“Better to just blow them out of space and be done with it all,” Puko said sourly.
“Prepare your gunships and…‘female’ your weapons,” Nikomedes said after a visible hesitation over the strange way these demons thought. In his culture there was a man’s work, and there was a woman’s work: men fought, and women ruled. A man should be proud of what he excelled at. Giving up a traditional saying because your men were too big to wield the weapon sat uneasily with him. A man who did well at court and was invited to a small, private meeting of confidants with the Mistress should be pleased to be included in the general address of ‘ladies,’ and take pride in not being singled out as ‘ladies and warriors’. The same went for women who did a man’s work on the battlefield and earned the title of warrior.
Forcibly, he shrugged it off; Demons had strange thoughts and ideas, which was why they were demons instead of people. “But let us not act too quickly. If we give them enough rope, I am certain Yagar and his warriors will betray themselves for the treacherous oathbreakers they are.”
“How can you be certain?” Puko growled as he leaned forward. Nikomedes could tell he needed to be convinced as the Demon continued, “They might not turn on us like you think.”
“Like Master, like servant,” Nikomedes said dismissively, “it would take truly fearsome oaths to bind an honorable man to a leader who willingly betrayed his own.”
“Then maybe he will bide his time and then knife us in the dark, or maybe he will not. Why chance it? If you are so sure of betrayal, this seems foolish and risky,” Puko objected angrily.
“The Colonel extracted the promise, and we cannot risk alienating him by openly working at cross purposes. He has too many warrior-marines,” Nikomedes said unhappily. “This Yagar, on the other hand, is not known for his patience in either word or deed. Although his courage is that of a scavenger, if we look weak I am certain that with the right provocation he will strike first and early, where a wiser man might hesitate.”
“On your head be it then,” Puko grunted, “my males will be waiting for your signal.”
“Position them in the corridors just outside the greeting areas of each main airlock his ships will dock in, when he shows his true colors and breaks or rejects his duty as a Guest, that is when we shall strike,” Nikomedes said, clenching his fist for emphasis.
“All of the ships may not dock with the Omicron Station, for safety,” Puko said heavily. “In addition to the corridors, I will have the weapons femaled, our gunships readied, and more warriors waiting in the secondary airlocks with head bags and boarding tubes. I still say we should destroy them before they get here, though!”
“The Colonel would not sit still for that, and would turn his marines against us as oathbreakers,” Nikomedes said with certainty. “He still thinks the servants of betrayers can be trusted…or at least worked with, and we cannot afford a battle on two fronts with one within and one without. Besides, I don’t have the stomach to fight with former battle-brothers while dealing with the Sector Guard. No,” he said firmly, “when he is proven wrong, we will not give Colonel Wainwright time for hesitation, doubts, or second thoughts about where his loyalties lay. That is why the very instant the servant of Sector Betrayers shows his true colors, we will counter-board Admiral Yagar’s ships. When the dust has settled, the Colonel’s choices will have been made for him, and we will all be the happier for it.”
“If what you say is true, many will not feel happy, especially the Colonel,” Puko observed. “But my people gird their loins for battle at your request and are prepared to bleed. Remember us to the Hold Mother when next you speak with her.”
“I will,” Nikomedes promised.
Chapter 36: In Yagar, WeTrust!
Dressed in a uniform so bright it almost hurt the eye to look at, Admiral Yagar of the 25th Sector Guard strode through the airlock his Flagship had hard-docked only to pause on the ramp.
Nikomedes stared at him with the same attention one would give a rock-viper, knowing that the other man’s soul was as black as his uniform was white. How could it be otherwise when he was in service to his treacherous masters? It was almost a pity the man would never have the chance to redeem himself…almost.
“Greetings, Omicron,” Yagar declaimed, planting himself in the middle of the boarding tube while two quads of marines in power armor tromped past him to take up positions in two lines in front of him as he spread his arms wide. “I come with word from our new Masters, the Sector Council. The government has decided and made manifest, through our glorious new Elected and Appointed Sector Assembly, that it’s finally time to bring you, the residents of this former pirate station back into the fold of our wonderful Sector.”
Colonel Wainwright strode forward, leaving behind his Marine Officers and their guard of marines. The Admiral’s power-armored guards shifted slightly, to block the old Marine in his suit of old, battered Caprian power armor.
