Apex

by Aer-ki Jyr

  “You breathe our atmosphere. Show yourself.”

  “As you wish,” the leader said hesitantly. A moment later the helmet split laterally along with the upper chest cavity and peeled outward, revealing a small, smooth skinned reptile seated in a miniature control station. “We have been forced to make many changes,” it said with a timid, strained voice . . . a large contrast from the intimidating resonance generated from its suit.

  “I want the fully story later. Right now I sense you have something urgent to tell me.”

  “Our Matriarch is gravely ill. We have done all that we can and it is not enough. Your medical knowledge far surpasses ours.”

  Riax stared at him for a long moment. “Where is she?”

  “On the planet. We dared not move her until you agreed to help us. We will have her brought up to the command ship at once.”

  Riax sighed. “No. Clear me a direct route to her location, I’ll fly down myself.”

  The green armor reclosed around the diminutive alien. “We will have a fighter escort standing by at your convenience.”

  “Twenty minutes,” Riax told him. “Go.”

  The leader made a fist with his left arm and clanked it across his chest in a salute, then turned and headed back up the shuttle’s ramp with his bodyguards following. Riax turned around and looked at his own bodyguards.

  “Looks like we’re going to be delayed after all,” he said in the commerce language. “I’m heading planetside.”

  “Do you want us with you?” Steve asked in his native language, which Riax had previously succeeded in breaking down after comparing it to the commerce language within the Kayna’s mind during the last jump.

  Riax shook his head. “This is something I have to do alone. They won’t be a threat to me. Their ruling bloodline has genetic memory from their ancestors, which they pass along to their broods. They know better than to mess with a Human.”

  “Still,” Marren said, coming up behind him as the shuttle left the bay, “a bodyguard would be prudent . . . just in case.”

  “I’m taking one of the fighters down.”

  “Single occupant?” Marren asked.

  Riax smiled wryly. “Not what I meant.”

  Chapter 28

  RIAX RETRIEVED A few pieces of portable medical equipment that he’d acquired from the outpost and jumped into the nearest of the two fighters. He’d pulled a preliminary maintenance check on both spacecraft earlier, but had only gotten through 50% of the micro-­refurbishment on this one and none on the other. He was confident that it would operate without incident, but there had been minor degradation of some systems after so long in storage, which could be trouble in any prolonged campaign.

  Fortunately this mission should be little more than a planetary drop and return. The Matriarch was near death, as gleaned from the Rikator’s mind, and regardless of the outcome this would be a short stay. Riax wasn’t a med tech, nor did he have access to a proper med bay, but the small devices in his possession were probably considerably more advanced than any full scale medical facilities in the present-­day galaxy. He might be able to help her, if not he would know quick enough.

  The prong-­like Human fighter exited the Resolute, maneuvering on magnetic drives that let it ‘grip’ the planet’s magnetic field and provide propulsion in any direction, essentially crawling along it. This gave it a remarkable advantage over other starfighters and Riax had to slow his maneuvers considerably for his escort to catch up as they scrambled around behind him.

  Two of them jumped ahead of him, with the rest following in a wide V behind. They led him down into the atmosphere and across a small continent to the largest city on Deorrat. In the center of the glowing metropolis, which they were approaching during the night cycle, was a large spire twice as high as any other building. It came to a point at the top, but as the fighters approached, that ‘point’ turned out to be a wide landing pad.

  Mildly impressed with the size of the structure, Riax landed his elongated fighter on the deck and left it in guard mode as he exited with a satchel of medical equipment. A full 52 guards met and escorted him down into the royal palace through a flat surface entrance that led to a recessed lift.

  There were many mechanical suits walking about in the building, all of which made way for the contingent on reflex. His escorts deposited Riax in the royal chambers with a minimum of delay, handing him over to four individuals, each wearing the green armor variant. Only the Matriarch was without a set of armor, lying curled up in a small ball in a basket-­like bed with steep walls that doubled as heating elements.

  Riax pushed past the attendants and put a hand on her tiny green head, immediately frowning. He pulled out a small scanner and quickly confirmed his own diagnosis.

  “She’s been poisoned,” he said, brandishing a small cylinder the size of his finger.

  “We detected none,” one of the attendants said in their typical synthetic voice.

  “It’s genetic, transmitted through a virus that triggers her body to create and secrete the poison within her own cells. It never enters her circulatory system, so not easy to detect.”

  “Can you save her?” another one asked.

  “If she can hold on another hour, yes,” he said, moving the cylinder over her forehead, back, and tail. “Her genetic code has been altered and it will take time to repair the damage, meanwhile her body continues to create the poison that’s killing her.”

  “Who could have done this?” one of the attendants asked the others.

  “I don’t know,” one of them said, “but we will find out . . . and when we do we’ll glass their homeworld.”

  “You will do nothing of the sort,” Riax said, scolding the Rikator as he worked.

  “Who are you to dictate . . .” the armored figure said, stopping as Riax turned around and glared at him. The Rikator nodded in supplication and retreated a step, remaining silent.

