Stars & Empire: 10 Galactic Tales

by Jay Allan

  The pursuing Direwalkers simply cut across the carpet, and were almost upon her and Tanner.

  The rack with its showcase swords lay just ahead.

  “Catch!” As she ran, she tossed the Revision Box to Tanner— She leapt toward the rack, somersaulting over it— Grabbed two swords from the rack in midair—

  And landed on the other side.

  She pivoted.

  Tanner had vaulted over the rack as well, and two Direwalkers leaped after him in pursuit.

  She brought the swords about in a wide arc. Tanner stooped, and she cut the two Direwalkers in half before they touched the ground.

  Two more approached around the rack and she made short work of them.

  She saw a bright ball of flame at the periphery of her vision— She leaped toward the wall, and used it to slingshot into the air— Flames streamed past below her—

  She landed beside the Direwalker and its stolen fire sword.

  A jab, a parry, a slash, and she’d severed the hand holding the blade.

  A spin of the body, followed by a wide backstab, and she plunged her second sword into its heart.

  She hooked her boot into the hilt of the dropped fire sword, kicked the blade to eye level, and swapped one of her blades for that one. She immediately felt the spark of vitra inside her, jolting up her arm from the weapon.

  It felt good.

  Another stream of flame cut toward her—

  She parried with the fire blade—

  The flames parted in a tight V-shape that singed her hair and clothes.

  Two quick steps and a sideways leap from a pillar brought her to the Direwalker in question, and after a quick exchange of feints and stabs, she’d taken its head, and the other fire sword.

  More Direwalkers closed …

  She released the spark of vitra from the blades as she fought, launching hell-fire on all sides. She weaved, a dancer at play. Her rhythm was the blade and its fire; her music was the gush of blood and the sizzle of flesh and the screams of the dying. She avoided the carpet the entire time, though sometimes her foot brushed its edge.

  When it was done, and the Direwalkers lay around her in various states of mutilation and ash, she tossed one of the fire blades to Tanner, who’d wisely flattened himself against the wall and given her room to fight.

  “Nice,” Tanner said. There seemed a touch of awe in his voice. Or at least respect.

  “Well that’s that.” Ari felt immensely proud of herself. She’d barely broken a sweat. “I think I’m at twenty.”

  “Let’s just go.” Tanner seemed weary.

  She took the Revision Box from him, and hoisted it over her shoulder.

  The carpet began to writhe beside them. Tentacles formed, reaching for their feet.

  “Out of here!” Tanner turned to run along the space between carpet and wall.

  “No!” Ari released a surge of flame, and the tentacles instantly retreated. “We get the Control Room Box, then we leave.” Leaving now meant Marks had died for nothing.

  Shrieks and howls came from her left. Direwalkers flowed down the wide, branching stairs from the second level. Fifty Direwalkers. A hundred.

  “Ari…” Tanner laid a hand on her arm.

  Still more Direwalkers came down those stairs, the gols crowded so close together as to resemble a single entity, like the black python she’d seen at the circus as a child. A giant version of it anyway.

  “They’ll be time to get the Control Room Box another day,” Tanner said. “We’ve done what we came here to do. We’ve planted the tracker.”

  Even more Direwalkers came, and crowded down the stairs behind the others. Far more than Ari and Tanner could handle on their own, even with the swords.

  A tendril hurled at her from the carpet—

  She ducked—

  The tendril slammed into the wall, leaving cracks.

  She released another stream of flame into the carpet. The fire blackened the surface where it struck, and the creature squealed, retreating.

  “Ari let’s go!” Tanner said.

  But she was already running past him.

  And so Ari and Tanner ran from the mayor’s house with death in pursuit. One or two Direwalkers occasionally hindered their progress, but the pair cut them down easily enough. Across the grounds the two dashed, through the damaged gates, and out into the night.

  But they would not escape so easily.

  The army of Direwalkers pursued the entire way, and followed the pair onto the lamp-lit street beyond. The faster ones ran across the snowpack on all fours, while the more agile ones leaped between the rooftops of the houses beside them, sending snow sliding down onto the street.

