The Battle for the Solar System (Complete Trilogy)

by Sweeney, Stephen

  With only a few metres to go, the soldier tried to move out of the way. He wasn’t quick enough, and was struck head-on by the sliding vehicle, his body bouncing up and over what remained of the windshield, and tumbling across the surrounding roll cage, before crashing down onto the ground behind. Despite the impact of several tons of Sabretooth, resulting in a cry of pain, the crunch of bones, and the subsequent flight and heavy crash landing, Dodds was certain that it would have very little effect on the soldier. He would probably lie still on the ground for a few minutes, until his injuries healed and his bones mended. He would then be back on his feet, fresh and fighting fit.

  Dodds was never granted an opportunity to find out. As he looked back around from following the soldier’s tumble over them, the Sabretooth clipped something in the road and came up onto two wheels, this time at a far more extreme angle than any time before. It remained at that angle for only a few seconds, before the entire vehicle hopped, pitched, and then bounced the rest of the way down the road.

  He heard Natalia say something as he was jostled about, his head snapping from side to side, his vision an incomprehensible blur. He tried to say something in return, but couldn’t even hear his own words. He was thankful for the roll cage, the only thing saving them from the horrific injuries that might normally go hand in hand with such accidents. His head then struck the frame. There was a loud crack. His vision became an instant haze, and a moment later everything went black.

  *

  Dodds came to, finding himself still belted tightly into the Sabretooth. For a moment, he wondered where he was and what had happened. The initial feeling of disorientation quickly passed as the sound of fighting filled his ears.

  “N … Natalia …” he started, reaching for the clasp of the seatbelt. He looked around and discovered the seat to his right was empty. Natalia was nowhere to be seen. The left side of his head was pounding from where he had struck it on the frame. The same side of his face felt a little warm. He put his hand up to his temple, withdrawing it and seeing his fingers coated red with the expected blood.

  Hell. He hoped he hadn’t cracked his head open. It sure did feel like he had. Memories of what had just occurred came flooding back to him. He remembered ducking down into his seat, as the Imperial soldier who had stood in front of the vehicle had sprayed it with bullets, popping the tyres at the front and causing it to crash. He must’ve lost consciousness sometime after that. He wondered where Natalia had gone. Her seatbelt was undone. All he could think of was that she had been flung from the Sabretooth as it rolled.

  It was then that he realised that the vehicle’s wheels weren’t flat on the ground. In fact, no part of it was, he was practically upside down. He was lying at an angle, the Sabretooth half-propped up by the surrounding roll cage and resting against a wall or some rubble or something.

  This wasn’t good. He had to get out.

  He reached for the belt buckle and tried to open it. His fingers worked their way around the clasp, but he was unable to release it, the lock resisting his efforts. It seemed to be stuck.

  He looked ahead to the tilted scene before him. From where he was, he could make out the legs of a Spider, advancing towards unseen targets, black-clad soldiers, some helmeted, some not, running behind it. He saw one holding something in the air – it looked like a red and black flag. Briefly, he caught the outline of a man holding a spear. He glanced about, but could no longer see the other Spider that had been blocking the road to the east; it must’ve walked back towards the plaza. Once he managed to free himself, he knew he didn’t want to be heading in that direction. There was obviously some major fighting going on over there.

  He struggled with the buckle some more and then, upon failing, tried to slip out of the seatbelt’s tight embrace. He gave up moments later. It was a seatbelt; its job was to hold him in place. He looked around as best he could for signs of Natalia, hoping to spot the woman somewhere and call her to his aid. His eyes then caught sight of a scene that caused his throat to close up.

  A tall, nearly bald man, surrounded by a host of black-suited soldiers, stood holding another man in his grasp. His captive was dressed in a similar fashion to the ones who had been fighting around the plaza. He was clearly one of the planet’s local forces. The man’s hands were wrapped around his captor’s, trying to prise them from his neck. He had been forced down onto his knees and looked to be struggling to stand back up. If that was the case, the bald man was having no trouble keeping him where he was.