Nikomedes watched as Wainwright paused and stared coldly at the Admiral’s guards before coming to a metal-stomping halt, the joints of his power armor whining in protest.
“I greet you in the name of the Caprian Marine Corps; be welcome to this former pirate Station,” the Colonel said. The Admiral frowned at the word ‘pirate,’ but went back to smiling as soon as the colonel had stopped speaking.
“You have done good work here, Colonel, you and your men,” Yagar said glancing around with a self-satisfied smirk, “that’s why it is my distinct pleasure to arrive here with your promotion to Brigadier General, and a troop transport home.”
Wainwright looked taken aback. “We’re to be returned to Capria, Sir? But what about the station, or the men currently on your transport?” the Colonel frowned.
“Don’t worry your ground pounding head with it any longer,” Yagar said snidely before bringing himself to halt, and after taking a breath, he continued pompously, “sorry. That was uncalled for.”
“Yes it was,” Wainwright bit out.
“Colonel, this station is no longer your concern,” Yagar said in a soothing tone, “I have brought the men and ships necessary to secure this prize for our Sector Assembly.” He raised a finger to stifle a burgeoning protest from the Colonel, “The men on the transport signed up for an extended garrison duty, while you and yours did not. We shall simply move your brigade onto the assault transport as soon as the regiment currently aboard her have disembarked. A suitable escort to your home-world will be delegated, and your men can finally go back to Capria.”
Wainwright looked surprised and a little concerned. “Admiral, there are factors involved here that you need to be made aware of,” the Colonel said finally.
“Nonsense,” Yagar scoffed, “listen, Colonel, anything you have to say in confidence can take place after the Regiment of Sector Guardians has embarked and the christening ceremony renaming this station has taken place.”
Nikomedes noted that the Colonel was not refusing this pustule named Yagar’s assumption of control of this station. Knowing it was time to act, the Tracto-an swept up several of the Sundered with his eye and marched over to the boarding ramp.
“Admiral Yagar,” he called out as he approached the Admiral and his power armored guards. “In the name of Warlord, Jason Montagne, Protector of Messene and Admiral of the Confederation Fleet, I welcome you to this Hold as my personal guest. Make yourself comfortable in the newest possession of his Sword-Bearer, the Hold Mistress of Messene, with all the guest rights and obligations deserving of a man of your station. Welcome to Hold Omicron, Sir.”
“Now is not the time, Lancer,” Wainwright barked.
“Murphy avert,” Yagar cursed, forking his fingers to point at the quad of Sundered warriors who had fallen into formation behind Nikomedes, “what are those accursed things following behind you?!”
Nikomedes smiled broadly. “Guest Yagar, behind me are the Vassals of Hold Mistress Akantha and the newest citizens of her Hold. Let me make known to you Elder Puko of the Sundered people,” Nikomede
s said gesturing to the graying Male beside him and hiding his pleasure at the increasingly agitated look on the Admiral’s face.
“By the Space Gods, they have cybernetics in the back of their heads, Colonel!” Yagar cried.
“Calm yourself, Admiral,” Wainwright said coolly and then rounded on Nikomedes. “Get them out of here,” he ordered, pointing to the Sundered.
“Puko is here to head your personal Honor Guard while you are a guest here on the Omicron,” Nikomedes proclaimed, deliberately ignoring the Colonel’s attempts to calm the situation.
“You seek to surround me with AI Slaves?” Yagar demanded, his face turning red and a vein started throbbing on forehead.
“Everyone, please remain calm,” Wainwright said, gesturing for his marines to move between Nikomedes, his Sundered guards, and the Admiral.
“Remove these creatures at once, Wainwright, or I’ll be forced to have them destroyed,” shouted the Sector Admiral.
“That is hardly the way to speak to your hosts, Sir,” Nikomedes said, moving quickly until he was face to face with the Admiral’s power-armored Guardians. “you are a guest here. Please make no further threats against the Hold Mistress’s vassals, or you will lose your guest rights.”
“I told you to get back, Nikomedes,” shouted Wainwright, rounding on the younger man and grabbing him by the upper arms as he shouted into the Tracto-an’s face, “leave or I’ll have you shot!”
