Camallay: An Infinite Worlds Novel (Marik's Marauders)

by Joel Babbitt

  Yet, somehow this… wretch… was little more than a shadow of the woman Ryker had known. Bruises in various stages of healing covered her arms and legs where her thin night dress exposed them, her hair was lanky and her dress was torn, but worst of all the light was gone from her eyes. Ryker had already been married some years before Alyssa Firstwave and her family moved into their social circles, and so he had mostly ignored her, but he had noticed how alert, how vibrant, energetic, and fearless she had been years before. This woman was none of those things; she jumped at the mere sound of the door opening…

  “Alyssa?” Ryker’s calm voice caught the battered woman off guard. She looked up in wonder at who would actually talk to her as a person. After several moments of mouthing something, yet not speaking, finally Alyssa spoke.

  “Jim?” she said, hesitantly, as if she could not believe her own eyes. “Jim Ryker? Is that you?” she asked perhaps a little less hesitantly.

  Ryker nodded. “Yes, Alyssa.” Thinking quickly, he stepped aside to reveal Rianna laying in the cart behind him. “Can you help me?” he asked gently. “Rianna needs help recovering.”

  Alyssa stood, hesitantly at first, then with some sense of decision. Shuffling meekly past Ryker with her little girls in tow, she laid her baby down next to Rianna, who smiled at her as Alyssa took her hand.

  Ryker looked on with a smile as the two women whispered to each other and some of the glow began to come back into Rianna’s eyes. In a few moments, Alyssa took a deep breath and looked at Ryker.

  “Jim, where’s… Titus?” she asked tentatively.

  “My people got him out of North Principay and isolated. He escaped, however, and is running north,” Ryker answered. Pausing, it suddenly occurred to him that she might know why.

  Alyssa let out a long sigh of relief that her tormenter wasn’t nearby.

  “Alyssa,” Ryker pressed, “do you know why he would be fleeing north? What are we missing?”

  Alyssa thought for a moment. “His secret bunker is up north, about eight or ten kilometers away, I’d guess by the map I saw on his linker once,” she answered.

  “Secret bunker?” Ryker asked.

  “Yes,” Alyssa nodded. “It’s where he keeps the super-secret things he has Josh Langdon get him from the spaceport on the far side of the eastern steppes.

  “So that’s how they’re bringing in contraband!” Ryker exclaimed.

  “Well, yes,” Alyssa said. “He often talks about the ‘backdoor’ with his henchmen when he thinks I’m not listening, but I know what he means. They built a spaceport out east on the far end of the steppes is all that is. He’s always talking about the latest deal with Stellar Corp… so proud of how he skirts past the authorities, smuggling in all sorts of things.”

  “Did you ever hear him talk about what they were smuggling?” Ryker asked.

  “Yes,” Alyssa answered. “One night when he thought I was asleep and he and Josh Langdon were pretty far into their cups they got real serious and talked about how they would burn everyone in Far Point and take the colony for themselves.” Alyssa got really quiet. “They were talking about using a fusion bomb!” she whispered sharply.

  Ryker’s jaw dropped. A fusion bomb would certainly kill every living creature, leaving the structures and vehicles intact. It was an insidious device, and certainly banned by the Solkin Dominion Authority. He almost couldn’t believe that Titus Brutian would be that brazen, but then the more he learned about the man the less such things surprised him.

  Hearing heavy boots stomping through gravel back at the circle of houses, Ryker quickly ushered Alyssa and her daughters into the cart. Then, as a small group of security goons appeared through the gaps between houses, he quickly accelerated and found his way to the main thoroughfare out of North Principay.

  As he was on the way, he attempted to raise Colonel Alexander, but the party had already passed to the other side of the mountains and couldn’t be reached. Chewing his lip in thought as he sat thinking of where he should go, Ryker turned the cart with the two women and three little girls in it toward East Principay. He had seen what had to be Josh Langdon head north from the mines on a cart as he had been waiting for Rianna to soak up the blood packets. Now that he knew there was some sort of secret bunker with untold advanced tech in it, he couldn’t let Josh Langdon get his hands on that stuff. After all, the man was a loose cannon with nothing to lose. He had to capture or kill him before he did something the whole eastern continent would regret.