  Whilst the victim’s attire was basic, the near-bald man wore an extraordinary ensemble – his chest, arms, legs, and feet were dotted with what looked like silver plates. A blood-red cloak was draped across his shoulders, falling about a foot short of the ground. Beneath, his clothing appeared formal, almost as if he wore a suit. In his right hand, he brandished what looked like a long knife. The blade seemed far from clean, appearing dirty and stained. Dodds needed no hints as to how it had gotten into such a state, or how it might continue to be so. He swore and resumed his attempts to free himself from the Sabretooth whilst he still could, though he was unable to tear his eyes away from the scene that was unfolding.

  Still holding his struggling victim around the neck, the bald man drew back the knife and plunged it into his captive’s belly. Dodds heard the victim scream out in agony, but neither the bald man, nor those around him, so much as flinched or looked away. Apparently not satisfied with just one stroke, the bald man pulled the blade free and proceeded to stab it several more times into his victim. Agonised howls came with each thrust. The final thrust was concluded with an upwards jerk, before the blade’s work was done and the man’s limp body was thrown aside.

  Dodds swore profusely and concentrated on the buckle, pressuring the mechanism harder than ever. To his relief, it at last relinquished its grip on him and he braced himself as his unrestrained weight pulled him out from the seat, gripping the frame of the roll cage for support.

  Free at last, he snapped about for a quick assessment. The entrance to the driver’s side was closer to the ground than any of the rest of the vehicle, and it didn’t look like he was getting out anywhere else anyway. As he began crawling across the seat, he turned his eyes towards the bald man and his entourage. Every head was turned in his direction. It seemed his struggles to extract himself from the overturned vehicle hadn’t gone unnoticed, and he hastened to escape as quickly as he could. Just as he pulled himself free of the vehicle, he heard a shout go up.

  He got to his feet, intending to lose the soldiers in the maze of streets and rubble around him, when a shooting pain ran up his legs, sending him crashing down onto the ground. Cramp! He got back up and limped along as best he could, before he went down yet again. He forced himself up once more, but his legs were almost unresponsive. It was as if he had forgotten how to walk. The pain and muscle spasms continued to build as he moved his legs, and, within a few moments, proved too much of a hindrance to his attempt at flight. After a hobble, he went down again.

  He looked around to see where his pursuers were and caught the bald man’s eyes. The man was staring straight at him with a look of pure disgust. It was as if Dodds was a blight upon the world, a sin against nature that must be swiftly eradicated. The man sheathed the knife into a holster on his thigh and began to stride forward, the army of black suits trailing just behind him.

  Terror gripped Dodds and he scrambled backward in the dirt, not wishing to take his eyes off the group, and trying to will back the strength his legs needed to carry him out of harm’s way. He never found it, and moments later the bald man was upon him, flanked by more than a dozen black suits. Ruby-red eyes seemed to flare as they gathered around, promising terrible things. It was then that he recognised the bald man. And though he had not seen him for six months – and then, under totally different circumstances – he knew he would never forget that face.

  Or that look.

  Admiral Jason Zackaria shot a hand out towards Dodds as he scrambled backwards o
ver the gravel, dirt and stone that littered the once clean road, grabbing him tight by the jacket. The admiral bent down and peered into his face.

  “I know you,” he said in a cold voice.

  Dodds felt his stomach flip. He spoke English, and not just the weird language normally used by the Enemy! Something told him that this was bad. Very bad. But the admiral said no more, letting go of Dodds’ jacket and taking hold of a great clump of his hair. Dodds swore repeatability as he tried to free himself from Zackaria’s grasp. But for all his efforts, he couldn’t break the admiral’s vice-like grip.

  He must be at least twice my age, but he’s just as strong as the rest of them! Dodds thought. The other soldiers did nothing but stand and wait, rifles held in both hands, pointed down at the ground. The admiral ignored Dodds’ cursing and began to drag him across the road. Unable to pry the man’s hands from his hair, Dodds held onto the man’s wrist, to relieve some of the pressure on his head as he was pulled along. Even so, it was an excruciating experience, not helped by the sharp pain from the rest of his body, as his limbs chaffed against the surface of the road. His legs, sides, and lower back scraped against tarmac, glass, rocks, and other small debris that littered the way.