“My first order as the new Military Governor of this Battle Station is to order the forcible evacuation of every non-human on board!” cried Yagar, his face as read as a beat. “Do you hear me Colonel? Send them away or I’ll have them cleansed! Now get these creatures away from me; I’ll brook no AI Slaves in my presence. Murphy knows what kind of plagues or viruses they could be transmitting just by being near me!”
“We don’t have the transport for that kind of operation,” Wainwright snapped, twisting around to glare at the Admiral without releasing the Tracto-an’s arms.
“Threaten my Lady’s sworn warriors again, and I’ll have satisfaction in blood,” Nikomedes leaned around Wainwright to yell.
“You need that briefing I spoke of, Sir, before you make any more mistakes,” Wainwright said, and Nikomedes caught the faintest sensation of movement. The Tracto-an barely had time to turn his head enough to take a power-armored fist to the armored side of his head, instead of straight through his now open visor and right in the face.
Even taking the Colonel’s gauntleted blow on his helmet staggered the powerful Tracto-an. His ears ringing and fighting for balance, he grinned down at the Marine Colonel. Wainwright was a true warrior, unlike this postulant Admiral with his fat belly and short stature.
“I’ll tolerate no more of your blunders today, Colonel,” snapped Yagar, turning to his Guardians.
“My blunders?!” Wainwright thundered, turning to the Admiral. His grip adjusted just enough that Nikomedes was able to shift his center of gravity and forcibly shrug off the Marine Colonel. Temporary freedom wasn’t enough, however; he needed several seconds. So hooking his heel around the Colonel’s leg, he shoved forward on Wainwright’s back, sending the other man to the floor.
Behind Nikomedes, the Sundered Warriors slammed their hands to the floor simultaneously and then crashed the hafts of their spears to their chests, all without moving a single step forward.
“Guardians, retake control of this area,” Yagar shrieked stumbling backward, “the Slaves are rising! Subdue them! Subdue them all and we’ll sort everything out later!”
“Aye, Sir!” shouted the power-armored Sector Guardians, leveling their blaster rifles at Nikomedes and the Sundered.
Clawing for his blaster pistol, Yagar pulled it out and fired, with one of his shots hitting Nikomedes in the chest.
“Semper fidelis!” the Guardians shouted as one, even as they unleashed a hail of blaster fire at the Lancer and the duralloy-armored, Sundered males crouched behind their shields. Only one of the four fell out of formation due to rifle fire, while the rest stayed upright.
Snapping down his visor and activating the light sword of power hidden in the grip of his metal gauntlet, with only a few inches of hilt sticking out to either side before the hidden blade snapped forth, and Nikomedes raised its glistening, white, crystal blade.
"Sic gorgiamus allos subjectatos nunc!" he screamed, launching himself forward and into the line of Guardians. Beside him, the Sundered leveled their duralloy-tipped spears and lunged forward.
Planting his Light Sword in the armored chest of the Sector Guardian in front of him with his power assisted muscles, Nikomedes quickly kicked him away. He started to step forward toward the Sector Admiral, who was now frothing at the mouth and firing at everything that wasn’t a Guardian, when Nikomedes took blaster fire in the side.
Pivoting quickly, the Tracto-an Warrior slashed out with his blade, cutting off the barrel of the Sector Guardian’s rifle where it joined the main grip of the weapons. The explosion that resulted from the damaged blaster destroyed one of the Guardian’s hands and spread metal and red bits of blood and bone in an upward arc. Staggered from the lingering effects of the Colonel’s head blow followed by explosion, Nikomedes lashed out with his sword. Metal shrieked in protest and the arm with the remaining good hand of the Guardian flopped, hanging by a bit of metal to the rest of the battle-suit, red flowing down his arm.
Ignoring the screaming Guardian, Nikomedes lurched forward, his sword raised high.
Unleashing a hail of blaster bolts into the Tracto-an’s visor, Admiral Yagar’s face twisted with rage. Whatever fear he had felt at the beginning of the fight had been washed away in the heat of combat, and Nikomedes felt a thrill like he had not experienced in many, many years.
