from an almost pure form of titanium were used to house the lab's replacement equipment. Computer screens were fitted with shatterproof glass, handheld tools were made from chromium, and any piece of sensitive apparatus was housed in a metal box with shutters ready to slam down and protect the delicate contents at a few seconds' notice.
Jon Rey hit the button to bring down these protective shields, sending the entire lab into a well-rehearsed safety routine.
The scientists hurried to their individually assigned bunks. Each of the cots were built from flexible metal tubes, deeply padded so as to avoid as much damage to flesh and bone as possible, and covered with a semi-circular mesh cage.
It was unlikely the roof of this temporary laboratory would cave in as the last one had, but it was better to be safe than sorry.
Jon Rey felt his body being forced down into the soft padding of his bunk. "Here we go. Good luck, everyone."
He reached over to lower and secure the fastener on the metal cage that would protect him in the event of falling debris - then a bolt of pain shot down his injured arm.
Twisting in an attempt to ease the discomfort, his fingers fumbled with the catch on the cage, causing it to miss its slot.
Suddenly, another wave of gravitational pressure washed across the lab. The cage, still unsecured, was forced down on top of Jon Rey, the hinges fixed to the other side breaking in two.
The scientist found himself trapped beneath a now flattened sheet of metallic mesh which pressed harder and harder into his skin as the surge in gravity grew stronger.
He screamed in agony as the sharp edge of the metal strands cut deep into the skin of his face, carving his flesh into dozens of small diamond-shaped chunks.
Blood poured from every wound, lubricating the razor-edged struts, allowing them to sink lower into Jon Rey's face.
His eyes burst from the pressure. Now blind, the shock of his injuries blazed through Jon Rey’s helpless body. He began to shake uncontrollably, rattling the metal cage as it was forced even further down into his tender flesh.
Finally, metal hit bone with a nauseating crunch. For the briefest of moments, Jon Rey prayed the torture might be over, but then the shallow angle of his bunk came into play.
Whoever had designed these bunks had decided they should not lie perfectly flat. Instead, the decision was made to set the head of the couch six inches higher than the opposite end, allowing the occupant to rest at what was considered to be a comfortable angle.
It was to be the decision that would end Jon Rey's li
fe.
Now the blood-soaked metal lattice could no longer sink into his diced flesh. The compressed cage gradually but forcibly began to slide down his body towards his feet, acting like a cheese grater and sloughing the meat cleanly from the skeleton below.
All the other scientists could do was lie perfectly still, sobbing while they listened to their friend begging for death as his barely living flesh was slowly and agonizingly carved from his bones.
22
Alma Nine, Taron City, Government Building, Presidential Suite
The door to the inner office exploded outwards on Tc'aarlat's third attempt at ramming it with his shoulder.
Breaking away the splintered pieces of wood, he clambered over the debris covering the floor of the outer office, eyes scanning the room for any signs of life.
"Adina!" he cried. "Bay Don!"
"Under here," came a muffled reply.
Jumping down from the mound of rubble, Tc'aarlat pushed a broken roof beam off of the upturned filing cabinet as Jack clambered out of the president's office and scrambled over to help.
Together, they lifted the battered steel frame to find the two women huddled together underneath.
"That was quick thinking," Jack commented as they set the cabinet aside. He looked down at the discarded drawers, each filled with dozens of thick files. "How did you manage to get those out in time?"
"It was Adina!" exclaimed Bay Don as Tc'aarlat helped her to her feet. "She-"
"We did it together," proclaimed Adina, flicking Bay Don a look pleading with the secretary not to go any further with her explanation. "It wasn't easy, but we managed it."
Whatever Adina's reason was for wanting to hide the truth, Bay Don wasn't sure. But, she owed this strange human with incredible abilities a huge debt of gratitude, and so she simply nodded in agreement.
"It all happened so quickly," she said. "I don't remember much about it."
"Well, I do!" exclaimed a voice. The group turned to see Saf Tah's two assistants helping him to climb over the mountain of wreckage from the ceiling and floor above. "You men saved my life."
"To be fair, it was mostly Tc'aarlat's doing," Jack admitted. "I could barely move."
Tc'aarlat shrugged. "Probably down to all that extra weight you're carrying," he offered.
"Hey!" cried Jack. "I'm not that-"
"Maybe Tor Val was right," interrupted the vice president. "If you good people are examples of the bravery and heroism of the Etheric Empire, then maybe Alma Nine should consider aligning with you."
With that he beamed, slapped Jack on the arm, and marched from the outer office, his two simpering aides scurrying to catch up.
"Wow!" breathed Bay Don. "I've never seen him smile before. I mean really smile, with his eyes as well."
"Amazing what staring death in the face can do to someone," said Adina. "Maybe he'll be easier to work with from now on."
"I wouldn't hold your breath," said Tc'aarlat. "Leotards don't change their spots."
"I think you mean leopards," Jack commented. "Leotards are something very different indeed."
Tc'aarlat frowned. "Really?"
"Yep," said Adina with a grin. "They're about is dissimilar as your new cloak and Mist."
Suddenly, Tc'aarlat's eyes grew wide. "Oh shit!" he exclaimed. "Mist!"
The others watched as he scrambled back over the debris and into the inner office once more.
Adina rested a friendly hand on Bay Don's arm. "Will you be OK?"
"I will," the Malatian replied, looking around at what remained of her once pristine office. "I've got some clearing up to do, but it will give me something to focus on."
"We'll be back to help you this evening," promised Jack. "But first, we need to get to the bottom of what's causing these gravitational waves."
