Nova

by Lora E. Rasmussen

  “I do not need three days, Captain Serros; I already have an answer to give you. Yes.”

  The Human Shield’s smile stretched across her entire face as she released a small laugh of pleasure at K’llan’s answer, her nya flaring with the surge of her feelings. “Very good, then; I am most pleased. And we’re off duty right now, K’llan Z’arr, so please, my friends call me Avara.”

  In response, K’llan surprised herself with the release of her own pure laugh, the first she had issued in what seemed like years. “Very well, Avara. And I am known as K’llan to my friends.”

  Captain Avara Serros extended her right forearm to K’llan, Vosaia fashion. Reciprocating the gesture, K’llan found her arm caught in a firm grip, the play of the Human’s sleek muscles evident to her fingers even as the reality of their link amplified ten–fold with the contact.

  Eyes expanding slightly at the bloom of their connection which in that moment, K’llan held no doubt the Human felt but chose not to overtly react to, Avara greeted “Welcome to Nova Squad and the QS Excalibur, K’llan.”

  *

  In a very different part of Sigil than Aesir Plaza, where the white and onyx glass facades stood unwashed and the durexium bands and supports were shadowed like once treasured silver charms left to tarnish in an unmarked grave, a lone figure traversed the crowded slums of Amberion. Despite the press of sentients, most inhabitants ignored one another unless they had direct business to attend to, heads of the many races downcast and attire thread–worn from overuse. Amberion Level, often called the “Lost Level,” was the lowest of the great wheels of Sigil City, where those who had either fled their homeworld with little to their name in desperate search for new opportunities, or those who were born in–level into destitution, dwelt.

  The smell of unwashed bodies, urine, vaporous factory exhalation and intoxicants merged with the frantic flickering of dim, multi–colored lights from struggling business signs or holo–adverts, and the cries of dejected panhandlers were a constant murmur. Here, alongside struggling but honest poor were also both the typical, petty criminals of a large metropolis, and also many of the crime lords that stretched their insidious fingertips into all twelve city levels like wood–rot in a home’s foundation.

  Yet it was not to commit a petty crime or to meet with a marked gangster that the shadowed figure traveled this late night, although it was to meet one that most in the sector would label as an actor of crimes that the walker did walk.

  After several hours of deliberate wandering, the slim shadow came upon its destination, a run–down tap house that’s sign zissed and sputtered in the grimy evening air for want of repair. The shape slipped into the entryway to stand in a small, single–room serving space. Only a few patrons slumped over in worn steel chairs, two male Braxiens and a creamy–gray furred female Gorath. Sitting at the pock–marked bar, the shadow ordered a watered down glass of beer from an emaciated Human male, drained it, then drained a second and a third.

  As the last mug was slammed onto the bar–surface, adding a new scratch, the shadow made to lurch towards the facilities in the back of the establishment. The other customers didn’t even glance up at the figure’s moment, entirely consumed with the serious business of achieving a state of stuporous intoxication.

  Behind the screen of vision, the figure’s lurch disappeared entirely as the shadow slipped into a doorway to the right of the facilities and down a crouched hallway to another, smaller space. Entering the backroom, the figure was greeted by flickering, gray–lit illumination and another person sitting at a small, roughly scratched round table.

  “Report, Operative.”

  The voice was quiet yet held an undertone of distinct ease and command.

  The shadow met the stare of the seated person at the table, also trim in form, yet energetically exuding all the striking power of a serpent. Emotionlessly, the figure testified, “The transfer has been entirely successful and though not convicted of High Treason, the Agent has been discredited and dismissed.”

  Several seconds of silence stretched to minutes between the two in that dingy little backroom, then the commanding tone asked “And why was the Agent not imprisoned?”

  “Impassioned interference from the Human Shield Operative.”

  “Ah,” The seated person commented. “Not entirely unexpected and, in the end, no matter. The damage has been done. The technology is now ours, seeds of distrust have been sewn within the Quorum and one of the most powerful opposition players in the Consulate has been shamed.”

  Shifting, the seated person leaned forward and then queried “Your own status?”

