Apex

by Aer-ki Jyr

  A slight tremor ran through the ship, barely noticeable. Had she stayed in the pod she wouldn’t have even felt it, but the fact was there shouldn’t have been anything to make even the slightest disturbance during the drift phase of a jump. The ship’s engines were powered down, and they were completely alone in the void between stars. Had they hit some debris it would have either torn the ship apart or cored directly through it without so much as a bump, given the velocities involved. No, that vibration had felt much more natural.

  Regardless, it wasn’t something she could let go, so she reluctantly pulled her bodysuit back on and donned a pair of slip-­on shoes, then out of habit Jalia slipped her gun belt on as well. She was getting that same bad feeling all over again.

  As soon as she left her quarters there was a much larger bang, this time the distinctive feel of an explosion elsewhere in the ship. Out of reflex her chest tightened up, expecting to lose her breath from decompression, but none came.

  “What the vetmar is going on?” she said aloud as she took off running towards the bridge.

  Chapter 10

  “OH NO, NO, no, no, no, no, no!” Jalia said after reactivating the sensors and seeing the hologram of the mercenary frigate pressed up against the top of her ship. They had attached and breached the hull above cargo bay 3.

  She thought fast, realizing they were as good as dead now. They couldn’t maneuver much midjump anyway, but with that ship already attached they weren’t going to be getting away, not to mention the hole in their hull. Why couldn’t the mercs have just used an airlock?

  The only hope they had was if the Cres could kill all the intruders which, maybe if she . . .

  Jalia hurriedly pulled up another schematic of the ship, this one listing all the access doors. She remotely closed off cargo bay 3 from the rest of the ship and locked the doors in place. There was no way of knowing how many mercs were already on board, or how many had gotten out of the cargo bay, but at least this should buy them some time, maybe split them up into smaller numbers.

  Junta, stay on the bridge and lock yourself in, one of the Cres told her telepathically. It wasn’t Ivara, her ‘voice’ was a bit different.

  It was a good idea too.

  Jalia closed the bridge doors, both entrances, and sealed them. Then she began pulling up the security camera feeds from around the ship. There weren’t many, but . . .

  Cargo bay 3’s camera was malfunctioning but the upper hallway grid, just outside the bay, showed heavily armored troops with helmets obscuring their features, but they were accompanied by two larger beings. They were bipeds, but with horizontal torsos, a thick, bony head, and a pair of massive tails. They carried no armor or weapons, their two clawed hands were empty, but she knew they were a greater threat than the troops.

  They were Dreklors.

  Jalia’s hand drifted down to the usually reassuring touch of her lachar pistol, except this time it didn’t comfort her. It would be next to useless against the Dreklors. Their skin was tough as stone, and seemed to suck up lachar blasts. It would take an insane amount of firepower to take them down, and they were quick and intelligent enough to make sure you didn’t have that opportunity. And who knew how many more the mercs had with them.

  Jalia concentrated and yelled inside her mind. Ivara, can you hear me? Anyone? They’ve got Dreklors with them!

  There was no response. Apparently the Cres weren’t monitoring her thoughts around the clock.

  Alright, then there was one other way . . .

  Jalia activated the shipwide intercom. The mercs would be able to hear what she was saying, but at this point that really didn’t matter.

  “They’ve breached cargo bay 3. I’ve locked down the bay remotely, but some of them are already out. They’ve brought at least two Dreklors with them, and they’re out of the bay. They’ve disabled the internal camera so I don’t know what else they’ve got.”

  Are you armed? It was Ivara this time.

  Yes, she thought back.

  I need you to get to cargo bay 4. And hurry!

  Jalia didn’t hesitate. Ivara had some sort of a plan and that was enough for her. She unsealed the bridge doors and opened the one that led to cargo bay 4, just a short jog from the bridge. Taking up position behind the doorjamb, Jalia opened the bridge door and peeked her head out.

  All clear.

  She ran nine steps and faced left, opening the cargo bay door as quickly as possible and scurrying inside. Jalia closed it behind her and looked around.

  The small bay was only partially full of crates, most of which were stacked in rows back against the wall opposite the main loading door, which led to a ramp down to the accessway. In the large open area one blue/grey crate was being guarded by a fully armored Ivara.

  “Take my place,” she pleaded. “I have to help the others. Barricade yourself and protect the relic at all costs.”

  “Good luck,” Jalia offered as the Cres slipped out the small personnel door and shut it behind her.

  “Barricade . . .” she told herself, looking around until she spotted a lifter. There were two on a rack next to the main door.

  She ran over and grabbed one, activating it. The low prongs floated up off the floor slightly and Jalia pushed the device over to the nearest row of crates, slid the prongs into the niches beneath one, then toggled the activation switch and it lifted up off the floor. Using the engine this time, she drove the crate over to the personnel door and blocked the doorframe with it.

  Next she began pulling crates over in front of the main door. It took six to cover the entire width, but they weren’t high enough. She went back and began getting another one to start a second row on top when she heard a bang outside the personnel door.

