by Justin Sloan
"I thought that was your job," Robin replied and then was up again and shooting back at them.
Had Robin been flirting in the middle of combat? Maybe the woman was starting to get a little too into this, Valerie thought. She chuckled and followed suit, but after ducking back down a third time she glanced up. Now she saw why the ships weren't coming in low yet. They were focused on Tol's fleet, which had yet to take off.
Kalan was among them.
"Come on, Kalan," Valerie mumbled as she grabbed an attacker by the faceplate and slammed her into the ground, then came up to send several rounds into another attacker that was about to land a blow on Robin.
"Thanks!" Robin shouted, but Valerie was already moving to take down the next one. She was too distracted for anything else, eyes darting to the sky periodically as she worried that Kalan and the others wouldn't make it out in time.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Planet Tol
Kalan stretched out in the pilot’s seat of the Nim fighter. "Ah, it feels so good to be back in the cockpit."
There was a long moment of silence, then Bob looked at the apparently empty seat Wearl occupied. "Seriously? You’re going to let a comment about his cockpit feeling good go without saying anything?"
Wearl sighed. "Some of us have matured since the last time we flew together."
"Really?"
"No. I was just deciding between five different responses."
Bob grinned. "It is pretty great to be together again, isn’t it?"
Nostro reached over and clapped him on the shoulder. "Indeed it is."
Bob leaned close to Kalan. "Who’s this guy again?"
"I’ll tell you the whole story later." Kalan shook his head and smiled. In truth, it did feel pretty good to have Bob back with the group. Jilla was still on the ground since her fighting skills could come in handy there, but Valerie had figured Bob would be of more use in the sky. Wearl had simply refused to leave Kalan’s side during the battle.
Mej’s voice came through the radio. "Kalan, you airborne?"
"Indeed I am, sister." The word sounded odd coming out of his mouth, but now that he was part of the Lavkin family, he’d better start addressing them according to their customs.
"Good. We need you to stay low. If any of Demus’s ships slip past us, you need to blow them out of the sky."
"It would be my pleasure."
"All right, we’ll be in radio contact. Stay safe."
With that, she signed off.
Kalan scanned the monitors in front of him. He knew the enemy fleet had strange ships that somehow avoided detection, so he was going to have to use his eyes as well as his equipment. For now, though, the brownish skies around them appeared to be clear.
"So, Nostro, how the hell did you get your hands on a Nim fighter?"
The Pallicon grinned. "It sort of fell into my lap. There were a few docked in a secret hangar in the part of the ship that crashed. Apparently Tuttle used them for his unofficial missions."
"Speaking of Tuttle…" Kalan prompted.
"He won’t be bothering anyone anymore." His voice was firm and full of conviction.
"Good." Kalan only hoped that whoever they got to replace Tuttle would make the conditions a bit better for the SEDE prisoners, including his mother. He’d have a word with Sslake about that after the battle—assuming he survived.
"Kalan," Bob called, pointing outside the cockpit.
Kalan looked to where the human was pointing and saw a small dot on the horizon. He engaged the throttle and sent the Nim flying toward the enemy ship. "Good eye, Bob."
Bob touched the radio. "Mej, we’re after one that slipped through."
"Blast it all!" she responded. "We didn’t see it. Let’s hope we didn’t miss any others."
As they reached the enemy ship, Kalan saw it was a midsized vessel; definitely not a fighter. It had a strange boxy shape, and an odd rectangular device was attached to the bottom. An orange stripe ran along the top.
Kalan wondered how many of the metal-equipped Norruls that ship could carry…and how many residents of Tol would die if he let it get through. No way was that happening.
He banked hard to the left to put the transport directly in front of them and fired. The railgun spat, and smoke rose from the front of the transport.
"Direct hit!" Nostro shouted. "Well done."
"That’s how we do it!" Bob exclaimed.
Kalan took a long look at the transport, confirming that the damage he’d inflicted would make it inoperable. With any luck, the ship would crash so far from the capital that any passengers who survived wouldn’t make it to the battle until it had been over for a week.