  “Entirely unquestioned and respected.”

  “Excellent.” The seated form replied, voice twined with approval. “You have done well.”

  The standing figure hesitated a moment, and then asked in a cautious yet hopeful tone, “My reward?”

  The seated person laughed a bit at the question. “A reward? Hmm… And what reward would you wish?” The voice was now laced with enjoyment and muted malice at the slender figure’s question.

  And the aching need it represented.

  “There is only one reward I shall ever wish for.” The shadow responded, voice attempting to remain detached and steady, and entirely failing to do so to the only too knowing ears of the seated person.

  “Though it is in my power to grant, such a reward is great indeed, and you ask so quickly after the last time it was bequeathed.”

  “It has been six years.” The words were almost lost in silence, so quietly were they uttered.

  “It has been six years… what?” The seated form asked, a predator toying with its prey.

  “It has been six years… Master.”

  With a tumbling, rich laugh, the seated form leaned further forward and stated “Yes, and you remember the term, little one. Come to me.”

  The shadow moved to the seated form and kneeled before it, and with a brief blue–silver flash against the gray–dark, the head bent in submission. “Please, Master.”

  Placing a single, gloved hand gently on the side of the shadow’s head then to chin and drawing their faces near until they were but a finger–width apart, the seated form remarked “You have done well. Your request is granted. A shuttle shall take you to an unmarked transportation for a brief period of drop–off.”

  “Thank you, Master.” The now kneeling figure replied, hearing the joy in those self–spoken words. And loathing its reality; despising the necessity and self for existence.

  “Now, before we part, it is time to dine.” The seated form’s tone held the unmistakable timbre of hunger; hunger and ownership.

  Head pulled forward until the short gap between them was erased into darkness, the kneeling figure again felt the familiar surge of repugnance, yet to the shadow’s shame, so too did the answering flame of need blaze in the consuming umber.

  CHAPTER 10

  The incessant sounds of insects circulating to and fro in the moisture laden air and the scent of rain–soaked wood and pollen from dozens of brightly blooming flowers and slick purple pteridophyte plant–life combined to create a heady, sensory mix. Lying belly–first in the rich, spongy loam of a rise overlooking the moss–green tajet stone and iron gray durexium constructed complex below, Avara was struck by how in some ways, the Zirgesh colony world of Moxar was similar to her own homeworld.

  Yet where Kylos was cradled by an endless expanse of bright blue seas dotted by countless tropical islands, Moxar was a vast scape of never–ending rainforest. It was a rainforest in which the sunlight from the planet’s two small suns was an invader to the undeveloped portions of jungle that still laid claim to significant areas of the world.

  Lying motionless, helm retracted so as to utilize her Arca enhanced sense of hearing, Serros carefully studied the palatial complex’s occupants as they moved around the grounds of the structure, her sight zoomed in to capture every detail. Most of the last two months had been spent investigating and tracking down leads to a
scertain and locate the source of the rather vast nix smuggling ring. The mission had come Nova’s way at the request of the Zirgesh Collective to the Quorum, which had in turn tasked Captain Serros with identifying the purveyor and ending the operation. The search for the spring of the illegal drug trade had been a convoluted affair, leading the Squad to several worlds that the nix was being distributed to and through at an alarming rate, not only so on key planets in the Quorum Aligned Systems, but also to the three directly governed Quorum worlds.

  Eventually, investigation into small–time operators and shipment patterns had led to higher level handlers of various criminal syndicates, and finally, to the whispered name of the distribution mastermind, “Vartah.” The trail directed to Moxar and surprisingly, the residence of one Iak Risha, a much respected Zirgesh corporate businessman of the I’sha Caste whose public business focus was intergalactic finance and investment.

  However, Risha’s private endeavors, conducted under the pseudonym of Vartah, or “Silent Strike” in ancient Zirgesh, differed greatly from his carefully cultivated public persona.

