Dane pondered. He knew Patrick was right. They were descendants of his species. Brothers. They had as much right as Dane.
‘On one condition, a non-negotiable condition,’ said Dane.
‘Name it,’ replied Patrick, who managed to take a sneaky look at Demitri, indicating a potential victory for both of them.
‘You do not mention Annaluce and you allow my warriors and I to take care of the negotiations with the squalors. I will allow you to plead your case, but you must leave it to me to explain the absence of their second in command.’
Dane was visibly moved. The loss of Annaluce, albeit temporarily, was plain for all to see − he missed his soul mate.
Demitri and Patrick both nodded. It was agreed.
In an orderly fashion, almost by routine, Patrick, Demitri and Dane, together with the military personnel that Oosapeth had sanctioned, headed towards the portal. Another mission, another important move in this game of chess unfolding.
The ice caves looked spectacular. The translucent blue in the holding bay that housed the spacecraft, reflected magnificently against the perfectly sculptured ice walls. The precision of alien architecture in the naturally forming caves, enhanced by the technical mining capabilities of the Trollozytes, was awe-inspiring. Footsteps crunched on the mixture of snow and ice underfoot, as the posse headed towards the spacecraft, glistening with the reflection of the blue portal.
Observing from a distance was James Eaton and Serenix, now inseparable. James, like Scott, longed to see his parents. With Demitri and Patrick on a mission with Dane, James was next in line once Scott and Bella returned. He’d seen enough of Zarduzian. It was someone else’s turn to take the helm and, in this regard, he was pleased to see Patrick and Demitri step up to the helm.
The ship disappeared. For James it was odd to be witnessing a spacecraft travelling through a portal. Up until now he had been inside the craft. As the ship evaporated through the blue ring, the shudder was deafening. The blue star gate distorted as the craft disappeared. Ice cascaded down from the cave roof, a kaleidoscope of colour lighting up the falling ice akin to a bullet shattering glass.
Dane Vhastek had gone. James considered the warrior, reflected on the first time he set eyes on the hero, for he had already lost count of the missions Dane had undertaken since his rescue from the killing chambers. The thought of the sheer number of missions encountered in his lifetime was a staggering thought.
James glanced at Serenix, who was already focused on the human she had fallen head over heels in love with, as he considered how strange his life had become. Quite how he was going to announce to his father that he wished to marry an alien, a Trollozyte from a planet called Xonox, was beyond him. It would certainly put in perspective the triviality of hacking into the school computers to upgrade his exam results. He could envision his father’s mouth wide open in total disbelief, whilst his mother wouldn’t care, as long as she could give him a hug. That seemed an appropriate thought, that love, when all was said and done, was all that mattered.
He kissed Serenix on the forehead.
‘What?’ asked Serenix.
‘You wouldn’t understand,’ replied James. ‘I’ll tell you someday.’
CHAPTER 11
STEALTH MISSION
Robert Stave had accessed Hank’s computer. He knew precisely when to call the President of the United States; he knew that Qudor Volkan would highjack the portal amplifier, he knew the events before they would happen. Hank was a victim, he had to be, the cause mattered more than one individual, but he had no appetite to increase the body count.
Robert considered that he had murdered two people in as many days. He paused for a moment whilst he processed that thought before returning his attention to the computer.
Hank was head of security, so the whereabouts of the stealth bombers must be in the files. The co-ordinates of the hideouts of Dane Vhastek and Daxzus Zaetsalsae would also be locked into Hank’s relic of a machine.
Right on cue, the pandemonium erupted. It was just after noon on 23rd February 2018. The portal amplifier, held in the hangar Robert had just left, was in the process of being claimed by Qudor’s military, as history dictated.
Robert rang the president. The historic archive of information, which Robert had extensively reviewed, indicated which button to press on a relic of a phone in Hank’s office. The president answered.
‘What’s the commotion, Hank? We have a visual on a disturbance at the base. Are we under attack?’