Hearing the thunder of reinforcements streaming into the large open area surrounding the airlock behind him, and seeing more Guardians pouring out of the hatch leading into the Light Destroyer that was the Admiral’s Flagship, Nikomedes knew he had to press forward.
“Guardians,” raged Yagar, calling for reinforcement even as another Guardian—this one with a duralloy spear sticking out of his chest armor and laying on the floor—kicked Nikomedes in the leg and tried to grab his foot.
“My blade feasts well tonight,” Nikomedes bared his teeth with satisfaction as he dropped his knee into the visor of the fallen Guardian, trying to stop him with all the force and weight of the Tracto-an’s older style battle-suit. The visor cracked and the helmet bent, but the man below him was still flailing. Reversing his grip on the light sword, Nikomedes brought the blade down into the man’s chest armor where he estimated the Guardian’s heart was located.
The fallen Guardian’s body arched briefly and then went still.
Smoothly regaining his feet, the Tracto-an Warrior saw a pair of new, power-armored Sector Guardians draw even with the Admiral, one to either side.
“Suppress, subdue, and then eliminate the Uplifts, their traitorous AI sympathizers, and any remaining pirates onboard this station!” Yagar screamed, throwing his blaster pistol at one of the two remaining, original Sundered honor guards. Then, grabbing a blaster rifle from one of his Guardians, he bellowed, “Man, not machine!”
Running forward to meet the new threat, Nikomedes was determined not to let the Admiral escape. Seeing the new Guardians had plasma rifles—and were certain to get to him before he could get to Yagar—the Tracto-an Warrior gritted his teeth and did the only thing that was left for him to do: cut off the head of this invading monster. It was a simple truth that nothing could live without its head, but he had learned that particular lesson on Tracto during his youth, and it was a lesson that was still with him today. It applied just as much out here among the stars as it ever did back home.
“Argos!” the Tracto-an shouted, drawing back his arm. Whipping his hand forward with all the power in the battle-suit and his own considerably powerful thews, he threw the Light Sword of legend hurtling toward Yagar faster than the other man’s Guardians could i
nterpose themselves.
Time seemed to slow down. The light sword spun end over end once, and the Admiral’s mouth opened to shout something. The sword spun twice, and then it rammed hilt first into the Admiral’s eye. Even though it struck with the cylindrical hilt instead of the sharp point of the blade, it struck with enough force to pulverize the eye and sink more than a hand’s width into the Sector Admiral’s skull through his eye socket.
The Admiral’s body arched and fell twitching to the floor, and Nikomedes had seen men dance like that before—the Admiral was dead, but he just didn’t know it yet.
“They’ve killed the Admiral,” screamed one of the Guardians.
Right fist drawn back, Nikomedes struck hard enough to crack the visor of the guard on the right of the Admiral and send him staggering. The other guard shot him in the side with the plasma rifle. Heat and pain such as the Lancer had never felt before lanced through his body.
“Argos,” roared Nikomedes his side on fire as he grappled with the Sector Guardian—he had to keep that rifle from coming to bear. Another shot like that and his now heavily-damaged armor would no longer protect him.
“For the Code,” came the battle-cry from throats deeper and rougher than any human voice, and seconds later the Tracto-an lancer was jostled first on his right and then his left as spear-toting, shield-wielding gorilla men pushed past him while blaster and plasma fire streamed past him from both directions.
A spear lanced out, punching through the visor of the plasma rifle-wielding Sector Guardian Nikomedes had been grappling with. The Guardian stiffened, and the Lancer gave a mighty heave and pushed the man to the side.
Bulling forward, arm raised to protect his already blaster-damaged visor, the Tracto-an forced his way to the fallen Admiral before the Guardians could drag their leader back. Even though he was certain Yagar was dead, he refused to take the risk that one of their magical healing tanks could heal even a scrambled brain.
Jerking from side to side as he took blaster bolts to his upraised arm, he ignored the weight of enemy fire until he took a hit to his chest armor that felt like the glancing blow of a stone rhino. His chest now on fire from a second plasma bolt—thankfully in an undamaged section of his armor—and Nikomedes hunched over the fallen form of the Sector Admiral. Grasping Yagar’s head with both hands, he twisted until he heard a crunch and then squeezed his magically-gauntleted hands.
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