  “Vengeance is not a simple thing,” Riax explained as he continued to siphon off more of the poison. “If not carefully and accurately enacted, it becomes barbarism. And barbarism is not something we tolerate from our allies and associates.”

  He put the cylinder aside for a moment and placed a small triangular device on the Matriarch’s chest, linking it to a handheld device. It began mapping out her genetics from numerous cells, hoping to find variations that could then be used to reset her original code. If all of the cells had been converted, then the process would become much more complicated.

  Riax held the monitor in his left hand, toggling it telepathically as he continued to siphon off poison with the cylinder in his right for a long time. The advisors kept a respectful distance and remained silent until the unarmored Rikator suddenly inhaled deeply, blinking her tiny eyes rapidly.

  “What is happening?” one of them demanded.

  Riax continued to work as she began twitching uncontrollably. “Her body is resetting. It may look violent, but it’s progress.”

  “She will live then?”

  “Probably,” Riax said, setting up a tiny tripod next to the Matriarch’s bed. It had a crystal atop and on activation bathed the room in bright red light. He set the genetic analysis kit aside and took a seat against a nearby pillar. “This will take a while. In the meantime, tell me what has transpired in the past 16,000 years . . .”

  IT WAS SLOW going at first, but eventually the reclusive aliens divulged the long, bloody path that had brought them to this point. Like many, Riax suspected, they had suffered in the absence of the Humans. Many other races formerly kept in check by the Empire had rose up and asserted themselves in the power vacuum . . . with disastrous consequences.

  The Rikator had once been an industrious, highly populated race with enclaves on many worlds. They were miners, farmers, and builders with a decent military presence, thanks to their technological creations, but stand against wave after wave of co
nquering armies they could not. Their worlds were taken from them, their ­people enslaved and forced to work to fuel and strengthen the very war machines that subjugated them. Excess population was exterminated and the number of free Rikator left in the galaxy diminished to less than .05% of their original broods.

  Two small planets remained in free Rikator possession out of what had once been over 300. The few survivors determined that the only way to survive was to let themselves become extinct, so they created the Xiat, a race of technologically armored bipeds that subsequently invaded and exterminated the remaining free Rikator.

  The Xiat then went on to seize other worlds, including those with Rikator slave labor. They gradually killed or drove off the indigenous populations and all remaining Rikator in the galaxy disappeared. As far as the public was concerned, the race of small, industrious reptiles no longer existed, crushed under the boot of the militant Xiat.

  After securing thirty seven systems spread across a wide swath of the galaxy, the Xiat halted their territorial expansion and turtled up. They declared their systems off limits to public transit and enforced that edict with lethal efficiency. A few belligerent races had taken their chances and attempted to annex Xiat territory, but each was met with an unyielding campaign to recapture, remove, and pursue their conquerors back to their homeworlds, which were then punished for their impudence.

  The Xiat lost billions of lives in their defensive efforts, but one thought above all else drove their fanaticism. Fear was the best defense of all, and if they mimicked the barbarism of their enemies then few would challenge them. Peace was an invitation for exploitation, thus the Xiat concluded that they must become the aggressor in order to prevent themselves from ending up the victims once again.

  Riax listened for the most part, asking few questions. Though he didn’t let his emotions show, he was conflicted. Part of him wanted to beat the life out of the Rikator for what they’d done, while another part of him admired them for finding a way to survive. What was a race to do when backed into a corner and facing extinction?

  If it were Humans, he knew the answer. They would stay true to themselves to the last man, because becoming the enemy was worse than defeat. They would be the living dead and an abomination. But these weren’t Humans, and he didn’t expect them to behave as such, yet still there were limits to how much he could forgive.

  Riax would have to deal with the Rikator eventually, but one factor in their favor was that they chose to become isolationists rather than continue as conquerors. That suggested there was still a shred of nobility within them, something worth salvaging. He might let them retain their sovereignty under restrictions, but that was a decision that would have to wait until he was in a position to enforce it. Right now all that mattered was getting to Cres space and under the protection of their fleets enact the seeding protocol. Once that was begun, he could begin to restructure a fractured galaxy one piece at a time.

  Several hours of revelations later the Matriarch’s advisors were interrupted by a fast ‘click, click, click’ sound. They immediately stepped forward and knelt before their ruler.

  “My condition has improved,” she said in her native language, which Riax could understand. “What have the doctors done . . . and, what is this device? Its color is offensive.”

  “Matriarch, we are pleased . . .” one of the green armored Rikator, who now looked as if he was clad in black armor thanks to the color saturation from the glowing crystal, was interrupted by a fairly good imitation of the ‘click, click, click’ sound from Riax.

  The Matriarch lifted her head, enraged by the insolence and saw Riax sitting nearby with a stern look on his face.

  “He is Human,” one of the advisors offered to break the moment of silence that followed. “He is the one who has treated you.”

  “Your kind are supposed to be extinct,” she said in Terran.

  “Fortunately for you we’re not. You were poisoned.”

