by Aer-ki Jyr
Two managed to dive out of the way, but three more didn’t and got hit so hard they went flying out into the jungle with one disappearing from view. The other two smashed into trees and fell in a hard thump to the ground.
This was definitely Holloi. He remembered its gravity well, which was part of the reason his body felt so exhausted, but that could not account for all of it.
“Who are you?” a voice asked aloud through the jungle just as the infantry stopped firing, but didn’t stop moving as they grouped and circled around keeping a wide berth. The aerial battle overhead did not let up, and it seemed as if the Pak’lem did not care about that at all as he emerged through the trees into the smokey clearing around the now holely tent.
As the question was asked the infantry continued to move, which the Era’tran could not allow. He jumped to the left and got outside the Pak’lem’s jamming range, then picked up two of the infantry and pulled them to him again…only to have them drop out of his grasp as the jamming field washed over the infantry on command. The Pak’lem must have been able to direct it where he wanted rather than just using a radius. The Zak’de’ron had apparently gone beyond the psionics kit they’d given to the Zen’zat, which was no real surprise.
“Keep your distance,” the Pak’lem told his troops, who obeyed and spread out into a bowl-shaped formation without trying to slip past the Era’tran again. “Let us have a moment to talk.”
“You serve the Zak’de’ron?”
“As do all true V’kit’no’sat.”
The Era’tran’s face frowned. “You are not V’kit’no’sat.”
“A matter of point of view, at the moment, and irrelevant. The question is, who are you? I was told all the Hakja had been destroyed. How are you still alive?”
That was an insult beyond insults, but he didn’t know if it was true. None of this made sense, but battle was here and he knew better than to let the enemy control the course of events. The gunship was still fighting above them, and he knew it did not have the shields to endure in that matchup. This discussion pause was ensuring aerial superiority for the Zak’de’ron.
Rather than answer with words, the Era’tran summoned up a dual attack, forming a Jumat orb over his head while building a Choratrik inside his mouth and hiding it until the last moment. He then launched the orb up through the tree branches at the drifting transport, followed by firing the plasma beam at the same spot the disruptive energy matrix hit.
He couldn’t aim well with no Pefbar or line of sight, but he had to help the gunship or the Kardopa would rain down support fire and make the land battle one he could not win…or he had to win this quickly before the gunship was destroyed or chased off. Either way, standing and talking was a fool’s errand.
The infantry didn’t hold back once he opened fire, and soon his weak bioshields were being hit from all angles. The Era’tran had to run away to the right, leaving the wounded healer behind as he sprinted through the trees to get himself some cover.
The Pak’lem followed, and was irritatingly able to keep pace. The Era’tran’s legs were so weak it was insulting. A quadruped of that mass should never have been able to match a biped with his stride, even in these trees, but he was. And the infantry was…surprisingly slower. A few kept pace and actually closed with him, but the rest did not, and the Era’tran saw that error immediately.
The jamming fields were still over him, so he couldn’t grab them, but if they had an open shot at him so did he, and when he had the opportunity he turned around suddenly and threw a Jumat wall towards them, knocking down small trees and hurling them backwards when it hit. Some were able to dodge out of the way, some were shielded by the larger trees, but the ones that did get knocked off their feet died moments later when a fiery plasma plume followed and hit them on the ground before they could get back to their feet and move again.
The Era’tran picked off several in this manner, then the others fell back in line as the Pak’lem eased out in front of their formation. Not only that, he was speeding up and nearly on top of the Era’tran, who knew he could not outrun him. As expected the armored quadruped started firing some shots of his own into the Era’tran’s bioshields, which depleted it so much he had to turn and face him.
He did so suddenly, digging his heels into the soil and making long gouges as he reversed course and put most of his remaining bioshields ahead of him. Just beneath he charged another Jumat, and two steps before collision he dropped the shields and released the energy wave that ended up being smaller than he wanted. His psionic strength was failing him as well, but the blow was enough to knock the quadruped off balance just before the Era’tran head butted him.
That hurt, badly, for the Era’tran had no armor and the Pak’lem did, but he did so at a specific angle that forced the Pak’lem’s head down and allowed the Era’tran to roll over his back and bite down on his neck before the lightning unleashed from the psionic spine. He didn’t try to hold on, and got his chest over the hump of his spine so he didn’t take a direct hit, then dug his glowing claws into the Pak’lem’s shoulders and pulled.
Both massive bodies tumbled to the side with the Pak’lem’s neck taking most of the torsion, but his armor was solid and did not break, though his shields were already down. Lightning arcs traveled through the Era’tran’s body, causing him to fall as his legs gave way, but the momentum could not be stopped by it. The Pak’lem rolled upside down, his psionic tissue now pointed into the dirt where the lightning arcs posed no threat to the Era’tran…and the Era’tran now had his legs back and was scurrying over the few meters that separated them to bite into the underside of his neck again.
Not hard, otherwise his teeth would have lost against the armor, but enough for leverage pinning the quadruped to the ground upside down as it tried to kick free. The infantry pelted him with shots he could not fully deflect. His bioshields went down at some point, but he was locked on the kill and digging into the target’s neck with his Saroto’kanse’vam claws while also delivering a point blank plasma blast.
The armor held up fairly well against his claws, but after the Era’tran got through it the flesh underneath gave way at his touch. Knowing that this armor probably had a Kich’a’kat in it, he kept tearing and tearing, ignoring the damage being done to his body by the infantry weapons, but he did manage a reverse Jumat that knocked the infantry back and away from him long enough for him to finish decapitating the Pak’lem.
