“Okay,” Puar said, not in the least bit impressed.” How does that help us?”
“Apparently, when we were developing the Bright Star weapon, the question came up about what would happen if the Vyysarri ever got their hands on this tech. That spawned a contingency plan that was placed on the back burner after the next dozen Vyysarri attacks bore no evidence that they had the tech.”
“Why am I not surprised that I would still find something I didn’t know about Operation: Bright Star?”
“Believe me, sir. I’m still learning about things that I didn’t even think we as a people were capable of.”
“I don’t doubt that,” Puar said ruefully.
“You have no idea, sir. Anyway, as I was saying, with the possibility of our own weapon being used against us, our scientists laid the groundwork for a defense grid. This defense grid would track and destroy any projectiles destined for our sun. Though it was never built, the schematics are still in the archives and, with today’s technology, it would simply be a matter of constructing it and manning it.”
“Well, that’s something,” Puar admitted. “I was hoping for something that would stop the fleet from getting that far, but I’ll take whatever good news I can get these days. Any word on the Reaper situation?”
“That was my next set of good news, sir. After General Khail ‘rescued’ the Alarrs, he mentioned something about their heat signatures. When we looked deeper into it, we found that their internal body temperatures are approximately one hundred and twenty-five degrees, much higher than our ninety-eight point six and other comparable mammals.”
“So we can track them far more easily than we anticipated.”
“Yes. And we might be able to employ the same technology of this defense grid to protect population centers by killing them from obit.”
“That’s good to hear. Do we have any idea what’s causing them to mutate into giant Reapers?” Puar could hardly forget the sight of a twenty-foot tall Reaper ripping through swaths of soldiers as Seryys City was being evacuated.
“No, sir. Our scientists are still waiting to get their hands on a live Reaper that has recently gone through a mutation to study.”
“I know someone who might be able to help us with that…”
The smoke-filled bar was loud and rowdy with cheering, music, laughter and insults. A large crowd had gathered around a single table where a contest was taking place. Burke’Raal Braal’s hand —his friends called him “Brawl” for short—was wrapped tightly around his opponent’s hand. His arm shook violently, his hazel eyes were narrowed to slits, sweat gleaming off his bald head. His grizzly face was twisted into a sneer as he bore down on the other man’s arm. His opponent growled in frustration as the back of his hand got closer and closer to the table.
As Brawl was about to win, his com unit chimed in his ear. With his free hand that glimmered in the dim light of the bar, he tapped the button and answered. “This had better be important!” he growled.
“Burke?” a familiar voice came over the com that seemed to come right out of the past. Brawl began to let up as his surprise broke his focus ever-so-slightly. Nobody called him Burke except for those who knew him long ago.
“Who is this?” he asked as he regained the ground he had just lost.
“It’s Pual.”
Pual? What the hell does he want? “You got a lot of nerve calling me, Prime Minister.”
“Shut up and listen, I have a job for you that will pay well enough to put you up for a while.”
“I’m listening,” he said as he pinned his opponent’s hand to the table. The bar erupted in laughter, cheers and curses.
“Meet me at Maauer’s Harbor in six hours and come alone.”
“That sounds awful clandestine to me, Pual. Is this to be ‘off the record’?”
“No. Just meet me there, I’ll send the exact coordinates in one hour.”
The channel cut, Brawl collected his winnings and left the bar to get some fresh air, the smoke was starting to hurt his head and burn his eyes. It was, after all, a disgusting habit.
Something obviously had the good Prime Minister’s panties in a bunch to call him of all people, he mused. He wasn’t stupid, he’d seen the general evac of Seryys City due to the Reapers and knew that things were degrading between the Vyysarri and the Seryysans and had recently resulted in some punches being thrown, but this was something else entirely. He hadn’t spoken to Puar in thirty years; not since they both retired—a forced retirement in his case, also known as a court-martial—from the SCGF. Puar had been his commanding officer when they were sent to P-146 to infiltrate a small Vyysarri outpost that had seemingly cropped up overnight. Planet 146 was well within Seryys Space. It was a unique planet as it was shrouded within the umbra of a nebula. Despite that, it was unusual that the Vyysarri would have been able to establish an outpost so quickly and without being detected by a single spysat—and they were numerous in that area because of the nebula. Unbeknownst to both Brawl and Puar, it was a setup, a ploy to use his unit as bait to draw in a Vyysarri battle fleet. Colonel Puar—at the time—was given false information about the outpost and accompanied his battalion down to the planet.