‘Affirmative, an alien craft has been taken, Mr President,’ said Robert. ‘Not the Undarthian craft, but the other one we rescued. All very strange, if you ask me.’ Robert knew the script; the archived voice records were indelibly etched in his mind and played out the whole conversation in the same manner Hank did, according to history, except in this timeline the real Hank Richards was dead.
Once the call to the president was over and the illusion was complete, Robert checked the records on Hank’s computer. The file which gave the co-ordinates he was looking for was entitled ‘Operation Freedom’. He thought it ironic that the file was named as a mission that, in history, had failed, yet precisely described his own mission.
The stealth bombers, of which there were 15, are housed in a secure hangar to the rear of the base, heavily monitored and constantly guarded.
Walking across the base, Robert absorbed the power his species bestowed on the planet. The great alien wars hadn’t taken hold as yet. This was a time when humans reigned supreme and it felt good. So, a couple had to take the hit, Colonel Patterson and Hank Richards, but he was doing it for the ultimate prize − freedom. The heat reigned down, the dust swirled and humans paraded the base oblivious to how it would be. Robert knew as he had lived in Earth’s future − they wouldn’t understand, even if they believed him.
The hangar drew near as Robert proudly walked towards the guards.
‘Hank,’ said the soldier.
Robert didn’t know the private’s name, but it mattered none. It seemed odd that they recognised him and even more weird that Colonel Patterson had been the double of Hank − in a peculiar way it was almost as if fate had handed Robert a solution. It was all so surreal.
‘At ease, Private,’ said Robert in his best Hank Richards voice. ‘Listen, just had the president on the blower.’ It sounded strange to be using archaic terminology. Robert almost expected the guard to say, ‘The blower? What the hell are you talking about, Hank?’
The guard finished saluting Hank and simply replied, ‘Yes, Sir.’ There wasn’t much else he could say. The private, known to his mates as Junior, looked forward, straight through Robert’s gaze, way in the distance, as did his co-guard Stewy, a nickname awarded with the same observational humour that Junior had been aptly termed. Junior was the baby of his squad and Stewy was a James Stewart fan. Ever since it was discovered that his film collection was almost totally James Stewart classics like ‘It’s a Wonderful Life’ or ‘The Glen Miller Story’, he was known as Stewy.
‘This is highly confidential and classified. I need a stealth. Orders of the president,’ said Robert.
‘We have orders not to allow anyone in the hangar, Hank, not even you,’ said Stewy.
‘I’m head of security, Private, that’s an order. We can go see the Commander if you wish. Your insubordination will guarantee a transfer out of the base. I can promise you that,’ said Robert, whose heart was beating as a bird’s might, pinned to the floor by a cat.
The stealth was in sight and Robert wasn’t going to fall at the first hurdle. He turned to Junior with, ‘Go to the Commander’s office; ask him to authorise my entrance. I’ll message through.’ Junior gave a salute and headed towards the Commander’s office as instructed.
Robert had dealt with Drayzaks, mixed with the rebels, had been hellbent on trying to rid his home town, New Manhattan, of the Olympianas − he was used to conflict. He had the skills to disable both Junior and Stewy with his bare hands − a simple move − grab the
neck just under the jaw, squeeze and press upwards. Problem was the security cameras. Robert knew the cameras would be of no use once he had commanded the stealth bomber, but for the moment, the less obvious attention he drew, the better.
Junior walked almost as if on parade. Robert had his moment.
‘Open the hangar,’ insisted Robert.
‘But, Hank…’ began Stewy.
‘Open the god-damned hangar, we haven’t got all day! This is the president we are talking about. The Commander will be here any moment, no doubt wanting to know why you are disobeying orders.’
Stewy looked to the heavens whist he processed the request. ‘Suppose he’s right’, he thought and duly keyed in the number into the electronic panel to activate opening the hangar door. The corrugated door lifted slowly.
‘How primitive but totally cool’, thought Robert. This was exactly as he had seen it in archive footage. Surreal.
