Khai was lying in bed, his hands behind his head, staring at the ceiling. He could remember the day he was saved by the man he would admire for decades to come.
It started that same night.
“Hey!” that same deep voice called out. The impact from being dropped made the alley spin abruptly. He could hear the heavy boots running off further into the darkness of the alley. Before even being picked up, a voice called out to him:
“You okay, son?”
“Yeah, I think so.”
“Good. You wait here, I’ll be right back.”
Khai’s savior darted into the darkness. Only seconds later, he heard shouting and what sounded like a man crying. A little more than a minute later, the hero emerged from the darkness with the man that chased him down the alley. His face was bloody and swollen; he was hacking up blood all over the ground as he was tossed at Khai’s feet.
“What do you have to say?” the hero asked.
Khai was about to respond, thinking the question was directed at him, when the bloodied man cried out.
“I’m sorry!” he sobbed.
“What?” the hero asked again.
“I’m SORRY!” he wailed. “Please, don’t kill me!”
“I’m not going to kill you, you piece of shit,” the hero said with a slight hint of amusement in his voice. “You’re not a Vyysarri. Now get the fuck out of here, and keep your damned hands off these kids, for Founders help you if I catch you again.”
“I will,” he cried, as the hero dragged him to his feet by the back of his filthy shirt with one hand. “I swear to the Founders!”
“Good, now get the hell out of here!” he said, tossing the whimpering man back into the dark with the strength of two or three men.
Once he was thoroughly convinced that the cry baby was gone, he turned back to Khai who was still sitting on his bruised backside.
The man was tall, roughly six and half feet tall, wearing a long coat with shiny pins on it. He knelt down to Khai’s level.
“Are you all right, son?”
Khai felt no fear, only calm and safety.
“I’m fine,” he said quietly.
“So you do talk,” the huge man chuckled. “I thought for sure you were a mute.”
“Actually, I talk a lot. Some people can’t get me to shut up. Like the really nice lady in the diner down the street. She gives me free pie whenever I come in and we’ll just talk and talk and talk.”
“You like pie?”
“Yup,” Khai said with a smile.
“Good, me too. Let’s go to that diner. Do you know where it is?”
“Well, yeah,” Khai said with an over-dramatic roll of his eyes. “Follow me.”
It only took a few minutes to walk to the local diner. The lights were on and there were definitely people inside. The hero didn’t recognize it, but he lived in the Corporate Sector near the military barracks.
They walked in and the lady, a younger woman, said hello to Khai right away.
“Hi, Joon,” Khai said innocently.
“Who’s your friend?” she asked, rather suspiciously.
“He’s a hero,” he said cheerfully. “He saved my life from that one creepy guy I told you about. You know; the one with the high-pitched laugh.”
“I know the one,” she said, less cheerfully. “My name’s Joon. I haven’t seen you ‘round these parts.”
“I don’t come down this way much, but my name is Moon’Sinder Moore. And, uh, can I have two slices of pie please?”
“Sure thing. I swear that’s all that kid eats,” Joon said, turning to the cooling unit where the pies were stored.
“Where are his parents?” Moon asked.
Joon paused before putting the two plates down on the counter. “Don’t know, to be honest. About a year ago, he just started coming in here alone and I would give him a piece of pie and take it out of my tips. The poor boy eats so fast it’s like he doesn’t eat otherwise.”
“I found him cowering from a sexual predator between a couple trash recepts,” Moon said. “Is he an-”
“Orphan?” Joon asked, almost accusingly.
“Yeah?”
“What if he was?” she asked defensively, sliding two pieces of pie onto the plates.
“You know why.” Moon said, his voice almost pleading. “All orphans become wards of the state. Please, don’t lie to me. Is he an orphan?”
“Yes,” she said sadly. “His father was killed a while ago.”
“Why didn’t you take him in?”
“I already have four children and their father ran out on me. I couldn’t afford to put another plate on the dinner table. I already work two jobs just to make sure they have what they need.”
“You’re a good mother,” Moon said.
She turned to face him with two pieces of pie. It was obvious to him that it pained her not to be able to take the poor boy in.
“Thank you,” she said, wiping a tear away. “Anyway, the pie’s on me.”
“No,” Moon said. “Here, this should help feed your children.” He dropped a wad of credit bills wrapped in an elastic band.
“You don’t have to do that,” she said, staring at more money than she made in two weeks.
“I know,” he said softly. “But it’s my duty to protect to the civilians of this planet, in any way I can. Besides, I have no need for money. The SCGF provides me with everything I need.”
“Are you going to take him?”
“I have to,” he said. “He will be cared for, fed, clothed, educated-”
“Trained to kill,” she said, disdain filling her voice.
“Trained to protect this planet,” he corrected her. “Would you prefer if we took your children from you?”
“No,” she said, dropping her gaze to the counter, at the two pieces of pie.
“We take those with nothing, and give something; something to help them live a productive life, something to live for, to believe in. We give them hope. All the while, keeping the planet safe from the Vyysarri and keeping your children out of the war.”
He was right, she knew it. But it didn’t hurt any less. She had grown quite fond of little Khai.