  Though she inhabited the body of a gol, she was getting tired. Beside her, Tanner wasn’t faring much better. Both of them were winded. They couldn’t keep this up for much longer. The Revision Box was getting heavier and heavier on her shoulder. The sword felt like lead.

  She had an idea. It was a small hope, but it was chance, no matter how tiny.

  “Hold them off,” she said.

  “What?” Tanner’s voice exuded incredulity above the exhaustion.

  “Do it.” She halted on the snowpack, and dropped the chest.

  “Hope you know what you’re doing,” Tanner said, lifting the blade.

  CHAPTER 40

  Ari spun around, and was forced to slay two Direwalkers at the head of the pack. As Tanner defended against the others, she raised the sword over the box and let the vitra accumulate, but she didn’t release it. The blade glowed molten, and shook with the power of pent-up flames. The smoke plumes rose to engulf her hands. Her fingers burned, but there was nothing for it. She needed to put on the biggest show she could manage.

  The biggest of her life.

  “Halt, scum!” she shouted, her breath misting. The Direwalkers at the forefront had begun to overwhelm Tanner, and he retreated toward her. “Halt or I’ll destroy the Box! Halt I said!”

  The Direwalkers began to obey, one by one, and the onslaught slowed as the gols in the forefront held back those behind. Direwalkers occasionally broke through, but Tanner hacked them down.

  The Direwalkers formed a tentative half-circle, which quickly became a full circle as more and more Direwalkers arrived. Tanner patrolled that tight circle, brandishing his flaming weapon, forcing back those who came too near.

  The Direwalkers in the forefront snarled, and snapped at the air with their teeth. They reminded her of chained curs.

  Ari raised the blade higher, and accumulated even more vitra in the blade. The sword rumbled, and the smoke poured forth even more profusely. She could feel the heat over her whole body, and the snowpack below her began to melt. The air smelled of cooked meat, and the pain she felt in her hands bordered on indescribable. But she was a gol, and she’d discovered that she could ignore that pain.

  “Go ahead,” she said through gritted teeth. “Attack. By the time you touch me, your mayor’s precious Revision Box will be ashes. I guarantee you.”

  There was a commotion among the enemy, and the ranks rippled as a huge Direwalker shoved its way to the front. This one towered three heads above Ari, and it had four arms, two in the usual place, and two more midway the ribs. Each hand held a scimitar.

  The huge Direwalker bared its teeth in a rictus of hate, and those finger-long fangs pricked the air.

  It stepped toward Ari.

  Tanner lifted his fire blade to Fourarms’ throat.

  “Tanner wait,” Ari said.

  Fourarms glanced at Tanner as if he were a fly. A maggot. The heat from Tanner’s blade didn’t even touch its throat. She saw no scoring. No blistering.

  Fourarms glared at Ari for a long moment, then turned its head and spat some guttural words at the others. The Direwalkers seemed reluctant to obey at first, but Fourarms spat the strange words again, and the others slowly dispersed.

  Fourarms glowered at her a while longer. “We will meet again.”

  The giant Direwalker b
atted Tanner’s sword aside and sprinted after the others. It sheathed its four blades in mechanical sequence, and then hunched to run on all six appendages, seeming very much like an insect in the dark.

  Ari watched the horde vanish into the night, and she wondered what the citizens barricaded within their houses and observing from their windows thought of the whole bizarre proceeding.

  Well, there’d certainly be news for the criers tomorrow.

  “Twenty-seven,” Tanner said, gazing at the dead. “To your twenty.”

  “You win.” She released vitra and the sword went out. She sat down—collapsed, really—onto the chest, and unwrapped her blackened fingers from the hilt. To her disgust, some of her skin remained glued to the haft, and it stretched away from her palms like gauze. Her hands were ruined.

  “Take it easy there. Easy!” Tanner helped free her hands from the hilt, and then he bound her palms in fabric ripped from the cloaks of the dead Direwalkers. She kept a wary eye out while he worked.