When they got there, they discovered that the outpost had been abandoned for quite some time. Before they could even call for extraction, the Vyysarri had begun to pelt the surface with cannon fire. Almost instantly, half of his men were vaporized in a fiery conflagration. Brawl and Puar were separated by a massive crater where half of the soldiers used to be. They reacted quickly and found cover as hell rained down on them. From their cover points, Puar, with a handful of others, was hiding under a piece of Ti’tan’lium hull plating from the old outpost while Brawl ran for a cave several hundred yards east of him—he didn’t stop until he was well under the outcropping—they watched the battle rage above them.
They had no idea who was winning, but they could see capital ships going up in balls of fire and iridescent shockwaves. Large chunks of flotsam came burning into the atmosphere, some made it to ground and caused the earth beneath them to rumble. Puar knew his cover spot wasn’t worth spit if one of those pieces of debris landed on him. He looked at his boys, they were scared and he knew it. But they had to get out of there.
Puar shouted to his men that they were going to run for an underground garage he had spotted when they landed. With any luck, it would lead to a subterranean hangar for ships, skiffs and other vehicles. If it did, it would be designed to withstand an orbital bombardment. He gave the order and they scrambled to their feet. They ran like their lives depended on it. The doors to the garage were about a hundred yards away which might as well have been a mile. By the time they made it to the doors, of the fifty of so survivors, only ten had made it.
Naturally, the doors were closed and the opening mechanism hadn’t worked in decades, but that wasn’t a problem for ten men trained on a planet with a higher gravitational pull than Seryys. They were able to pry the doors open and make for relative safety. They went down and down into the hangar; it went so deep that by the time they reached the bottom, no light from the doors made it in. It was dark as night on Southern Ocean. While hunkered down there, they could hear and feel the explosions of hulks crashing from the heavens. One in particular caused parts of the hangar to cave in. With the aid of sunlight, they could see what their lamps couldn’t have reached: ships—hundreds of them. They were Vyysarri Calitour-Class Gunships. Calitours were large cat-like beasts that roamed the hills of Vyysar that were long extinct as their blood was rich in nutrients and was favored by the Vyysarri pallet.
They had their way out.
No one but him made it to the caves. He didn’t care. Everyone he knew was now most likely dead. All he could do was watch the ships explode and hope that someone in the fleet cared enough to come get him and any of the other survivors. His blood boiled with hatred, knowing full well that Puar had led a ground mission to use his boys as bait. His only comfort was in knowing that Puar would die on t
his planet with him. Suddenly a bright flash in the sky caught his attention. Another capital ship must have been destroyed. Emerging from the shockwave was a large hulk of a ship burning up in the atmosphere. As it drew nearer, Brawl could make out the unmistakable features of a Seryysan Lance-Class Dreadnaught burning through the sky. Only peripherally did he notice that the ship was heading straight for him.
He ventured deeper into the caves for protection. The ship crashed with the force of a hundred nuclear bombs that shook the ground so hard, he lost his footing. A deep rumble sounded from deeper within the caves. Aw shit! Brawl thought. Stalactites fell from the ceiling of the cave, crashing around him. He hit the floor and curled up in a ball to make himself as small a target as possible and to protect himself. The rumbling went on for what seemed like an hour, though it was probably only a minute or two at most. It was only after the dust had settled that he registered he was injured.
Somehow, during the earthquake, he was unraveled and a rather large stalactite had crushed his left arm at the shoulder. Without flinching, he pulled his knife and cut the useless limb at the closest break point. Then, using his cauterizer, he closed the wound all while biting down on the canvas strap of his assault rifle. His way out was completely caved in, he was going to have to find another way.