  This man, a member of the highest of the four Zirgesh Castes, was directly responsible for breaking dozens of local planetary laws as well as just as many intergalactic strictures. Iak Risha was also guilty of creating thousands of shattered lives. It was a list that encompassed the multitude of broken users reduced to complete neurological shutdown or death as a result of overuse of the drug, as well as countless innocents.

  Family, friends, lovers, co–workers, the guy taking public transport home after a long day’s work only to find he’d been shot for a bit of cash to support the demands of addiction; Risha was connected to each ruined person. More, Nova’s investigation had revealed a long list of eclectic criminal acts that Risha had either directly perpetrated or set into motion, including theft, arson, destruction of property, bribery, intimidation, piracy, falsification of records, and of course, murder. Under the false name of Vartah, Risha had perpetrated all this and more, his influence creeping though legitimate as well as illegitimate channels to solidify his ever expanding nix–based empire. And all entirely untraced to the Zirgesh philanthropist.

  Until now.

  Sensing slight movement, Avara turned her head to see an unhelmeted K’llan Z’arr, outfitted as she in Nova Squad armor, nod in expectation.

  It was almost time.

  Serros raised her left hand, palm flat and up in a “wait” position. Looking forward to the upcoming action and the resolve of their mission, she grinned at the Vosaia. Avara watched as Z’arr smiled in response, her lilac eyes full of anticipation that matched Serros’s own. This being their third major assignment together, Avara reflected how natural it had become for her to look towards K’llan in the four months since the Vosaia had joined Nova Squad.

  It was strange, but despite the short duration of their acquaintance, Avara couldn’t imagine not working and living with K’llan on a day to day basis aboard the QS Excalibur. Her presence, including both physical proximity as well as the ubiquitous, low hum of psychic connection she felt whenever they interacted, had become a constant to Avara’s every day existence, welcome and familiar.

  Although, she reminded herself with a typical flare of self–honesty, there was another side to the connection.

  Along with the ease and comfort of their link came flashes of less… passive emotions, for their link also carried undercurrents of stronger sentiments that neither seemed willing nor able to broach as of yet.

  Yet in time, we will.

  The thought flowered with crystalline clarity. Avara was unsure of what the result of that discussion would be, just as she was irresolute of what outcome she wished for. So many variables and ramifications swirled around in her mind at the notion that she realized she was beginning to lose her center in the present. With a lifetime of hard–earned discipline, she forced herself to firmly put such considerations to the side and to focus on the mission.

  As if on cue, Lieutenant Commander Diana Adeline’s voice quietly sounded over the tiny Comm receiver affixed to the inside her ear. “Captain, all teams are in place and waiting for your green light.”

  “Very good, A.” Serros quietly responded. With a slight adjustment of her Zadex Warlock L5, currently locked into its sniper rifle configuration, the Shield Operative counted out over the Comm in a measured tone: “Three… two… one… execute!”

  With an almost entirely silent snick accompanying each pull of the trigger, Serros fired and in rapid order tagged a first, second, third, fourth, and fifth Zirgesh guard patrolling the outer grounds of Risha’s compound. Each fell to the ground as a single bullet spliced through their small, chitinous forehead plates in a spray of inky blood. With a quick scan, Avara confirmed that the two–dozen or so other visible targets locked onto by her Squadmates had been similarly disposed of, then nodded an affirmative to her partner.

  As one, Serros and Z’arr rose from their hidden positions and blurred forward through the green to reach the eleven foot outer tajet wall and, trusting in Rygel’s hacking skill to have completely negated security, the two synchronously leaped over the barrier to land soft–footed onto the spongy earth beyond. With two more shots from their silenced rifles, the Human and Vosaia continued forward to the designated entryway, a clear–glass, arched doorway leading into the building’s interior.

  Switching weapons in anticipation of closer quarters, the two squadmates noiselessly entered the home’s wide hallways that had been draped in gloom due Rygel’s disabling of the local security and lighting system. In absolute silence, they swiftly began stalking towards their target’s office.

  Rounding a plush red carpeted corner, the two found themselves facing a full complement of muscle, eleven well–armed and armored, eight–limbed Zirgesh guards. Rolling forward in tandem, the two women barely avoided being sprayed with bullet–fire as they sprang to their feet.