  “Tanner,” she said.

  “Mmm?”

  This was hard, but it needed to be said. “Sorry for all the times I’ve been a bitch to you.”

  He laughed, just a little. “You’ve never been a bitch to me Ari.”

  “No, I have.” She looked at him and smiled sadly. “And I shouldn’t have. I’ll try to be less of a bitch in the future, okay?”

  He shook his head. “Okay Ari. Okay. You’re too hard on yourself.”

  She shrugged. “Maybe. But I can be too hard on others, too. The hammer of the forge inside me won’t back down sometimes, and it hurts the people I care about the most.”

  “Oh don’t you worry, I have a shield, Ari,” Tanner said. “Made of crazy-strong bronze. It’s a little battered, sure, but it’s never let me down yet.” He tied off the last of the makeshift bandages, and stood. “That should do it.”

  She clambered to her feet, and blinked the sudden stars away. She didn’t protest when Tanner bent to retrieve the Box from the melted snowpack. He could carry it. She was too exhausted.

  She’d escaped from the heart of darkness, from the domain of the only man she feared in this world. She hadn’t been afraid of him earlier today. But she was afraid of him now. More than anything. But fear was good. The fire sword had made her cocky. Lesson learned. She’d think twice before throwing away well-laid plans again. A good man had died today because of her.

  At least they’d managed to plant a tracker.

  She and Tanner kept their weapons out as they retreated wearily across the snowpack. Her sword was painful and awkward to grip, but there was nothing for it. Some of the Direwalkers had remained behind, and followed in the shadows. Both of them knew it. She’d have to take a roundabout route to the hideaway, and perhaps arrange an ambush along the way.

  “I believe it’s time we set up a meeting with The Dwarf,” Tanner said.

  She raised her eyebrows. “The Dwarf?”

  “Yes.” Tanner glanced at her. “The children restored his connection a few months back.”

  “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

  Tanner rested a gentle hand on her shoulder. “The Dwarf’s the only one who can talk to your father.”

  EPILOGUE

  Looking down from the balcony, Jeremy surveyed the clean-up of his reception hall. Some of the black-liveried servants mopped the blood and soot marks from the marble, others piled the mutilated bodies into barrows, while still others hauled the bodies away for burning in the kitchens. Some servants took down the ruined paintings. Some repaired the cracks in the walls.

  Ari. She’d pay for all this, he promised. Killing his Direwalkers. Interrupting his dinner party. Messing up his reception hall. Stealing his Revision Box. Oh, she’d pay.

  “You three!” he called down to the seamstresses he’d hired to cover the burn marks in his precious Living Carpet. “Careful now … that rug is worth more than your miserable hides combined! Make a mistake and you’ll never sew again, I swear it!” There was no real damage the seamstresses could do to the thing, of course, other than make it look even uglier. The women were merely a convenient outlet for his rage. Still, fear would make them work with more care and diligence. Fear. His favorite spur.

  With a sigh, he left the balcony and returned to his room. He hardly noticed the luxury around him anymore. The tapestries of the underwater cities he’d dreamed about. The sculptures of sea creatures. The miniature coral reefs. All commissioned for outrageous fees. Art that fed his obsession. Art based on water. Water. The one thing this world lacked in profusion. Blast this icy place!

  Ah well, he wasn’t here to brood on ice, art, or women. He glanced at the clock on his fireplace. Three o’clock. Right on time.

  He went to the mirror on the far side of the bed chamber, knelt on one knee, and inclined his head. The thread-of-gold tentacle on his sleeve caught the light.

  “Master,” he said.

  When he looked up, the dark shape that called itself One lurked within the mirror, near the bed. It might pass as human in that black robe, with its face hidden in the shadow of the hood. But it was not human.

  As usual, Jeremy felt the undeniable fervor that accompanied the Great One’s appearance, a fervor that nearly overcame him. He could have wept, shouted for joy, and laughed maniacally, all at the same time.

  He resisted the urge to turn around. The Great One resided in the mirror, his mirror, and nowhere else.