Mej’s voice came through the comm again. "Kalan, another one got through. Head northwest. You should be able to pick this one up on your scanners."
"Another transport?" he asked.
"No, this one’s a fighter."
Kalan gritted his teeth as he angled the Nim to the northwest.
"I love watching you in a fight," Wearl gushed. "You get so intense. It’s hot."
"It really is," Bob agreed. "I mean, from a platonic perspective."
Kalan did his best to ignore the conversation.
A few moments later, Nostro pointed at the monitor screen. "There!"
Sure enough, a blip indicated an aircraft a little to the north.
"Apparently they don’t shield their fighters as well as their transports," Bob noted.
Kalan nodded. "Yeah. Let’s make them pay for that mistake."
The fighter spotted them just as easily as they’d spotted it. The enemy fired, and Kalan had to pivot hard to avoid the attack.
"Well, their guns are bigger than ours," Nostro commented.
"But they’re slow." Kalan dove, then brought them back up. "This one’s yours, Bob."
Bob gripped the co-pilot’s controls and fired. "Got ‘em!"
The fighter spun wildly out of control, the direct hit disabling it.
"Nice!" Kalan exclaimed. As he was speaking, something caught his eye. A transport, heading directly for the capitol. It had an orange stripe running down the top, and for a moment Kalan figured that must be how they painted all their transports. Then he took a closer look.
"Am I crazy, or is that the ship we shot down?" Wearl asked.
"You’re not crazy." Kalan could clearly see the damage he’d inflicted on the hull. Strangely, the damage seemed less bad than it had five minutes ago. As he got closer, the hole in the hull seemed to be closing.
He activated the comm.
"Mej, this is going to sound crazy, but I think these ships can repair themselves midflight."
It took her a long moment to answer. "Damn it, brother, that does sound crazy, but I think you’re right. We just thought the ships could take a beating, but you’re onto something."
"We have to keep shooting even after we think we’ve downed them."
"Agreed. Thanks for the heads-up."
The transport was nearly at the capitol now. Kalan fired, but the transport did a surprisingly smooth roll and avoided the attack.
"How can something so ugly fly so well?" Bob asked with awe.
Kalan slammed his hand against the controls in frustration. The transport was almost on the ground now. How many would die because he hadn’t taken care of business?
"Mej, I let one get through. I’m thinking about doing something very stupid."
The transport touched down, and a dozen metallic Norruls poured out the instant it hit the ground.
"Do it, Kalan," Mej replied. "We’ve got things under control. These ships are tough, but their pilots are not Lavkins."
"Roger that." Kalan turned toward the others. "Ready to get our hands dirty?"
"Oh, thank Borin," Wearl exclaimed. "It’s been too long since I’ve killed anything."
Kalan took one last look at the transport. The Norruls were too spread out for him to take them out from the air, and they were moving quickly toward the capitol. "Now would be
a super time to doublecheck your safety harness."
With that, he set them down in the road. Speed was his only concern for the landing, and he felt every bone in his body jar with the impact.
After visually confirming everyone was all right, he unhooked his harness and took off his helmet. "Let’s go kill some bad guys."
A moment later, he burst out of the Nim and onto a street of the Tol capitol. For a moment he was disoriented, but then he spotted them.
Twelve furious Norruls with metallic carapaces rushed at them, weapons drawn.
Kalan didn’t wait to see if the others were keeping up. He raced toward the closest Norrul, his Tralen-14 in his hand. The creature snarled when it saw Kalan and raised its weapon, but Kalan was faster. He fired, catching the ugly creature in the face. It let out a tremendous howl as it fell.
Kalan rushed over and put two more rounds in its throat above the carapace to make sure it stayed down.
By the time Kalan looked up, the rest of the team was in action. Bob had brought his big rifle, and he fired at a Norrul with battle fury on his face. Nostro apparently preferred to work in close. He rushed one of the metallic Norruls and shoved his weapon into the creature’s face before firing.