  “Hurry,” she told herself as she floated the crate up over her head and slid it on top. She went and got a second one, moved toward the main door, then thought twice about it. She swerved over to the side and set it against the one on the personnel door, doubling that barricade.

  Just as she moved off, the pair of crates moved half a meter back as an explosion rocked her ears. The closer crate had cracked open and was spilling tiny packets of foodstuffs out all over the wall. A mercenary partially appeared, digging his way through the heap.

  Jalia pulled out her pistol and put three shots into him, then took cover behind the Cres crate a few meters back. Anytime she saw a shift in that pile of packets she didn’t wait and peppered it with lachar blasts immediately.

  A few packets spurted out from behind the damaged crate on the opposite side and Jalia adjusted her aim over there, waiting. A blue/white armored head appeared a second later and she shot it dead center in the forehead, knocking it back and down. She fired three more times at him until she was forced to duck down as a second merc came around the crate.

  Jalia counted two loud heartbeats then popped back up on the other end of the Cres crate and fired off a quick shot that missed. There were now three mercs in the bay with her.

  A ‘ting, ting, ting’ sound sent a shiver up her spine and ended directly on top of the crate, less than a meter from her headtails. She didn’t even have time to swear, instinctively bolting out of cover and running back towards the crate rows and away from the grenade.

  She threw herself around the corner, belatedly aware that she wasn’t getting shot at, just as the sonic boom rattled her teeth.

  She couldn’t stop. She had to keep moving.

  After falling to a knee as she skidded around the corner, the Junta leapt up into a run and came around the opposite side of the far row, firing blindly. She pumped several shots into a horde of mercs coming into the bay, then pulled back before they could shoot.

  She was dead, and she knew it.

  Jalia ran back to the farthest row of crates and leapt up on top, wedging herself into the corner between three of them on the second row up where there was a gap. This, at
least, gave her some cover and elevation. Enough for a last stand anyway.

  She waited there, counting her last few heartbeats, until she heard footstrikes approaching from her left. Taking one last solid breath, she steadied herself and laid down flat on her stomach with her legs bent. When the moment was right she straightened them, pushing herself forward to the edge of the crate she was laying on and into view of the walkway between crate rows.

  Jalia fired as quickly as she could, making every shot count. The mercs reacted, ducking back and to the sides, but their options were limited, stuck between rows. Their return fire went high, missing her low profile, then the air around them rippled and their bodies were smashed into the crates, their armor crunching on impact and their bodies dropping to the floor . . .

  RIAX WOKE UP, thoroughly disoriented. There was blinding pain throughout his body . . . then it quickly diminished as his waking mind locked it down.

  A memory of pain, nothing more, he realized.

  The dull ache permeating his body was reality, so he focused on that as his eyes watered against a bright light.

  Everything hurt, he couldn’t see a thing, and his head was swirling. He fought to regain control and his senses gradually cleared. The light in his face coalesced into a thin crack in otherwise darkness.

  Riax moved about, realizing that he was laying down . . .

  And missing his right arm.

  The memory of pain returned, and he immediately pushed it from his mind.

  He tried to sit up and hit his head on something hard above him. His eyesight was continuing to adjust and he began to make out the confines of an egg-­like pod, as well as the fact that he was completely nude.

  Suddenly he realized there were several ­people nearby, their minds highly agitated. He heard weaponsfire and began to come to his senses more quickly.

  There was danger. He had to clear his mind and act now.

  He began to make out the interior as his eyes further adjusted and he realized that he was inside a medical stasis pod, a broken one at that. The crack above him in the casing wasn’t supposed to be there. The damage had probably deactivated the pod, waking him while it was still closed.

  More agitation, many minds. One was Junta, he was sure, and it was backed into a corner. He also recognized a Minori, but the other minds were unfamiliar. Looked to be about a 1 v 15 . . .

  Time to change those odds.

  There were no internal controls for the pod, but it wasn’t exactly a safe. The seals would crack with enough pressure, so he focused his mind and telekinetically felt out the gel-­padded interior curves and pushed . . .

  The dorsal ridge seam separated, but the two halves wouldn’t fully open. The intact one hit a barrier a few centimeters out while the cracked one on Riax’s left went further but also stopped short, exposing a wash of light that left Riax’s eyes blinking away tears again.

  He forced himself to adjust faster and sat up, poking his head into the air and looking around. His pod was encased in some type of box, which was preventing full aperture release. The box was damaged, the edges torn and torqued.

  Explosive damage, he figured. Explained the damage to his pod.

  The head of an armored figure came into view at the end of the ‘trench’ Riax was sitting in. He sensed three others around him, plus many more nearby. They were all focused on the Junta, so he assumed they were enemies. Fortunately they hadn’t seemed to notice him yet.

  Riax pulled within himself and began to summon his energy. He was weak, very, very weak, but he had to act now. He pulled his knees up to his sculpted chest, tightening all his muscles as he drew his concussive energy into the center of his body, forming a small point within his mind. He fed that sphere with more and more energy, growing and containing it simultaneously.

  When he had gathered enough he released his tense muscles, flexing ‘out’ and spherically releasing the concussive energy blast.