  But first he had to drop off his passengers somewhere safe.

  Chapter Twenty Two

  Colonel Marshal Alexander was torn. Before him he could see via thermal vision, coming up the side of the mountain from the eastern steppes beyond, the lead forces of the Mon-Jikkik. The crested megavores they rode had obviously run for some time by the heat they were exuding and so were walking as they approached the base of the mountain. At their head he could see a resplendent warrior, certainly Clan Lord Tan-Jik Mon-Jikkik by the fact that his matriarch rode in all her splendor behind him on their mount.

  Colonel Alexander wanted nothing more than to guide the yazri into Principay and begin the process of pacifying the Principay military, who had threatened the eastern continent and attacked and killed several of Marik’s people on the MCS Venture, at Taysom Island, and on the MCS Glenda. However, they had come over this mountain in pursuit of Titus Brutian who was loose in the area and very dangerous.

  “Ah! The king piece is on the loose, but now I have to move all the rest of the pieces on the board,” he muttered as he scanned the yazri forces by magnification on his situence glasses.

  Standing next to him, Captain Washington chewed her lip in thought. “Sir, why don’t you send Sergeant Thompson after Commander Brutian?” she offered.

  “Not a bad idea,” Alexander said, glad to pass the task. Walking over to Sergeant Thompson’s truck, the large, bald black man pulled himself and all his combat gear out of the front seat to meet the two officers.

  “What’s on your mind, sir?” Thompson asked, his massive muscles flexing subconsciously.

  “Captain Washington, Sergeant Thompson, I think it’s time we split our efforts,” Alexander said.

  “What are you thinking, sir?” Washington asked.

  “We know Brutian has a northern outpost, and according to the data you gleaned from their grid before the EMP event he’s forward positioned a company’s worth of combat troops and gear up there,” he said, looking at Captain Washington. “While a company’s worth of troops and armored trucks isn’t enough to stand against Far Point, it is enough to take us down and give the Mon-Jikkik a run for their money.”

  “What did you see, sir? Mostly gun-trucks?” Washington asked.

  Colonel Alexander nodded. “That plus a couple of ultra-light tanks. All heavy lasers, except for the tanks that also mount long-range missile launchers.”

  Both Washington and Thompson grimaced at the same time.

  “You think he’s gonna bring that stuff down here?” Thompson asked in his gravelly voice.

  “Highly possible,” Alexander nodded, “but it will take him some time to get his forces together, and they’re actually closer to Far Point’s southern colony than they are to Principay.”

  Alexander looked at his two junior leaders; their hardened gazes were encouraging.

  “As I see it, one of us has to hunt down Titus Brutian, one of us needs to go to Far Point and bring them into the fight to head off Brutian’s forces in the northern outpost, if that’s his plan, and one of us has to stay here to coordinate the pacification of Principay’s main colonies, probably with all the yazri and the specialists,” Alexander said.

  By the grim look on his face and the way he was flexing his muscles and slamming his fists together, Alexander could clearly tell what Sergeant Thompson wanted to do.

  “Weapons Sergeant, how would you like to hunt down Titus Brutian?” Colonel Alexander asked Thompson.

  “Absolutely!” Serge
ant Thompson growled, slamming his fist into his open palm.

  “Good!” Alexander said, then pointed at the group of his people who were standing looking down the mountain with thermals at the yazri approaching. “Take Mister Wolf in your truck, in case thermals don’t do the job, and take Specialist Ya-da-na on the gun, but leave the other specialists and the yazri behind.”

  “Yes, sir!” Thompson replied and began walking toward the group to gather Wolfman and Triplets.

  “And Sergeant,” Alexander stopped the large man.

  “Yes, sir?”

  “I have a feeling that Brutian has a few tricks up his sleeve still,” Alexander said. “Be careful. He’s a wily opponent.”

  Thompson nodded. “Yes, sir,” he said, his answer a bit more grounded.

  “Which task do you have in mind for me?” Captain Washington asked as Weapons Sergeant Thompson stomped away from them to gather up Wolfman and Triplets.