  Nowhere else.

  The thought filled him with ecstasy. Exclusivity. Such a drug.

  Those unseen lips spoke to him in a baritone that was too low to belong to any man. “Status update.” The voice came from behind Jeremy, and again he had to resist the urge to look. He’d embarrassed himself far too many times doing that.

  “I’ve created ten thousand of the new gols, as you commanded, Great One, and garrisoned them throughout the city, near the portal hops. They are ready to march at your order. The unit leaders have been assigned, the instructions uploaded.”

  “Excellent,” the Great One said. “I am pleased.”

  Jeremy felt his heart leap. “May I have my reward, then?”

  “Not yet.”

  Jeremy lowered his eyes. It wasn’t fair. But he couldn’t say that. Not to the Great One.

  The voice assumed a strange inflection. “Have there been … difficulties?” It sounded almost accusing.

  “No, master,” Jeremy said, maybe a little too quickly, and he twisted his lips at the sudden distaste in his mouth. “No difficulties at all.”

  “Good,” the Great One said. “Because if there were difficulties, and you didn’t tell me…”

  Jeremy put on his best smile, and he looked right into the darkness of that face. “All is going according to plan, Great One.”

  He gazed into that black hood for as long as he dared, and then lowered his eyes. When he glanced up again, the Great One was gone.

  Jeremy giggled, and spoke to the empty air. “All according to my plan, that is!”

  ----o0o----

  Thank you for reading The Forever Gate Parts One and Two!

  Parts Three to Five are available for download today, so if you enjoyed the story, feel free to pick up the other installments—you can also grab the reasonably priced COMPENDIUM EDITION, which includes parts One through Five. See the author links at the end of this section for further information.

  About the Author

  Isaac Hooke’s experimental novel, The Forever Gate, achieved Amazon #1 bestseller status in both the science fiction and fantasy categories when it was released in 2013, and was recognized as Indie Book of the Day. His next novel, ATLAS, went on to sell more copies than he ever dreamed of, and was subsequently picked up by Amazon’s 47North imprint.

  Isaac holds a degree in engineering physics, though his more unusual inventions remain fictive at this time.

  He is an avid blogger, cyclist, and photographer who resides in Edmonton, Alberta.

  To be notified when his next n
ovel comes out, click here to sign up for his New Release mailing list. This list is only for new release announcements—no ads, no blog posts. You can unsubscribe at any time. He frequently offers discounts on new books, and gives out free gifts to subscribers. Here is the link again, spelled out for ease of cut and paste: http://bit.ly/atlaslist

  You can keep in touch with Isaac or his writing through one—or all—of the following means:

  Twitter:

  @IsaacHooke

  Facebook:

  http://fb.me/authorisaachooke

  Goodreads:

  http://goodreads.com/isaachooke

  Website:

  http://isaachooke.com

  Email:

  isaac@isaachooke.com

  ----o0o----

  Find Isaac’s Books on Amazon

  BONUS!

  “Caterpillar Without a Callsign”

  ATLAS SERIES Short Story

  My name’s Mason. I don’t have a callsign, not yet. I’m just a caterpillar. A baby moth.

  I joined up because, well, I’ve always wanted to pilot an ATLAS mech. What can I say? We’re talking three meters of pure, mobile destructive power here. A thousand hydraulically actuated joints. Head-mounted sensor package with built in LIDAR, night vision, flash vision, zoom. Crash protection. Jump jets. Active protection countermeasures. Swappable weaponry. Deployable ballistic shield.

  Sound like the war machine of your dreams?

  It is.

  I finally got my chance to pilot one of these babies on a little deployment out in Mongolia.

  Under a rather unusual set of circumstances…

  Introduction

  “Caterpillar Without A Callsign” is a military science-fiction short story set in the ATLASuniverse, and focuses on the backstory of one of the secondary characters. If you’re unaware,ATLAS is a military science fiction novel cum space opera I published in late December of 2013. The book went on to sell more copies than I ever dreamed of, and was subsequently picked up by Amazon’s 47North imprint.