“Enjoy your pie,” she said and left.
Two days later, Khai and Moon arrived on Gor’Tsu Gorn, a planet named after the Naval Admiral who had discovered it two centuries earlier. The planet was three times bigger in diameter than Seryys, which meant that the pull of gravity was equally stronger than that on Seryys. The transition from Seryys gravity to Gorn gravity was enough to make Khai cry for days. But it was necessary to endure such pain. As their enemy, the Vyysarri, were superior in every physical way.
Compared to the average Seryysan, an average Vyysarri was two-to-three times stronger, faster and tougher. It took several slugs to bring a Vyysarri down and going toe-to-toe with one was inviting certain and painful death as they fed on the blood of their adversaries.
Though, there was nothing that could be done about the hardiness of Seryysans—short of giving them the best armor money could buy, there was something they could do about the other attributes, which was where Gorn became an essential part of military training. Putting them on a planet with such gravity forced their bodies to adapt, to weave tighter, more efficient muscle mass. A trained soldier in the SCGF was a lethal weapon from head to toe.
The sun in the Gorn System, and the planet’s distance from that sun, was much like that of Seryys, which made Gorn a prime place to emplace Fort Gor’Dyyn Gorn, the namesake of the general who moved the indigenous species off the planet in a quick and decisive attack, and the son of Admiral Gorn. Though that was a darker chapter in Seryys history, most historians looked at it as a necessary evil in the cause of repelling, and one day, defeating the Vyysarri. The whole planet had its own economy and was self-sufficient. The soldiers had part-time night jobs to earn military credit, which was useless anywhere else. Credit was used to buy privileges, such as shore leave, entertainment and “special” visits
. However, the essentials: food, clothes, housing, medical attention and household supplies were provided by the military.
Most of their time was spent in training, though. They endured long, grueling days of physical, mental and psychological trials and, in some cases, were deprived of sleep to push them to their limits. They had to be tough as nails to fight the Vyysarri.
Orphans were the primary source of enrollment, though there were those who chose to enlist at the age of consent, which was fifteen years. The orphans that were found earlier than that lived on base with a drill sergeant, who was responsible for up to ten children. They spent most of their days in school. There, they got the best education money could buy. Far superior to the public schools on Seryys available to civilians, these future soldiers received more-than-basic training in math, science, music, art, history, politics and social studies. But they also received advanced combat training for melee, hand-to-hand and firearms, military tactics and they also had access to optional ship-to-ship combat training (both in capital ships and dogfighters), theoretical science, quantum physics and general maintenance of military equipment from guns, to tanks, to capital ships.
Once they reached the age of consent, they were sent out into the field to implement their newly acquired knowledge and skills.
Khai lived on base with Sergeant Moore, who cared for him, both physically and emotionally. Moon was a tough soldier and even tougher drill sergeant. But he cared deeply for the kids under his command and would do virtually anything for them; even die for them, if it meant their survival. However, out on the training field, he was as impartial as they came. He pushed his kids just as hard as the others and produced some of the best trainees the SCGF had to offer, Khai included. Khai loved Moon as a father.
He was seventeen when the Vyysarri attacked Gorn Base. He and the other recruits were escorted to a bunker. The air raid sirens blared in his ears.
Suddenly, he realized it wasn’t the air raid sirens, it was his alarm clock. It was time to get up and go back to work. Damn, forgot the pills again. This time, on his way out, he grabbed the bottle and popped two pills down the hatch with a full glass of water.
Chapter Three
“It’s not an option,” Prime Minister Puar said, putting his foot down. “The amount of money it would cost to relocate the entire population of Seryys City would cost more than the money we would make off of the Ti’tan’lium. Director San already said that and I agree with that assessment.”
“It’s not about the cost, Prime Minister. It’s about the material beneath the city and what it can do for us in the war effort. Isn’t that worth it, an end to the war?”
“This wouldn’t end the war, Tran. You know that as well as I do.”
“Can you really risk it?” Trall asked.
“More civilians will die in the relocation than in the last ten years of the war.”
“That slab of ore can provide armor for almost twelve capital ships.”
“I understand that, Tran, but I’m still not signing anything condoning a relocation, plain and simple.”
“I think you’re mistaken, Prime Minister.”
“Duly noted. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have an appointment in the Rec Room.”
Tran’Ri Trall stormed out, fists balled in anger. How could the Prime Minister be so blind? That arrogant fool, he fumed. It took the whole lift car ride down for him to calm down. After all, he was the Prime Minister and he does have the peoples’ best interests at heart. This isn’t a resignation, Trall thought to himself. He’ll come around, once he sees the necessity of my idea.
He exited the lift car and headed for his waiting hover car, stretched and luxurious with tinted windows and a glossy, jet-black finish. Once inside, he stretched his legs and barked an order to the serving computer, which chirped its compliance and poured his favorite alcoholic beverage on ice into a waiting glass beneath the nozzle.
After the large gulp of burning liquid cascaded down the back of his throat, he leaned back in his chair. Now, how do I force his hand?