  “Shannon,” Alexander started, “you’ve been to Far Point before, and you know some of the folks up there.”

  Captain Washington nodded. “Yes, sir. As you know, I served as technical advisor for Marik’s son when he sealed the deal for those combat vehicles Principay destroyed when they sunk the MCS Venture. I worked closely with their defense forces.”

  “That’s why I think you go up there and see if you can convince Far Point to mobilize and keep Principay’s northern outpost forces from coming south.”

  “Sir, that’s going to be hard to do. I think I can get Far Point to help, but probably not before Principay can mobilize,” Washington said.

  “I’ll call ahead. Their leader and I go way back,” Alexander said. “When you get there, show them all the proof you have, including the proof of who sunk the ship with their weapons onboard. If that doesn’t prove Titus Brutian’s real intent, then I don’t know what will. In the mean time, I’ll guide the Mon-Jikkik and we’ll see if I can’t keep the three main Principay colonies out of the fight and pacified.”

  “Good luck with that, sir,” Washington said with a slight smile on her face. “I think I have the easier duty.”

  “We’ll see. Remember, Shannon, Sergeant Thompson will be tracking down Titus Brutian, and if he succeeds, this whole thing may be over before anything starts.”

  “But we can’t count on that, right sir?” Washington said.

  “Exactly,” Alexander replied. “We don’t know who Brutian has in charge of the northern outpost. That’s the wild card. So stay on your toes. And Shannon, take Bug with you. His imagery should help convince Far Point to enter the fray.”

  “Yes, sir!” Washington saluted crisply as she turned and walked toward the group to get Specialist Krrrz.

  * * *

  Sergeant Thompson’s situence glasses were covered by the pitch black thermal mounts that allowed him to see heat variations in the dark of Camallay’s night. As he slowly drove along the winding trail that led along the ridge north toward Principay’s northern outpost, his face remained a determined mask of controlled violence. He had one job to do, and he was utterly focused on ensuring he succeeded in making that mission happen.

  Colonel Alexander had given him the perfect team for the job as well. Specialist Ya-da-na, or Triplets as everyone called the trillo, kept a cool trio of heads in every situation and knew the pulse laser on their truck like the back of their six hands. And Jack Wolf could be counted on to not miss any little trace of a clue their prey might have left behind. The genmods Marik had funded were certainly paying off here in the wilds of Camallay’s rugged terrain.

  “Boss,” Wolfman reached over and grabbed Thompson’s arm, pointing with his other hand out into the bush in the high meadow they were traversing. Thompson didn’t see anything, but pulled over so Wolfman could get out. In a few moments the survivalist was out the door and trudging through the high grass, bending and sniffing in turn before returning to the passenger seat.

  “He came through here,” Wolfman said. “He went up the trail there,” he said, pointing up the far side, “and from the looks of it, he stopped to gather a few good-sized stones before heading over the mountain.”

  “You hear that Triplets?” Sergeant Thompson asked the hyper trillo. “He’s got rocks.”

  Triplets three aspects all laughed in unison; the effect was unnerving to any who hadn’t dealt with a trillo before. “Sticks… and stones… sergeant.”

  “Yeah, you say that now,” Thompson said. “Who survived a quadcopter crash unhurt? Just keep your heads down. Remember, he has serious genmods.”

  “Yes… sergeant,” Triplets replied, less than convinced.

  * * *

  Colonel Alexander stood behind the armored door of his survey truck. He knew the EMP bombs had to have wiped out pretty much every weapon in all of Principay’s main valley, but he wasn’t taking any chances. What they had found was almost too good to be true, and he was certain Brutian’s goons weren’t going to let them just take it without a fight.

  Here, at Principay’s northern port operations facility, was the smoking gun that clearly established the blame for the attack on the MCS Venture, on Taysom Island, and on their hover ferry the MCS Glenda as well. And because the proof was all here and there was no regular, established governing body with civil claim, Alexander knew that by star law he was well within his legal rights to neutralize Principay’s offending corporate assets in the name of the aggrieved party; namely Marik Corporation.

