by T. R. Harris
Chapter 19
The tiny rescue pod could fit easily within the landing bay of the Pegasus, and once it was securely inside and the atmosphere returned to the chamber, Kaylor, Jym and Sherri had an emotional reunion.
The two aliens also knew Trimen—he had helped supervise the implantation of their ATD’s—and yet they had not become friends. The three aliens acknowledged each other with nods, and then they all turned to stare at Ruszel.
Sherri could see the green-skinned Tel’oran suddenly turn nervous and self-conscious. She walked up to him. “I want to thank you for all the assistance you gave my friend Riyad Tarazi, as well as what you’ve done so far for Kaylor and Jym.”
The alien flinched a bit, but then quickly regained control of his expression. “I ... I welcome your thanks, I suppose. But you do know I am here against my will?”
“That I regret,” Sherri said. “But it’s for a good cause, I assure you. With the turmoil in your Nebula, I’m sure you will find that you’ve joined the winning side in the coming conflict.”
“I did not join any side,” Ruszel stated adamantly. “I am acting only out of self-preservation. Whichever side helps me to that end, I will support.”
Trimen stepped up to Ruszel. “His loyalties are now in question,” the handsome alien said.
“They always have been!” Ruszel exclaimed.
“At least he’s honest,” Sherri said with a grin. “But now we have real work ahead of us. We need to figure out a way of rescuing Adam and the rest of the team from the Kracori. That won’t be easy. But first things first ... I need to pee like a racehorse!”
Chapter 20
It was a rare event when the Elder of the Juirean Council Elite would accompany an attack fleet on its mission, yet Wydor bin Sulic wasn’t about to miss this engagement. After ten years of hiding in a remote corner of the galaxy, the Juirean people were about to reassert themselves and reclaim that which they had created—the Juirean Expansion. The destruction of the Kracori race was an essential part of that process, and Wydor would witness the glorious event firsthand, as few Elders before him ever had.
For millennia to come, Juirean historians would refer to this particular strike force as the Blood Fleet, a nomenclature chosen by the Council itself to signify the unique composition of its crew.
For the past two thousand years—half the age of the various Juirean empires and Expansions—battle fleets had been crewed by a conglomeration of various alien races, with barely a tenth of the crews consisting of Juireans. With the awesome size of the galaxy and the scarcity of Juirean natives, mixed crews were a necessity.
And yet this fleet was made up entirely of Juireans, one hundred eight thousand of them spread over four thousand ninety-two warships. The massive fleet ranged from the giant Class Six battlecruisers all the way down to tiny two-person attack arrows, designed primarily as guided missiles for suicide runs.
Prior to the current resurgence, the idea of intentionally sending Juireans off to commit suicide in battle would have been unheard of. Yet this mission was of the utmost importance. By obliterating the race of creatures that had wrecked such havoc on the planet Juir, Wydor would be sending a message to the rest of the galaxy that no race challenging the Juireans would go unpunished.
Even now, as the fleet neared the Juddle Nebula, another much smaller fleet was closing on the planet Juir. Their ancestral homeworld was less-guarded than Elision. Intelligence indicated that most of the planet had already been abandoned by the occupying usurpers. Even the interim Administrator of the Expansion—Kroekus of Silea—had relocated his fledgling government to places unknown. Wydor knew that once Juir was back in the hands of his people, the Silean would be found and dealt with, if not because of any actual criminal act he’d committed, but rather for symbolic reasons only.
The Juireans had been chased from their homeworld, as well as from their position of dominance within the galaxy. Now they would return, in force, and show all who doubted them that the Juireans were once again in control.
Wydor was aboard the massive Class Six fleet flagship, the UN-567, doing his best to stay out of the way and let the professionals run the show. Even though he had once been an Overlord he had been out of the war game for so long that he had little confidence in his ability to run a fleet. That task was assigned to Overlord Enulic bu Lornim. Even though the Command-Overlord was only a few standard years younger than Wydor, he had remained within the military service for all his tenure, rather than transferring to the political side of the government, as Wydor had many years before. As such, Enulic’s knowledge and skills with strategy and tactics were more refined and honed. Wydor had every confidence in the success of the mission, especially with Enulic in the command chair.
“Any updates on the Humans,” Wydor asked the Command-Overlord during one of the lulls in the ever-increasing activity on the bridge now that their target destination was in sight.
“Patchy, my Lord,” Enulic replied. “We do know for certain that elements of their fleet attacked and decimated the homeworlds of both the O’mly and the Jusepi Tribes. In a rather uncharacteristic display of brutality, they slaughtered officials and civilians alike.”
“That’s rather disturbing. Is this an indicator of a new philosophy among their leaders?”
“Their world has been attacked twice, my Lord. I believe this is signaling their anger at the loss of Human life. Over time this anger may fade.”
“Would it for us, Enulic? Even during the Kracori attack on the Core Worlds, we did not lose as many lives as have the Humans. And now we are intent on committing global genocide on the Kracori for what they did to us.”
Enulic stretched out a thin smile. “Better us than the Humans. The psychological effect this single act will have on the Expansion will be significant. It is fortunate that we shall beat the Humans to Elision.”