Even though Kalan couldn’t see Wearl, he could see her impact. A Norrul was knocked over, apparently by nothing. Before it could recover from its surprise, it had a bullet through its head.
Still, the team was only doing well because most of the Norruls weren’t focusing on them. They were trying to get past them to the capitol building.
Kalan shouted to the team, "Let’s keep them contained! Don’t let them get past you!"
Bob looked at him dumbly while a Norrul ran right past him, but thankfully Wearl was on the case, and the being fell to her invisible attack.
Another Norrul raced toward Kalan.
"Out of the way, prison scum," it shouted as it ran.
Kalan smiled. "You’re really going to wish you hadn’t said that." He set his feet and lunged forward as the Norrul reached him.
His shoulder slammed into the metal carapace. It didn’t feel great and he felt something give in his shoulder, but the Grayhewn succeeded in knocking the Norrul back. The creature grabbed Kalan’s gun hand, so Kalan drew back his empty left hand and punched him as hard as he could in the face.
The Norrul staggered backward, and Kalan raised his pistol and fired.
As his enemy fell, Kalan turned and saw a Norrul about fifteen feet away wrestling with something invisible. Wearl.
Another Norrul was approaching from behind with a long barbed spear in its hand.
"No!" Kalan shouted. He sprinted toward the spear-wielding Norrul and threw himself at him just before the tip reached Wearl.
The Norrul spun, bringing his spear around. Kalan felt something tear at his face and realized one of the barbs had caught him. He let out an involuntary shout, then pushed the pain away and grabbed the spear, wrestling it away from him with one hand. He raised the gun in his other hand and fired.
Then he turned, pressed his weapon against the Norrul wrestling with Wearl, and fired again.
"Thanks, but I could have handled it," Wearl told him.
Kalan wiped his face with the back of his hand, and it came away bloody. "Maybe so, but we’re family, remember? We help each other out."
"Kalan, you’re hurt." There was a hint of panic in her voice.
"I’m fine." But even as he said the words, he wasn’t sure if they were true. The entire right side of his face felt like it was on fire and blood was pouring into his right eye, blinding him. Or was the blood coming from his eye?
He didn’t want to think about it now. There would be time for that after the fight.
Looking around, he saw that they’d taken out all the Norruls who’d exited the transport.
"Nice work, team. Let’s get to the capitol building. I think we can do more good on the ground at this point."
The four of them trotted toward the capitol. It didn’t take long for them to reach it, and when they did they saw that their help was indeed needed.
Norruls and Skulla were engaged in battle all around them.
"I guess a few more transports made it through," Nostro remarked.
"You think?" Wearl asked sarcastically.
Kalan scanned the battlefield. Jilla, Robin, Garcia and Flynn were all fighting the enemy. "Let’s make them regret it."
Bob nudged his arm. "You sure you’re all right, buddy? You’re losing a lot of blood. Like, a lot."
Kalan smiled. "Don’t worry. Us Grayhewns are hearty stock. I’ll be fine."
Something caught his eye—a violent frenzy at the center of the battle. His grin widened as he looked closer. He should have known.
At the center of the raging battle stood Valerie, fighting a horde of angry Norruls.
That was exactly where Kalan wanted to be.
He pushed aside the strange dizzy feeling that threatened to overtake him and rushed into the battle.
He reached Valerie just as she was stabbing her sword into the gap in a Norrul’s carapace and through its chest.
"Hey, boss. Need a hand?"
Valerie gave the wound on his face a concerned look, then glanced at the mass of Norruls around them. "Yeah. Let’s get to work."
CHAPTER TWENTY
Sslake’s Fortress
While it would’ve been great to stop and ask Kalan why half his face was covered with blood, there was no time. Besides, it was pretty damn clear from the hordes of oncoming enemy fighters that it was far from over. Above the shield ships were going down—some crashing into it, others narrowly escaping—but Valerie was busy focusing on taking down enemy Norruls one after another.