Stewy collapsed in a matter of a few seconds. Robert dragged the unconscious private into the hangar area to one side, out of sight. There it was − like a vintage car enthusiast drooling over an Aston Martin DB5, the one Sean Connery drove in Goldfinger, Robert looked on in awe at the black B2 stealth bomber in all its glory.
Robert would be away from the base in minutes before the security cameras picked up the loss of the guard.
Robert Stave had completed the first part of his mission.
CHAPTER 12
THE GREAT ENTRANCE
The table in the great hall held a second meeting in as many weeks. The delegates from the other 35 capitals of Zarduzian had now safely returned to their respective cities following the epic first meeting. Now the hall was set for an equally epic meeting held by those in power, headed by Elizan.
‘In the absence of Annaluce we must take action,’ said Omalius. ‘We know she was kidnapped by Dane Vhastek, following a gruesome assault in her apartment. We cannot wait a moment longer.’
‘Very observant, Omalius, but of absolutely no use,’ said Elizan − the next in line to take over her sister’s eminent position in Larquiston. Not blessed with the same looks as her older sister nevertheless, Elizan had learnt a great deal from Annaluce. Omalius realised that she had the traits of her older sister for she was no pushover.
‘Quite,’ said Omalius, ‘but it is my duty to protect the city at all costs.’
‘The way I see it, the disappearance of my sister may well be the end of the matter. In the absence of both my father and Annaluce, precisely what would any alien race wish to achieve by returning to Zarduzian? Surely their fight is on the planet known as Earth?’
‘Then why, Elizan, did Dane Vhastek visit our planet or why, for that matter, the unknown alien source? We have to assume either one of them or both will return again,’ said Omalius, a statement which challenged the rationale of Annaluce’s younger sibling’s deduction.
‘We had a meeting with the delegates from the capitals but nothing came of it. We are sitting ducks, prisoners in our own cities. We are not one unit who can defend an attack; we are 36 divided units − easy pickings for the likes of Dane Vhastek. We need the Trollozytes but they are not allying since my father alienated Oosapeth. The planets we look to invade, courtesy of my father’s master plan, to clone species and create Armageddon, have hardly warmed them to help our cause. We have no one other than the Trollozytes, upon which we were able to rely but who are now very much our enemy. Do you have any suggestions, Omalius?’ said Elizan sarcastically.
‘Point taken, but we must do something.’ An urgent reply but which did nothing to offer any kind of solution.
The great hall echoed with the voices of the few sat at the great table. It was an oblong black table, a polished marble-like Zarduzian rock with white hieroglyphics embedded into it, spelling out the motto of the capital ‘Larquiston, the capital of all capitals’.
Windows surrounded the room; a transparent wall depicting all that was special in the capital’s main square. A one-way mirror was present, guaranteeing anonymity of the meeting’s guests. From the outside the appearance was of a perfectly respectable wall and gave no hint of the great hall within.
‘Are we expecting company, Omalius?’ asked Elizan.
‘We have no one scheduled that I am aware,’ replied Omalius.
‘Then would you care to explain to me why I recognise three Undarthian warships heading our way?’
Omalius immediately called the capital’s head of security, Junipex Cantilious, the munika’s chief officer. The three Undarthian ships continued to impose menacingly towards the main square. This was a blatant move but not an obvious military attack.
‘They would have attacked by now if this was any kind of aggression,’ said Omalius. ‘We know Dane Vhastek took Annaluce; perhaps he is returning your sister?’
‘Let’s see,’ replied Elizan, who by now was quite getting used to taking over at the helm. Her older sibling was the favoured with their father, partly due to her stunning looks and partly her warrior disposition. Elizan was also a looker; a little smaller and a redhead but still stunningly blessed.
‘Junipex will ensure that any weapons are handed over should the Undarthians wish to return Annaluce assuming, of course, that is their intention,’ explained Omalius.
Those around the table watched as the three ships neared. The night sky, a blood orange, a stunning backdrop to highlight the grey mercenary spacecraft approaching with speed.