After crawling through the caves for three days with no painkillers, little water, food or sleep and praying to the Founders that Colonel Puar had met his death in a fiery hell—because that would be the only excuse for not even attempting to mount a search and rescue for him, he found another mouth that lead out to the southern end of the mountain through which he had been crawling. The sight that greeted him was horrific. There was debris from hundreds of ships, Seryysan and Vyysarri alike, strewn across the landscape and not just starfighters—but gunships, capital ships and frigates. He crawled up to the top of the small mountain and found the Lance-Class Dreadnaught, or what was left of it, buried nose-first several hundred feet into the mountainside.
From there, he could see the outpost. To the south of the main structure was a set of garage doors that looked to have been pried open. With any luck, those doors led to a subterranean hangar. He limped to the doors and down the ramp to the hangar. There were hundreds of Calitour-Class Gunships down there! He had found his ticket home!
After hotwiring one of the ships, he made his way back up the ramp to the outside sky. Once he was clear of the outpost, he angled up for orbit and hit the throttle. As he broke free of the planet’s gravity, he called out on the Navy’s frequency. To his surprise, he got a response immediately with landing instructions.
He entered the hangar and found two more of the Calitours sitting on the hangar floor. So, others did make it, he mused. He dropped the ship on its landing struts and exited the ship.
There to greet him were Colonel Pual’Kin Puar and Colonel Khai’Xander Khail! Son of a bitch! He seethed.
“We’re glad you made it!” Puar said with genuine relief, but Brawl didn’t hear it that way—or was it he didn’t want to hear it that way?
“You son of a bitch!” he growled, laying Puar out with one solid strike to the nose.
There was a tense second while everyone else took in what had just happened. Puar was out cold on the glossy hangar floor and Khail was gaping, slack-jawed. “At ease, soldier!” Khail shouted.
“Go fuck yourself, sir!” Brawl spat.
“You’re out of line, soldier!” Khail growled, making a move to restrain the crazed man.
With the ferociousness of a Sabercat, Brawl lunged at Khail, driving his good shoulder into Khail’s midsection. Taken completely off guard, Khail went straight to his back. Khail threw him off and he went skidding along the polished floor of the hangar. But he didn’t stop; Brawl got up and leapt into the fray again. This time Khail was ready for him. With only one hand, he couldn’t mount a very good offensive attack, but he was going do it or die trying. He was using the fact that Khail didn’t want to hurt him to his advantage and continued to throw attacks in Khail’s direction.
Brawl threw a solid punch that Khail caught in his hand. They locked eyes for a second before Khail drove his free hand into Brawl’s forehead, causing him to backpedal several steps to keep his balance. Brawl recovered quickly and pushed the attack again, this time with his feet. Several arching sweeps missed their marks and Khail bobbed and weaved around and even deflected them. Finally, an arcing roundhouse kick swept around for Khail’s midsection. Khail countered with a spinning back kick to the chest that sent Brawl sprawling to his back.
Khail moved up to restrain the man, but Brawl sluggishly got to his feet. Khail muttered something under his breath about not knowing when to quit. As Khail loomed up over him, he quickly sent a snapping kick to Khail’s left knee, knocking his left foot out from under him. As Khai dropped to one knee, Brawl planted his left foot on Khail’s right knee, pushing off of it. With his right knee, he landed a devastating blow to Khail’s face that snapped his head back and sent him sprawling, sliding across the hangar floor for several feet.
Only then did the security force show up and subdue him using rubber rounds and tasers.
The rest was history. He was court-martialed, stripped of his rank and excommunicated from the SCGF.