Other random enemies attacked too. She assumed they were escaped prisoners from SEDE, those who had survived the crash on Rhol and joined Demus. They were moving closer to Sslake’s chambers as they fought. Each strike Valerie blocked gave her a chance to glance at the building cautiously. She was worried that they’d infiltrate at any minute, and she and her team would be too late.
Kalan was tearing them up with shots one minute, turning to slam his elbow into an enemy the next, while Jilla worked next to him. The two were knocking enemies back and forth as the invisible force that was Wearl finished others off from behind, unseen and deadly.
"There!" Robin shouted. A small army of robots was plowing through Skulla fighters, the tall form of Demus at their rear. He wasn’t even bothering to attack; just gliding forward like a god, hands spread.
No, that wasn’t right. He was attacking in a sense, just using his minions to do so. Even as she realized it ships came up from behind, filling friend and foe alike with bullets to clear his path. He was ruthless and evil, despite all the good he preached. His idea of justice meant calm after a storm that left millions or billions of dead in its wake.
That wasn’t peace, and it sure as hell wasn’t justice.
"Get me to him," Valerie seethed. She pushed past two Norruls in her path, tearing one’s head from its body and throwing it at Demus. One of his ships blasted it apart before it hit, but the remains still splattered at the warlord’s feet.
If Demus noticed, he wasn’t fazed. He kept moving closer to Sslake’s chambers.
At least Aranaught's mechs were engaging those ships now, so the damage was diverted from the Skulla ground troops.
Valerie turned to see three robots and a handful of Norruls almost on her. Where had they come from? She mowed down two of the Norruls and leaped for the robots, but they were too much for her.
Kalan plowed through them, shouting for her to go as he tore one robot apart and then used its remains to stab the remaining Norrul, even as others started to move in. Garcia unloaded, clearing a circle around them, while the others kept pushing toward Demus.
Valerie grabbed Kalan and pulled him over while Robin took his place to finish off his attackers. He caught his breath and nodded, then dove back into the fray.
He was a b
ig boy, Valerie told herself, turning back to her target. Then she heard Jilla’s shriek and the groan from Kalan. When she looked back there was an advanced Norrul with a bloodied metal horn in front of her, and stumbling back—and then collapsing—was Kalan.
"Kalan!" Valerie shouted, staring at him. She couldn’t believe he’d fallen. There had already been a gash in one side of his face, but now there was a wound in his side as well. She turned and blocked a strike. No time to grieve now—and he was still moving, so he wasn’t dead at least.
"No, no, no," Jilla cried, then turned to tear into the closest enemy. With so many attackers it was hard to tell which one had dealt the damage, but judging by Jilla’s ferocity, she was holding all of them was responsible.
"Get him out of here!" Valerie shouted. Wearl began dragging him off, while Jilla and Bob took up defensive positions to keep him safe.
A new rage formed in Valerie, one that she had never been able to pull until something like this happened. She pushed fear as she let her fangs grow long and her eyes glow red, and then she charged.
It was a flurry of kicking and punching, slamming heads into the ground, sweeping enemy legs and grabbing their weapons to finish them off. Bullets flew, steel broke off into corpses, and blood splattered.
She didn’t give a damn if there was a wall of enemies before her—she took them down one by one until she was running up a pile of corpses and leaping, bullets flying into her next round of victims. Then she landed, claws growing from her fingertips and she ran, not even slowing as she tore new foes to shreds.
The door to Sslake’s chambers was open and there was a path of dead Skulla in Demus’s wake. Valerie darted in, eyes searching.
"At last you’ve come to me," Demus’s voice echoed throughout the chamber.
Valerie spun to attack, only to find herself surrounded by more of Demus’s robots. They parted, and the high priest himself stepped forward. His cables reached out to connect to the robots and several of his Norrul generals nearby, and they all entered some sort of trance.
"They feed me, Prime Enforcer," he told her, holding out his arms as if expecting an embrace from her. "You must understand true power, if you hope to survive in this universe. You must come to see the light."