"And how, exactly, do we do that?" Adina asked.
Jack took a deep breath before replying. "We find ourselves a scientist."
Alma Nine, Taron City, Outside Tor Val's Residence
Once the onslaught of gravitational waves had faded, Cal Car gripped the railings outside of Tor Val's house and used them to drag himself shakily to his feet.
A lightning bolt of pain shot through his left shoulder as he pulled, causing him to cry out and slump back against the now warped metal struts.
"Are you OK?" asked his cameraman as he pushed himself up.
"I think my shoulder's broken," Cal Car replied, wincing as he reached up with his good hand to touch the sensitive area. "Still, it's not as bad as it could be after 20 minutes face down in the snow."
All around them, grieving visitors began to rouse themselves, helping each other to stand and tending to those who had been injured by their sudden fall to the ground.
Cal Car noted that one or two of the well-wishers weren't moving. Instead, they lay deathly still, a thin layer of snow beginning to coat their staring, unseeing eyes.
He turned to the Channel Three News van, hoping to use the comms system to call for assistance for the wounded - but all that remained of the truck and its technical contents was a mangled lump of twisted metal.
Sirens echoed in the distance as the emergency services began their task of ferrying those in need of treatment to the already packed hospitals, and retrieving the bodies of those who had not been as lucky.
"You're hurt!" cried a voice from behind Cal Car.
The news anchor turned to find Tor Val's older daughter, Mas Val, in the doorway of her home. The girl appeared stunned but, thankfully, unhurt as she hurried down the steps to where Cal Car was resting.
A pair of ambulances pulled up at the curbside, paramedics leaping out to help those stumbling around aimlessly.
"I'm fine," proclaimed Cal Car as one of the medics caught his eyes. "Look after the others."
"You are not fine," countered Mas Val, looking from the presenter to the camera operator and back again. "Come inside, both of you, and we'll get that arm strapped up."
There was a sudden hiss of static in Cal Car's ear as he moved. Reaching up, he pulled out his earpiece - broken and smeared with blood - and tossed it aside.
"I know you from somewhere, don't I?" said Mas Val as she and the cameraman helped the anchor to climb the steps to the building's entrance.
Cal Car nodded. "Possibly, if you've ever watched Channel 3 News."
"You're Cal Car!" exclaimed Mas Val. "Your broadcast was the one my Mom trusted more than any other."
The news anchor stopped, the pain of his shattered shoulder temporarily forgotten. "Really?" he asked, stunned. "That's... Thank you."
"She always tuned in," explained Mas Val as she continued to help Cal Car inside. "In fact, she always said if any journalist was ever to sit down and interview her, she'd like it to be you."
Despite his discomfort, Cal Car nodded. "She was a wonderful woman," he said earnestly. "She'll be greatly missed."
"That's very kind."
Cal Car took a deep breath, briefly wondering whether his next sentence would get him tossed back out into the cold and wet, and possibly fired from his job.
Then again, he was likely to only ever get one chance at this.
"If you like, I could interview you and your sister about the great work your Mom did to ensure the future of Alma Nine..."
Mas Val was silent for a moment, then turned to Cal Car as they reached the doorway. "I don't think that will be a problem," she smiled.
Alma Nine, Taron City, Weather Control Center, Temporary Laboratory
Zeb Lok looked up as the three aliens he'd last seen in Bay Don's office entered the room.
"Can I help you?" he asked, crossing to meet them.
"Captain Jack Marber," said Jack, holding out his hand. "This is Adina Choudhury and Tc'aarlat."
"And Mist," added the Yollin.
"SQUAWWWW!" screeched Mist, directly into Tc'aarlat's right ear.
Zeb Lok glanced up at the bird, then back at her owner.
"She's in a bit of a mood with me because I left
her trapped under a wastepaper basket."
"We represent the Etheric Empire,” Jack explained, making a mental note to ask Nathan for some kind of official badge or pass he could show at moments like these. "Here for Tor Val's funeral and Journey Back."
Zeb Lok nodded, waiting for more.
"The Empire has some of the galaxy's most experienced scientists at our disposal," said Adina, picking up where Jack left off. "If we can get a message back through to our base station, they may be able to help you discover the cause of these violent gravitational waves."
It had taken the trio almost an hour to trudge through the ongoing blizzard to reach the Weather Control Center, fifteen minutes of which was taken up with an argument between Jack and Tc'aarlat about why or why not this was the perfect time to take The Pegasus out for 'a test drive'.
"Thank you," said Zeb Lok, "but there's no need for you to contact your own scientists."
Adina raised her eyebrows. "There isn't?"
"Not since we solved the mystery ourselves midway through the recent attack," said Zeb Lok, heading back to his computer and motioning for the others to follow him.
"Be careful," he warned as they ducked under a series of thick power cables stretched overhead from one corner of the room to the other. "Our main lab was destroyed in the original blast. We were forced to rig this place up in a hurry."
"You say you've found the cause of the problem?" said Tc'aarlat.
Zeb Lok nodded unhappily. "We did it to ourselves."
Alma Nine, Taron City, Vice President's Residence
Saf Tah paced back and forth along the length of what, until recently, had been a sumptuous library cum study.
"Scheming, conniving scum!" he thundered. "Who do they think they are? Coming to my planet, all high and mighty, and daring to save my life."
Mol Gat look confused. "Um... I don't really understand, sir."
"Of course, you don't, you cretin!" spat Saf Tah. "I wouldn't expect you to. It's politics!"
"Saving your life is politics?" questioned Jus Clo.