Larquiston’s great square was a bustling, active place, the heart of the great city. Most evenings saw gatherings − places to eat surrounded the square, the sky awash with venglagons, bubble transporters, as well as alien craft from visitors, courtesy of the portals nearby. Dane Vhastek’s entry was hostile in comparison. It caused unrest as citizens scurried away from the landing space the three ships had chosen.
Junipex had arranged over 100 munika foot soldiers, lined around the peripheral of the square, armed and ready. The munika black uniform covered their faces other than the small slit across the eyes. The uniform was equally as intimidating as anything Dane Vhastek had to offer.
Spacecraft visiting the city had designated bays around the square’s perimeter. Dane Vhastek was not one to adhere to protocol; he parked his craft in the centre of the main square.
‘We have the munika in full force,’ announced Dane, a message that was unnecessary as his other two commanders could clearly see the waiting party.
‘Copy,’ replied the commanders separately.
Demitri wondered at this point why he had volunteered. ‘Do we need to be armed?’ he asked Dane.
‘They won’t shoot,’ replied Patrick.
‘How can you be so sure?’ asked Demitri, his English sufficient for Patrick, who by now was used to his Russian adaptation.
‘Because they will want to know what’s happened to Annaluce. That is only possible if we talk to them first.’
‘Oh, so they will kill us afterwards then,’ answered Demitri sarcastically.
‘They have no answer to the might of our warships, therefore they will not harm us,’ said Dane. He’d seen far more confrontational situations.
Dane ordered his comrades to remain, partly as a military back-up in case the munika got trigger-happy and partly because this was a negotiation. He chose to take Patrick and Demitri, simply due to his promise that he would include them in the negotiations. Demitri at this point questioned the wisdom.
The spacecraft door lowered. The ground appeared, white, polished marble and far too decorative for three military alien craft to land. In military gear, armed and ready, Dane looked at Patrick and Demitri. A nod indicated that they should vacate the craft. Dane led the exit. He wasn’t expecting to be fired at but knew that he would need to hand over his weapons. A truce would follow once his armoury was confiscated. He would then demand to see the new commander-in-chief. The munika surrounded Dane’s craft and the residents of the capital surrounded the square, almost in excitement at what might unfold, their thirst for blo
od engrained in the citizens’ psyche.
Junipex walked towards Dane who eclipsed the munika chief. His black beads sent out the message that a challenge would only result in one outcome. Dane wore his headset, as did the humans.
‘I need to confiscate your weapons,’ instructed Junipex. ‘I assume we will not be expecting any resistance,’ he said as much in hope as a demand.
Dane looked around at Patrick and Demitri, also armed, and nodded. Dane placed his weapon on the ground and kicked it towards the munika chief. Patrick and Demitri followed suit. The obligatory frisking of their space suits followed.
‘They’re here to talk,’ announced Omalius as he watched his trusted munika lead Dane Vhastek towards the meeting room, as instructed.
‘I cannot see my sister,’ said Elizan, the hint of relief in her voice immediately picked up by Omalius. She had heard the tales of the fierce warrior Dane Vhastek, how he had outwitted her father and his capability to kill any alien with his bare hands. Elizan had a rush of adrenaline at the prospect of meeting this icon.
The door to the meeting room opened harshly – predictably, as the munika had little finesse. Junipex led; Dane, Patrick and Demitri were escorted at either side by at least 20 munika considered necessary to assure safety to Omalius and Elizan − Junipex was taking no chances.
Dane looked even more impressive close up. Elizan hated her sister even more.
‘Welcome, Commander Vhastek,’ greeted Omalius. ‘Do we address you as Commander?’
‘Dane,’ the reply.
‘Greetings, Dane,’ said Elizan. ‘I am Elizan, sister to Annaluce and this is Omalius, my trusted advisor.’
Dane nodded in acknowledgement. The lingering stare suggested Dane was weighing up whether there was a resemblance. There clearly was, throwing Dane’s concentration off track for a moment.
‘A pleasure,’ said Dane. ‘Let me introduce Patrick and Demitri − their visit here rather unfortunate. They were victims of the killing chambers but that is not important right now. They hail from planet Earth.’
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