Brawl stalked down the alley toward his Calitour-Class Gunship the Brawler, while stuffing his pockets with his winnings. He smiled at his ship, his baby. She was a stout, sturdy ship. She was rectangular, roughly fifteen feet tall, forty feet long and ten feet wide, with rectangular wings that slanted down at a forty-five degree angle from the top. The wings housed two rocket launchers each. The canopy wrapped around the forward hull. Directly below the back edge of the cockpit canopy were blisters that protruded from the hull two feet. Within those blisters were cannon turrets that dropped down below the hull for a full three hundred and sixty degree firing arc. The engines were embedded in the rear. The ship was blood red (its original color) with carbon scoring and pock marks all along her sides. He only made it halfway to the Brawler when the man he had beaten barged out of the bar cursing.
“Hey!” he shouted. “Come back here, you fucking cheater!” Brawl kept walking, just ignoring the jerk. That only served to anger the loser more. “Hey! I’m talking to you, gimp!” Not even the derogatory term for those who utilize bionic prosthetics seemed to goad him; Brawl wasn’t going to let this man get to him.
“That’s right,” the man gloated. “Keep walking, you piece of shit!”
Brawl simply got in and fired up the hover pads. He turned the ship to face the alley exit when a bottle ricocheted of the canopy.
That’s it! Brawl thought. He backed up the alley toward the door, close enough that the poor loser could’ve touched the underside of the ship. He then punched it to full throttle. The jet wash sent the angry man tumbling further down the alley and crashing in a heap between two trash receptacles. As the ship angled up for the skylanes, he thought that, had he not been cheating, he would’ve killed that man. Though, it wasn’t really cheating if he simply failed to mention that he was trained on Gorn Planet and was two or three times stronger than any common Seryysan…
The most powerful man in Seryys Space strolled leisurely, openly along a sidewalk toward the rendezvous point. He had forgotten how much he loved the quaintness of Maauer’s Harbor. It was a small town located on the coast of Maauer’s Cove within Atlas Lake, one of the biggest natural lakes on Seryys. Several thousand miles from Seryys City, it was completely untouched by the Reaper infestation as of yet. The people there lived simple lives, drove cars that still had wheels on mostly dirt roads. This was where Pual’Kin and Pual’Brennan grew up. They were the sons of simple farmers who worked tirelessly to help feed the enormous population of almost four trillion people living on Seryys and her sister planets. The people there were friendly, warm and welcoming to even the strangest travelers. His favorite restaurant was coming up on the left. “Sovarr’s Grill” was still on the old, wooden sign that hung above the door
that had to be opened manually. Both he and his brother hated farming so much that they left as soon as they were of age. Pual’Kin went into the military and Pual Brennan, years later, went into the Police Force. Though it caused quite an uproar in the family, their dad, Pual’Savyyn Puar, was proud of their accomplishments. It was such a shame that Pual’Savyyn didn’t live long enough to see his oldest son become Prime Minister and his youngest son become a hero. He died tragically in an accident when his Bashard—a lumbering beast of burden known for its epic strength and volatile temper—broke from its restraints and trampled him to death. It came as quite a shock as Pual’Savyyn made a secondary income training the animals for other farmers. His ability to communicate with the beasts was legendary.
Their mother, Elle’Lyyn Ellarr, was strong and refused to let her husband’s death slow her down. She kept the farm for another six seasons before she became too old to continue. At that point, both Puar brothers had considered returning home to help, but she wouldn’t allow it. She sold the farm and moved to Seryys City and into a nice, modest apartment in Upper Seryys. There, she could be closer to her boys.
The rendezvous spot was closer to the cove in an old field two miles out of town. It’s where he would go to make out with his then girlfriend. It was also where he and his brother would meet up with their friends and have pellet gun wars. Puar still had three hours before the rendezvous, so his walk would eventually take him there. A mile outside of town, the path that he and his friends had worn into the brush was still there and led into Cove Forest. After another mile, he followed the path to a clearing in the forest and found the field that filled his childhood with so much laughter and fun. The sun was out on a very clear day. He stood in the center, chin up basking in the sunlight. He took a deep breath, took in the fresh air of a farming town and felt better than he had in a long time. It was good being home!
The Seryys Chronicles: Steel Alliance Page 3