  Without pause they exploded into motion, dodging, blocking, and launching blows with blinding speed and deadly accuracy. So synchronous and complimentary were their actions that they practically flowed as one. Indeed, Avara felt as if they were players on stage that had acted out their particular roles for years, so seamlessly did they read, embrace, and complement one another’s movements.

  After the first three Zirgesh adversaries had been downed, K’llan, situated directly in front of Avara, ducked her head just as the Shield shifted her position and cracked–off a blow to the faintly double–heart shaped head of a Zirgesh guard who’d been about to fire his Sideus pistol at her brow. Serros made her mark with enough force to literally snap the Zirgesh’s reed–like neck.

  Even as the now dead hostile was in motion to meet the floor, Avara tucked her legs under her body into a short vertical jump. The move allowed K’llan to launch a sweep with her leg, causing the two on–rushing attackers directly at Avara’s back to crash to the ground, one’s SMG fire biting stone as it bled off–mark.

  Landing on her feet, Avara pivoted and launched a kick into the thorax of a third Zirgesh guard charging from the right, this time a female dressed in dark red–brown armor. At precisely the same moment, Z’arr finished off the duo she’d kicked to the floor with two tidy shots. Even as K’llan fired at the five remaining, quasi–translucent skinned Zirgesh, Avara clenched her fist with fierce concentration, and then with a motion reminiscent of launching a discus, thrust her arm outward, palm forward, releasing a brilliant, dark blue discharge of kobalt–fueled energy.

  Her K–Blast ripped through Zirgesh and the moss green stone wall behind, and for a few precious seconds, Serros could see nothing but a wash of night–blue as the remaining energy seeped from her vision like cerulean smoke.

  A moment later, with Avara’s skin still leaking tendrils of midnight colored light, both women found themselves snapping around to face the opposite hall at the sound of running footfalls. Avara and K’llan checked their fire when they spotted two familiar forms materialize from the dark and dust.
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  “Seems like you’re having quite the party.”

  Laughing, Avara responded, “Your kind of laggin,’ aren’t you buddy?”

  “Nah.” Commander Marcus Perez responded with a white–toothed grin. “Belgrum and I were making our own friends.”

  “Time to meet the host, I should think.” K’llan commented, eyes alert but voice resonant with low–toned humor.

  “It seems, Lieutenant Z’arr, you’ve spending too much time with Humans of late, to so adopt their humor.” Lieutenant Naxos hissed, the Braxien’s eye–membranes sliding up and down over his pupils to protect his aquamarine orbs from the rock–dust wafting in the air.

  “And who was the one just commenting on the importance of enjoying the hunt, eh Naxos?” the EXO teased.

  “Entirely different, Commander. Tsk. Let us proceed enjoying the chase.”

  “Riiight. So different.”

  “Rygel, how are you faring?” Serros asked over Nova’s private channel as the Squad began to purposely continue forward.

  “All in hand, Captain.” The tech specialist responded. “Just sweeping out the last security measures and initiating a data–dump from local systems while Ca’rrakk is finishing off any unfriendlies who attempt to enter the backdoor around you.”

  “Excellent. Adeline?”

  “All clear, Captain. No departures from Iak Risha’s complex or office that I can read.” The Ops officer responded, doing her typically brilliant due diligence in monitoring data feeds and coordinating the mission.

  “All right Nova, here we go.” The Shield announced, feeling both pleased and consumed with determination to see this mission to its end.

  The four Nova Squad members continued deeper into the heart of Risha’s elegant home, passing numerous displays of priceless art work, statuary, and rich, skillfully carved furniture all designed in the strange blend of organic and clean–lined synthetic construction that the Zirgesh people seemed so fond of.

  Upon reaching their destination, a set of double–paneled durexium doors, Serros took a readied center–point position while Marcus and K’llan flanked the sides and Naxos keyed the open switch. The greeting of assault rifle fire wasn’t really unexpected and so with well–practiced ease, the Captain blurred into the room under the hail of bullets even has the rest of the team snapped off their shots.