“Yet still no trace of the main Human fleet?”
“No, my Lord. This is odd, but they are not where they should be.”
“And you are still confident we shall beat them to Elision?”
“The distances are just too great. We know when the fleet departed Earth, yet once underway, we lost contact. Even still, they are three to four months away.”
“And we enter the Nebula tomorrow. If the Humans did manage to reach the area before us, we would have known by now.”
“Precisely, my Lord. I feel we do not have anything to fear from the Humans.”
“And the Kracori?”
“There appears to be more activity coming from within the Nebula than we had anticipated. They may have enlisted the help of others from within the region.”
“Are you concerned?”
“A little. It is my job to be concerned, and not to be overconfident. Undoubtedly the battle will be fierce, and confined to the region of space near the Volseen Corridor. Yet once the location of Elision was determined to be within ancient charted territory—at least for Juireans—we have been able to better prepare a battle plan. This Shield of theirs will pose a problem, yet our forces are great ... and we do have Juireans at all controls. That has not been seen in a very long time.”
Wydor nodded and then gazed out at the brilliant glow of the Juddle Nebula now filling the entire forward viewport. “I have confidence in our skills, Command-Overlord. However, it has been many years since we have assumed such responsibility within an attack force.”
“Do you doubt our competence, my Lord?”
“Only a small fraction of the personnel within the fleet have seen any real combat in space. We can drill all we wish, and run simulations until the screens burn out, yet there is no substitute for experience.”
Command-Overlord Enulic stepped out of his command seat and moved up next to the Elder. “I would respectfully request that you do not speak of your doubts within earshot of the bridge crew. It would not do for the Council Elder to express his lack of confidence in our proficiency.”
“Calm yourself, Enulic. I am not
questioning the outcome of the battle, just stating that this will be a time when tens of thousands of Juirean Guards will earn their campaign marks. This will be good for them. It will harden them for the future, as we reassert our will across the Expansion.”
“We will do our jobs, Elder Wydor. In less than seventeen standard hours we should be reaching their forward defenses. We will use whatever means necessary to defeat the Kracori. And then it will be on to Earth, where we will end our societal nightmare once and for all. No enemy of the Juireans shall remain intact. This is my pledge to you and to the Council.”
Wydor had no doubt that the Command-Overlord believed what he was saying, and yet Wydor knew the Humans better than most. He had personally met the warrior Adam Cain, and had even expressed the misguided belief that Juireans and Human may one day become tacit allies, if not respected neighbors.
Yet the time spent sequestered in the bowels of the galaxy had hardened Wydor’s resolve and crystalized his thinking. The Juireans could leave no major force intact within the galaxy. History had proven time and again that rivals do not remain passive forever. Eventually a change of regime or attitude would sweep through the Human species and they would once again become a threat to the Juireans and to the Expansion. It was better to settle the issue now, while the fleet was strong and battle-ready, rather than wait for the Humans to dictate the timetable.
And yet Wydor also knew that both the Kracori and the Humans were unique within the family of species found in the galaxy. However, even as they had superior physical strength, quickness and agility, those traits were lost when ensconced within a metal starship, subject to the same destructive forces as normal creatures. No, Elder Wydor would not wish to confront a Human or a Kracori in physical combat, but he would engage them using the technology of the fleet. After all, an exploding starship would kill all occupants within the vessel, be they Juirean, Kracori ... or even Human.
Chapter 21
Adam was upset to see that John’s body had been removed by the Kracori before he’d had a chance at one more look upon his friend, teammate and brother-in-arms. He had played the Kracori as best he could, yet the tragic death of John Tindal was still only minutes old at the time of the meeting. It was all he could do at the time to remain in control of his emotions, especially when the subject of Nigel McCarthy came up.
Once back in the cell, Adam quickly updated the remaining sad and stern-faced Humans in the cell. They would have a few more days—at the most—to devise another escape plan. Fortunately, Nigel McCarthy would be gone off-planet, so it would only be Kracori perceptions and precautions they would have to contend with. But now the Kracori were even more on guard, and the Langril—Nomar something or another—wasn’t going to let them get away with any sort of overt disobedience. The other, older Kracori was chomping at the bit to take a blade to them all. So whatever plan they did come up they’d only have one chance to pull it off. Succeed ... or die.
Ain’t that how it always worked when it came to SEALs and their missions?
Master Chief Rutledge was especially distraught over Tindal’s death. They had shared a special bond, that of musicians and performers, as well as many more recent years together during a more tranquil time in their lives of challenge and adventure. The good thing about the Chief’s current emotional state: it made him even more focused on escaping. Adam had seen the old sailor operate for years, and he knew Rutledge didn’t let events control him; he controlled events. And he was even more determined than ever to control his way right off the planet Elision—and in pursuit of Nigel McCarthy.
Adam would do his best to channel all that anger and determination Rutledge carried in him to the benefit of the team. They all would. John Tindal—as well as Lee Schwartz and Jamal Dawson—would be avenged, one way or another.