Khai set his glass down after taking his pills. He was watching the Net’Vyyd and the news was showing a riot in the slums of the Residential Sector, the camera panned all the way around, taking in the destruction that had taken place only moments earlier. The reporter was standing with his back to the riot several blocks away and moving further away in that direction. The riots had been going on for several weeks since he discovered the deposit of Ti’tan’lium under the new casino. Construction had been halted until the government could decide what to do about it. So while the construction was stopped, he was on paid leave until they either resumed construction on the casino, or the company got another job. His discovery was big news for a while, but now these gang-led riots were tearing up the slums and threatening to move out farther than that.
The police were losing miserably. And they were losing ground faster than they could kill the gang members. These gangs, almost overnight, seemed to arm themselves with high-end sophisticated weaponry—military grade even—which should have been unquestionably and impossibly out of their price range. Yet somehow these thugs were wielding these weapons and effectively making minced meat out of the outgunned police. And even more bizarre, was that the military wasn’t getting involved.
The new energy shield was definitely doing its job; the Vyysarri weren’t getting through to the city. With the shield operational, the defense navy could focus on the drop ships and then watch the Vyysarri retreat to regroup.
Another reporter was showing hundreds of people fleeing the slums for the forests and prairies outside the city where they were setting up little tent communities and sharing whatever they had with each other. Khai saw children wearing dirty clothes and running through a small stream where people were washing what clothes they had. For the big tough guy Khai was, his heart broke for those families.
This had to stop. At that moment, he knew what he had to do. He picked up his com unit and called his boss, Captain Pig-face.
“Khail,” he growled. “What the hell do you want?”
“To make your life a little easier,” he said back.
“Oh yeah?” he asked, obviously amused. “How the hell are you going to do that?”
“I quit.”
“What?”
“I quit, you worthless, annoying, fat-assed sack of shit-eating beetles.”
“Why you-”
Khai wasn’t going to listen to him anymore. He disconnected the call and felt a million times better.
The next day, he marched down to the police department and handed the man at the front desk an application.
“I’m sorry, we’re not hiring,” he said curtly, not even looking up at him.
“Have you been watching the news?” Khai asked him.
“Yes,” he said, still looking down at what he was doing.
“Hey!” Khai snapped, slapping his open hand down on the counter. “Look at me when I’m talking to you! You guys are getting steamrolled out there. Looks to me like you could use all the help you can get.”
“Fine,” he said, standing up and directing his bored, lazy eyes in his direction. “I’ll give it to the cap’, see what he says. Can I get your name?”
“Khai’Xander Khail.”
The man stopped in mid stride. “The Khai’Xander Khail?”
“Unless you know another one,” he said with a shrug.
“Why are you here?”
“Are you stupid or deaf? I’m here to help. Those thugs are tearing apart this city and driving good people from their homes; people that I put my life on the line for every single day that I was in the SCGF. You need me.”
“Let me go talk to the cap’.”
Several minutes later, an older man, maybe in his nineties, waddled out of the back office. He was tall, almost six feet and was completely gray, both in his beard and what was left on his head. He wore an expression of almost awe on his face.
“The legendary Khai’Xander Khail
.”
“In the flesh.”
“Indeed,” the captain said with a smile. “You’re really here to help?”
“Are you refusing?”
“No,” the captain said, “Your reputation as the hero of Seryys Four is known throughout the system. “
“I just killed the Vyysarri general of the invading army on Seryys Four. The real victory came from everyone working together.”
“Don’t be modest, Khai,” the captain said. “The quickest way to kill a Northern Bloodslug is to cut off its head.”
“True,” Khai said. “So when can I start?”
“You can start by addressing me as ‘Sir,’ recruit.”
“Yes, sir!” Khai shouted, snapping a crisp salute and clicking his heels.
Captain Byyn’Doox Byyner forced a stern look. “At ease, soldier. This isn’t the military, just local law enforcement.”
“You got it, sir.”
The next day, Khai woke up and sauntered over to the bathroom. He popped two pills with a glass of water and accessed the secret hatch behind the mirror. He took the pistol, A Seryys Combat 92-30:11-1 Assault Pistol (92 being the year it was made, 30 being the number of its series, 11 being its overall length in inches and 1 was the diameter of the shells it used, in inches). It was considered an antique by today’s standards, being the year 13241—since Seryys became a space-faring race again. The high caliber and elongated barrel gave this weapon remarkable accuracy, distance and destructive power. The weight of the weapon felt all too familiar, and he liked it, missed it.
“Well, old friend, looks like it’s time to go back to work.”
He sat it down on the sink while he prepped himself for his first day of active duty in ten years. Being a man of about fifty years of age put him still in his prime. It wasn’t his physical shape that put him out of the active duty with the SCGF, but his psychological status. He was suffering from severe Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. He was medicated and it was controlled; but if he forgot to take his pills daily, he would lapse back into his days of being shot at and killing. It was something he would keep from Captain Byyner as long as he could. He hated being labeled as mentally unfit for duty; it was like having a gun without a firing pin.
The Seryys Chronicles: Death Wish Page 3