  Dodds heard Zackaria bark something in the strange, incomprehensible tongue the soldiers seemed to favour, and saw three members of the group walking behind him break off and run back towards the overturned Sabretooth. He then witnessed the three heave together at the vehicle, until they were able to force it back over and onto its wheels, once more into an upright position. He felt the grip on his hair slacken and then release, just as they began to examine it in more detail.

  Dodds collapsed where he had been brought, rolling over then seeing the gutted body of the man that Zackaria had previously slaughtered barely a couple of metres away. The sight evoked a greater sense of panic within him. His survival instinct kicked in, and he made an immediate, desperate attempt to escape, despite being surrounded by several of the tall soldiers. For an instant, the pain in his legs was gone and he began to rise to his feet. He was rewarded for his effort with a heavy boot to the stomach, forcing the wind out of his lungs, along with a yelp of pain. He sank down onto all fours, one hand clutching at his belly, breathing heavily. He looked up at the admiral who circled around him, like a cat playing with its meal.

  “I know you,” Zackaria said once more, not taking his eyes off him. “You’re the one who humiliated me, the one who sought to make me a jester in front of my men, in front of the Empire.”

  Dodds found himself too winded to respond. He searched again for a means of escape. Nothing.

  “Six months,” Zackaria glowered. “For six months, I have thought every day of that humiliation and of how I would right it. Even as we prepared to advance the Mission, your actions remained at the forefront of my mind.”

  Dodds knew he had to stall for time. Any moment now, he could be joining the previous victim in the dirt. He met Zackaria’s eyes. “You sure know how to hold a grudge, don’t you? You might want to consider anger management classes for that, or something.”

  It took several seconds before Dodds was able to register both what had happened and the pain that followed. In a flash, Zackaria had struck him across the face with the back of his hand. Damn, he was fast! He doubted he could’ve even dodged the move if he’d known it was coming.

  “I see you’re no worse for your little foray into space,” Dodds managed. “Cold enough for you, was it?”

  Zackaria shot him a spiteful glare. “Commodore Hawke was right about you – you remain arrogant to the last.”

  Dodds glanced around again, searching for an opportunity, no matter how scarce, to act upon. Running wasn’t an option – there were far too many soldiers around. In his current state, he knew that he would have to be a lot more inventive than that. Problem was, he had never been very good at that kind of thing. The time before in the sled had been luck, nothing more. He needed more time to think. He looked back up at Zackaria. “What are you doing here? Why have you invaded this planet? These people have nothing to do with your war.”

  “Like you, they stand against the rule of the Senate,” Zackaria said. “And all those that oppose the rule of the Senate must be destroyed.”

  What the hell was he talking about? No. Stall, Simon, stall! “What rule? What Senate?”

  “It is my sworn duty to the Imperial Senate to cleanse this world, and all others, of those who would betray the Empire,” Zackaria said. “The so-called Independent Worlds and the Helios Confederacy who oppose our rule must be eradicated.” He fixed sharp eyes on Dodds. “But right now, what I desire above all else are the ATAFs and those who fly them. Once we find them, they will join our cause and lead our forces to victory, bringing about a swift end to those who would bring treason to the Empire.”

  He wants us? He wants the White Knights? Dodds felt himself torn between feelings of shock and relief. Though he had no idea of the fate of his friends, whether they had died when their sleds had come down, were hidden and awaiting rescue, or had made contact with local forces, he felt a glimmer of hope that, if he was understanding what Zackaria was saying, then should they have been discovered by Imperial forces, they wouldn’t have been intentionally killed.