  The top of his pod blew off, as did the remaining upper half of the Cres crate containing it. The minds around him altered in state as they were toppled as well in the blast wave. Riax stood up, knowing he had a brief opportunity. His head washed with disorientation, but he focused and held his balance.

  He was in a storage facility of some kind, with stacks of crates and armored troops scattered about. Six were visible, staggering to their feet at various rates.

  Riax looked at two on his right, his eyes tightening slightly.

  The assault rifles the mercs were wielding suddenly flew out of their hands and pinned themselves against the ceiling.

  Riax looked to his left and the other four mercs’ weapons, one of which was still laying on the ground where he’d dropped it, were likewise ripped from their grips and headed upwards . . . one with the merc still attached. Riax hadn’t broken his grip, and the mercenary clung to his weapon as he was lifted off his feet.

  Riax lifted his one remaining arm and flexed his palm at the dangling merc. A small, rippling sphere of distorted air shot out and hit the armored Minori in the gut. Its grip lost, it fell two meters, landing squarely on all three legs and glaring at Riax through its clear face shield.

  Dropping to his knee then jumping up quickly, Riax cleared the debris and came down on the cargo bay floor two meters away from the Minori, landing cleanly on his bare feet. Still concentrating on holding the weapons to the ceiling, he quickly gathered more concussive energy inside of him.

  The Minori lunged at him, clawed forearms raised and reaching for Riax’s exposed flesh.

  A quick palm release sent the Minori back the way it’d come, impacting the wall at an angle and bouncing off it to the ground as more weaponsfire sounded behind a nearby row of crates.

  Riax pushed his headache aside and ran to his left toward the pair of weaponless mercs as they scrambled for cover. He batted them aside with another concussive blast, bouncing them off nearby crates and knocking one unconscious as he sprinted by, turning the corner on the nearest row stacked four high and two wide.

  Another row stood beyond that, along with two more mercs in the walkway gap, their backs to him as they focused on something beyond. Releasing his telekinetic grip on the weapons, he grabbed both of the mercs and flung them up and over his head behind him where they fell to the ground along with the assault rifles.

  He could still sense the Junta ahead, alive, so he beat his way past another three mercs until he rounded the last crate stack and saw that row filled with another group of armored bodies. He didn’t bother to count, but did notice their attention on a small nook in the crate stack along the wall. The Junta lay there, grasping for as much cover as it could.

  Riax flung his left hand forward and released a torrent of energy, not a single blast like before, but a constant flow, akin to an invisible river of kinetic force. The walkway between crates rippled with visual distortion as the mercs were knocked off their feet and carried down the row, ending up in a pile against the far wall.

  His breathing heavy, Riax walked down to where the Junta was and turned his back to it so he could watch both directions at once, realizing how badly he missed his right arm. He’d busted up the attackers, but they weren’t down and out. The next move was theirs.

  While he waited, he telekinetically grabbed one of the assault rifles from the pile of mercs to his left, pulling it through the air and into a one handed grip. He sensed a mind approaching on the right from behind the crates, as well as several more of the others he’d gotten past getting to their feet and closing in.

  Riax pulled another two assault rifles out of the pile and dropped them at his feet. Then another and another, disarming the mercs as they crawled over each other trying to get up. On his right he pushed a shot wide, impacting the wall as a merc came around the corner into view and fired. Riax pulled the rifle towards him, yanking the merc off his feet before his grip broke. He fell on his face as Riax added to h
is pile of weapons.

  A few more on either end of the walkway tried again, then the whole lot of them retreated out of sight, giving Riax the opportunity to fall back against the crate that Jalia was laying on. He leaned there, trying to keep his wits about him as he fought off excessive fatigue.

  Jalia carefully peeked over the edge, looking down on the nude alien. “Thanks,” she said meekly, not knowing what to make of him.

  Riax didn’t understand her word. He was busy monitoring the position of the retreating minds as they gathered elsewhere in the storage area and didn’t telepathically sense her sentiments.

  “Come down here,” he said in her native tongue.

  Jalia blinked in surprise, and gingerly did as she was told. Standing up on the crate she lithely hopped down beside the pile of assault rifles, holding her pistol at ready and glancing in either direction.

  “Who are you?” she asked, this time speaking Esset, the Junta race’s primary language. “And where did you come from?”

  Riax understood her this time. “My name is Riax, and I just woke up in a box,” he answered pithily. “Whose troops are those, where am I, and what the hell is going on?”

  “They’re mercs,” Jalia answered, trying to make sense of it all. “You’re aboard my ship, midjump. We were boarded and I was just about to get killed until you showed up,” she answered back, mildly sarcastic but still very grateful. “What box?”

  Riax pointed through the crate wall. “A few meters over there, in the middle of the floor.”

  Jalia’s eyes widened and she fought off the urge to freeze up. He had to be referring to the Cres crate, but that would mean he was . . .

  She glanced back and forth again down the row, pushing that thought aside and focusing on the danger of the moment. “Do you suppose they’ve gone?”