  Her tiny black eyes narrowed. “Where have you been . . . and who poisoned me?”

  “I was stuck in stasis and I have no idea who poisoned you, but I doubt it was one of your own. The technology involved is beyond your understanding.”

  “Stasis . . .” she mewed, making small chirping noises as she thought. “Your survival was a mistake?”

  “I seem to get that reaction from everyone. Bottom line is I’m here, Humans are back, someone wants you dead, I’m just passing through the system, and you’re welcome. Now, I have to be leaving.”

  “Just a moment,” she said as he stood up. “I have questions for you.”

  “And I’m in a hurry. ­People are out to kill me too, and are chasing me as we speak. I have to get to friendly space before they catch up.”

  “Who is pursuing you?”

  “It would be easier to list who wasn’t,” Riax scoffed. “Mostly mercs, but the Cres had to tangle with many others when they dug me out of the crash site.”

  “Forgive me for intruding,” one of the advisors interrupted. “But four days ago we intercepted a scout ship entering the system. It fled before we could . . . stop it,” he stammered, glancing at Riax. “It arrived on the same jumpline as the Human vessel did.”

  “What line did it leave on?” Riax asked.

  “The Prelor jumpline.”

  “Well they guessed wrong, because we’re not headed that way. Still, if it was a scout, then word of our route could have gotten out ahead of us.”

  “How many of you are there?” the Matriarch asked.

  “I’m the only survivor. That device will remain here and assist in your recovery. I will return to collect it at a later date. See that you don’t misplace it.”

  Slowly the Matriarch attempted to stand, but was only able to sit erect. She fiddled with the triangle on her chest.

  Riax telekinetically removed it and floated it up into his hand. “As for your assassin, he altered your genetic code so that your body produced the toxin. The alteration was accomplished through viral infection. Have any others been taken ill in this manner?”

  “None,” the advisor closest to him stated with certainty.

  “Then I would suggest you keep yourself in as sterile conditions as possible. This device will also help reduce the odds of viral infection, so I suggest you sleep with it, ugly or not.”

  “I will take that under advisement,” she answered diplomatically, though clearly not used to being talked down to.

  “And when I return, we’re going to have a long discussion about your history of misdeeds. Until that time, no more shooting down ships that trespass into your territory. Feel free to intercept them and insist that they return on the jumpline that they entered, but if you keep killing them you’re going to make me very mad. Given your genetic memories I assume you know what that means?”

  The Matriarch stared him down. “We have done what we must to survive. We make no apologies for it.”

  “Do not add to it in the interim,” he said, returning her gaze with his own.

  “I trust you will deal equally harsh with the predators that now roam free in this galaxy?”

  “Yes,” he said, switching to the Rikator’s native language.

  “It will take time to communicate the edict to our other systems.”

  “I know,” Riax said, turning to leave.

  “Human . . .”

  Riax paused, glancing back over his shoulder but not fully turning to face her.

  “I owe you my life.”

  “Guard it carefully, Matriarch. Someone still wants you dead.”

  Chapter 29

  RIAX FLEW HIS starfighter back into orbit and landed in the Resolute’s bay a mere seven hours after he’d left, with Orrona waiting for him at the foot of his ship when he debarked. Marren and Ella emerged from the shadows as well.

  “That was quick,” Orrona commented.

  �
�We need to keep on the move,” Riax commented as he narrowed his eyes. “What’s wrong?”

  “We think it’s time to call for support,” she said as the other two joined the impromptu council. “This ship’s sensor profile must be common knowledge by now, and with all the upgrades you’ve made we can’t leave it behind either.”

  “You think they’ll be waiting for us at Iras?” Riax surmised.

  “It’s a jumpship hub,” Ella weighed in. “They’d be stupid not to.”

  “Add in the fact that we’ve only seen mercs chasing us since we left Borris,” Marren reminded him, “and the question remains . . . where are the major players at? I doubt their fleets just turned tail and went home.”

  “With the battleship in tow, our speed is limited,” Riax said, laying out their options. “Even so, the jump to Iras will only take nineteen days. That’s not enough time for a jumpship to arrive from even the edge of Cres space, and I don’t like the odds with us waiting it out somewhere. The faster we move the safer we are.”

  “Call for support to meet us down the line,” Orrona suggested. “Unless you want to hide the Resolute and take alternate transport.”

  “We’re past that now. I can’t leave all this unattended,” he said, gesturing to the Human technology strewn about the cargo bay. “But if I send a signal that our enemies can intercept, we’ll be walking into a trap at any rendezvous point we arrange.”

  “Either way, we don’t like our chances,” Marren announced. “We need to get off the grid again.”

  Riax gripped his right hand in his left and massaged it as he thought, a habit he’d picked up since regrowing it. “With the engine upgrades I’ve made, we can exit at a jumppoint outside the star system, assuming we’re not in a hurry getting there. We can send the Concordat battleship ahead of us, hang back on the periphery, and take a look at what’s waiting for us before we dive into the fray.”

  “There’s a chance the battleship has been tagged by now too,” Ella added.