  But that didn’t help him, he still had to get away. And there was still no means of escape. There was fighting nearby, he could hear it. But that wasn’t proving any distraction at all. It was close, but not close enough. He needed a way out, no matter how fanciful. In his mind’s eye, he saw himself jumping down an open manhole, leaping into the back of some passing vehicle, or grabbing hold of a rope ladder, dangling from a low flying shuttle. But here, there was nothing like that. Nothing. Maybe he should just try to stand and fight. He hauled himself to his feet, his legs still protesting. No boot followed this time, and he glared up into the eyes of the bald man.

  “You’ll never find them.” he said. “And even if you do, they’ll never help you.” Though even as he spoke the words, he could hear the scepticism in his voice. Zackaria was far taller than he was. He felt as though he was speaking to a giant. “And you know what? I’ll never help you, either.”

  Zackaria’s face darkened, a deep scowl etched into his pale, aged skin. “They will assist the Empire. But for the one that brought humility and humbling upon me, for Simon Dodds, the one who sought to destroy my pride, erode my command and became a pox on the Mission, there will be no pride of place, no glory.”

  “Glory?” Dodds glared. “I would rather die!”

  “I never intended to let you live,” Zackaria answered.

  The words resonated with Dodds, the reality of the situation hitting home harder than ever. He did the only thing he could think of and sprang forward quickly, moving against the pain in his limbs. His attempt to catch the old-looking admiral off-guard was unsuccessful. Zackaria grabbed his outstretched arm, then his jacket, and flipped him over, onto the ground and on his back. Dodds cried out as he hit the tarmac hard. He felt as though he had injured every single part of his body one way or another in the past few minutes – his head was aching from both the hair pulling and the knock against the roll cage; his legs were cramped from the Sabretooth impact, as were his arms; and his gut was suffering from the kick Zackaria had dealt him. Dodds’ eyes flickered to the hilt of the dagger-like weapon that rested on Zackaria’s right thigh, the handle still stained with the blood of unknown victims.

  You’re going to die here, Dodds, he thought to himself. You’re not going to walk away from this one. It was then, out of the corner of his eye, that he saw something winking at him. It was a little green light, pulsing on a plasma pistol. It must have been dropped by Zackaria’s previous victim. He couldn’t remember what the winking meant – either it was low on charge or there was something else wrong with it. Whatever it was, the light wasn’t red, it was usable.

  “Go ahead,” Zackaria’s voice came. “Pick it up.”

  Dodds realised he had lingered too long
looking at the gun considering his options. Still panting heavily, he turned back around to the admiral,.

  “That is, of course, if you think you could reach it in time …” Zackaria’s hand moved to the hilt of the dagger, still strapped to his leg. His fingers flexed near it, teasing him.

  Dodds weighed up his options. He could lie where he was and except his death, he could try and negotiate, or he could go for the gun. Out of the three, leaping for the pistol was the only one that gave him a fighting chance of survival, even if only for a couple of seconds.

  In his head at any rate.

  He looked back to the plasma pistol that was still winking. It was almost inviting him to pick it up and use it, requesting that it become a part of the last heroic act he might perform before he died. He went with the offer and, reaching out toward it, prayed for a miracle.

  At the same time as he heard the dagger being pulled free from its sheath, there came the distinctive sound of jet engines high above, followed by what sounded like a rocket engine only metres from where he lay. He never saw the aircraft, but the sound had pulled the attentions of all, heads whipping around as the rocket revealed itself and whistled up the road. Trailing a line of smoke behind it, it slammed into one of the leg joints of the Spider that stood guarding the north of the crossroads. The tank wobbled on its footing, and may well have survived the attack had a second rocket not slammed into the same joint a moment later, ripping it from the body and damaging the other two either side of it. The Spider buckled with the loss of stability and crashed down, black suits retreating from the vicinity.

  Dodds scrambled to take advantage of the situation, pushing himself away from Zackaria and the soldiers that stood with him. Zackaria’s head whipped back around to him and the bald man strode forward, dagger in hand, eyes fixed directly on Dodds. Dodds’ fingers scrabbled for the plasma pistol that seemed to have completely evaded his grasp.