  Looking up at the gun turret, he saw the yazri Gunner scanning the area with his heavy sonic gun. From behind the truck the other three yazri emerged in their LCIP, the interlocking plates of their assault armor giving them a menacing aura, only enhanced by their blaster rifles. Specialist Alphabet had a death grip on the steering wheel of the armored survey truck, and Alexander had told him to stay put; if the gun needed to move he didn’t want any delays. Heavy weapons mean superior firepower after all.

  “Okay, boys,” Alexander muttered as the three yazri approached. He racked a frag round in his area burst rifle and looked up at the three tall warriors. “Let’s root out whoever’s in there and document the evidence. Gunner!” he called out, turning to the grim-faced warrior atop the truck. “Blow that gate down.”

  Gunner depressed the cadillacs on the heavy sonic gun and everyone felt the sudden violence of the shot as a wall of sonic force launched through the flimsy chain link fence. Exhaling at the sudden smell of ozone from the gun, Alexander raised his rifle and motioned for the three yazri to go in first.

  Three abreast, the tall, armored yazri stormed into the small compound. The shot from the sonic gun had attracted the attention they had sought, and from the small ring of buildings that surrounded the ad-hoc drone launching pads a handful of guards, technicians, and supply personnel emerged. Out here on the fringe of Principay colony, shielded by the hills that lay between it and the bomb impact sites, the damage to the drones wasn’t that severe. None of the explosives inside them had cooked off at least. The same appeared to be true for the guard’s guns as well, because as they came out, they came out armed with laser carbines at the ready.

  Almost simultaneously, three blaster rifle shots tore through the night, downing two of the guards and distracting the rest of them. The discharge of the heavy sonic gun rocked a small group of guards that had just emerged from a side building, throwing them to the ground and scattering their weapons. Alexander, seeing a guard with a precision rail-rifle up in the small control tower preparing to fire at his yazri, fired the frag round from his area burst rifle. In half a second the entire top floor of the control tower exploded, glass shattering in all directions as the guard with the rifle and a pair of other guards were shredded and thrown clear like rag dolls.

  The overwhelming violence of their initial attack cowed the last few remaining guards, who quickly threw down their rifles and put their hands over their heads. None of the technicians or supply personnel were armed and most of them were frozen with fear.

  Pointing at
the last man who was moving, a middle-aged man who seemed intent on getting away, Alexander called to the yazri to stop him before he got to the quadcopter at the edge of the pad. With one shot between the shoulder blades, the yazri Priest brought the man down.

  “Everyone get down!” Alexander shouted. “On the ground! Hands where we can see them!” Looking back, he motioned for Specialist Alphabet to bring the truck forward with its big gun to over watch the prisoners.

  Once the prisoners were lined up within easy range of the gun truck, Alexander motioned for the three dismounted yazri to start clearing the buildings. Within minutes the entire compound was secured and some thirty prisoners were lined up, kneeling in the dirt near the gun truck.

  Throwing his big rifle back into the truck, Alexander pulled out his blaster pistol and blew out a long, stressful sigh. Then, turning back to the group of prisoners, he started the process of documenting all the evidence Marik’s lawyers would need in case the Solkin Authorities chose to review the case.

  Not fifteen minutes into the process, however, Alexander received a distress call that stopped him cold.

  “Sir, we’ve been… rolled a boulder on our truck… Brutian has Bug… Don’t think I… Help u…” The static on the linker from the extreme range couldn’t mask the fact that Captain Shannon Washington and Specialist Krrrz had obviously been waylaid by their enemy, Commander Titus Brutian.

  Grabbing Sergeant Hobbs by the arm, he told the tall yazri to take charge of the prisoners, and passed the job of documenting the evidence to Specialist Alphabet. Grabbing the precision rail-rifle and slug ammo he had collected from the would-be sniper’s body, Alexander checked the weapon, firing a test shot to ensure the fall hadn’t damaged it. Then, grabbing his gear-bag, he ran over to the lone quadcopter at the edge of the pad and started it up.

  Within moments Colonel Alexander was airborne, swiveling the light quadcopter before making a slow arc toward the north, accelerating as quickly as the nimble vehicle would go.