The most-immediate good that came out of Adam’s meeting with the Kracori was that an ample supply of food and drink was brought to the cell. It seemed that the aliens wanted to make sure Adam and the rest of the Humans lived long enough so they could be killed. The irony was obvious, as was the improving condition of Riyad Tarazi once he got some food in his belly.
“Look at you,” Adam exclaimed. “You’re standing about as well as a drunken sailor trying to cross the quarterdeck after a night on the town. Congratulations.”
“You may rescind that compliment if I throw up on you.”
Adam smiled. “No shit! That’s one thing I cannot tolerate.” He looked over a Chief Rutledge and sent him a wink.
“That was a very long time ago, Mr. Cain.” Rutledge said, doing his best to join in the light banter. “And it was long before I had to call you Mister!”
“I should be fine,” Riyad said unconvincingly as he took a few steps across the room and back. “Just give me an hour or two to get my strength back and I won’t need that fucking wheelchair anymore.”
“That’s encouraging, Riyad,” Admiral Tobias said. Other than Riyad with his wheelchair, the other three Humans sat on the floor of the cell, leaning against the hard concrete walls. The Kracori had yet to replace their disassembled cots so they had nowhere else to sit. Tobias shifted his attention to Adam. “I assume the Kracori will want to give you—and maybe the rest of us—some other vantage point to the coming battle other than what we have here. Sounds like they want to humiliate us with their decisive victory over the Juireans.”
“That means moving us from the cell, I was thinking that, too, Admiral. Where and when is the question? And I’ll do my best to make sure the rest of you come with me.”
“We’ll have to be ready to react to the moment. There won’t be many, and the window of opportunity will close quickly.”
“I’ll be ready,” Riyad said. He was walking a little more confidently, with no apparent injuries to his legs or arms.
“I never thought I’d hear myself say this, but I hope the Juireans get in here and start kicking ass,” the Master Chief said. “Nothing like a bunch of exploding munitions to distract the guards around you. That’s basic Get-The-Fuck-Outta-Here 101.”
“Exactly,” Adam said. “But it sounds like the Kracori are prepared for whatever the Juireans throw against them, and we have Kroekus to thank for that!”
“Just goes to show that the political ramifications of all this are more complicated than what we simple foot-soldiers can fathom,” Tobias said, with everyone in the room knowing that he had done his share of politicking as a consequence of his flag rank.
Riyad had done about as much exercise as he could handle for the time being and sat back in his wheelchair. “And what of our fleet? What do you think they’ll do if they see the Juireans getting their asses handed to them?”
Adam smiled again at his friend. Even though he had been born in Lebanon, he had spent enough time in America and around Americans to learn to speak like a native, crude trash talking and all.
“I don’t think we can count on them stepping in to help the Juireans,” Adam said. “No matter what the Kracori think, they’re still going to take a beating. That’s what our fleet is counting on; let the two alien races slug it out. The Kracori may emerge with fewer casualties, yet every little bit will help. Unfortunately, I don’t think that older Kracori fucker is going to let us slide any longer than the first decisive Juirean-Kracori dustup. I’ll try to get them to use us as a deterrent to a Human attack, but I don’t think they’ll fall for it. We’re just too insignificant.”
“Speak for yourself, Mr. Cain,” Admiral Tobias said with a smile. “I know that I’m a Legend—in my own mind!”
“You are in our minds, too, Andy,” Adam said as he shuffled over to Riyad’s chair on his hands and knees. “And now that it looks like Riyad won’t be needing this anymore, let’s see if we can break out some of these spokes? They’ll be easier to conceal and can still cause a fair amount of damage if we find a soft spot in that tough Kracori skin.”
“Glad to see it’s back,” Riyad said, “that old Adam Cain can-do spirit. I feel more conf
ident about our chances already.”
Chapter 22
“It won’t work, I keep telling you that!” Kaylor was saying, again. “There’s no way of controlling it, and besides, they will not let us sweep over the city, not with the Juireans so close.”
“But I’ve seen the effects,” Sherri countered. “And we’ve done it before—or Adam and Riyad have—on that planet Yaki, or Yikke … something like that.”
Ruszel had been made part of their strategizing session, not because of a willingness on his part to help, but as a way of using his instinctive need for survival to force his input. As a skilled pilot, with knowledge of local space, his contribution was invaluable, if only to point out what couldn’t be done.
Yet at the time, it was Kaylor who Sherri had to convince.
“The Pegasus has a more-focused gravitational influence. I’m saying we could sweep in over that facility where they’re probably holding them and let the well rip things apart. That could be the distraction they need to escape.”
“You could end up killing them, too,” Kaylor said. “And once we get blown out of the air, how will that help, well, any of us?”
“The Belsonian is correct,” Ruszel joined in. “All that you’ll accomplish is our own deaths.”
Sherri looked the green-skinned alien in the eye. “You know what these concentrated-array ships are capable of—you own one. We can outrun anything they have on Elision. And I’m not saying we drop down from orbit like a banshee, trailing a plume of fire behind us. We get down to the surface first—somehow—scope out the area, and then take off and do a low gravity run over the target.”
“What is a banshee?” Ruszel asked; soon all the other alien eyes zeroed in on her with inquisitive expressions.