He cut all the way through the armor on the far side, then tossed the still armored head to his left, using his now active Lachka to propel it like a boulder into two of the infantry as they suddenly stood still helpless under his renewed Ikrid influence. That stopped most of the fighting, but not all, for it seemed some of the attackers had some resistance.
The Era’tran held the others in check, willing himself through the damage being done to his body as he isolated the Bo’ja individually and yanked them off their feet, drawing them to him and clawing them into submission. By the time he was finished he was barely holding onto consciousness. The pain was so great it had blended into a constant numbing, but he didn’t release his Ikrid hold on the others. With no one shooting him, he walked around and killed them one by one as he heard the battle overhead continuing, then he reached out to the gunship again.
Surface secure. Show me your status.
He got a mental reply, seeing through the Zen’zat’s eyes at the smoking transport as it continued to fire from two remaining turrets. Its shields were mostly gone, but the gunship was barely flying and fighting.
The Era’tran knew he had to win this, or he’d be killed shortly, so he forced himself to start walking in their direction, for they were no longer overhead. He reached out with his Ikrid, but he was too far. He had to get closer, but fortunately the Zen’zat understood and maneuvered around so the transport had to do the same or expose their damaged side. That left it no longer drifting away from the Era’tran, but towards him.
When it finally did come back
within range the Era’tran found the gunners inside and froze them, and fortunately there were no Bo’ja or others that had telepathic skills inside to resist, for his power at this range was tenuous.
Cease fire and board the transport. I have the crew incapacitated.
What is your status? Mario’topa asked.
I am alive. Hurry. I do not know how long I can hold them.
It will be done, the Zen’zat proudly promised. You have your skills back, Tu’vac. Has the healer returned your memory as well?
I do not know what has happened to me, Mario’topa, but you know my name is not Tu’vac. Why do you call me that?
It is what you have been called for the past 2 centuries. You were badly injured and incapable of even moving at first. Your memories were held captive by the damage and unrepairable with Kich’a’kat, or you would have been reverted to a hatchling. The healer has been manually restoring them cell by cell, and she said you were nowhere near full recovery. Do you remember who you are?
Two centuries have passed?
Yes, and we are at war with the Zak’de’ron and the previously independent Oso’lon and J’gar. They have reformed the original V’kit’no’sat, denying us our own identity. Do you remember who you are?
The Era’tran growled, still having to keep his Ikrid constant and fighting the loss of blood from his body, but his anger kept him functioning.
Eldorat. Eldorat did this to me?
You survived, barely. He did not. He was killed in Itaru, then the Elder Council went to war with the Zak’de’ron in your absence. Do you remember who you are?
I do.
What is your name? Mario’topa demanded.
My name is Mak’to’ran, he said as the gunship swung up alongside the transport and two Zen’zat jumped out and began forcing open one of the exterior hatches.
Very good. Do not tell anyone else. The galaxy thinks you are dead, the Zak’de’ron think you are dead, and that is the only reason we have been able to keep Tu’vac safe. Do you understand?
Why is Holloi under attack?
They do not know you are here. Holloi is the last stronghold capable of defying Itaru. That is why they are risking so much to take it. Both sides are gutted, Mak’to’ran. Their invasion here is not guaranteed, but they are gradually winning.
Itaru?
Destroyed by the Oso’lon and J’gar betrayal. We had the Zak’de’ron beat, Mak’to’ran. Your plan worked. Most of their vermin race are dead. But once the war was fully engaged, the others struck Itaru with their full might and canceled out. They retain possession of it, but there is nothing left. Almost all died. No one surrendered.
What of the Hjar’at?
They were the Zak’de’ron’s second main target. Mavro is gone, also destroyed and not conquered. We didn’t think they’d have the strength to mount another heavy assault for another century, but they summoned enough to try here. The outcome is undetermined, but even if we win we will have nothing left. The empire is leaderless, and the Zak’de’ron are scooping up the smaller systems. Conquering rather than destroying. Converting those who have heeded the call to rejoin Itaru willingly without penalty in order to unite to fight the Hadarak.
All this because I was gone? Mak’to’ran asked.
The Elder Council was never your equal.
What of Star Force?
They are neutral and fighting the Hadarak with full force. Neither side will interfere with their outposts and evacuation routes.
And the Hadarak?
Their prime troops have emerged. The grand fight that was predicted has begun, but we are not part of it. Our border worlds fall where encroachment has occurred. We have nothing to defend them with, and Star Force cannot hold them back everywhere.
Mak’to’ran felt the Zen’zat now inside the transport, and a few seconds later the minds he was holding in check disappeared from his view as they were killed.
Mario’topa, there was a Kich’a’kat in the dead drop supplies. Bring it to me. I cannot walk.
On my way, he said as Mak’to’ran sat down on his tail letting his mangled legs splay out and his head droop down. He didn’t want to lay over, and the wounds he was not sitting on screamed at him, but his mind was free of the prison it had been in, and he was intent on remaining conscious no matter what.
He had woken to a nightmare, but awake he was. Now he had to work the problem piece by piece, but nothing would matter if he succumbed to the infantry wounds that covered his body like bee stings. The Kich’a’kat could revive him if he died, but he didn’t know if it was intact or not. It could have been damaged in the firefight, so Mak’to’ran sat and used what little effort he could muster to activate his Haemra and use his healing psionic on the wounds leaking the most blood…
8
Mario’topa sat in the damaged gunship, which was barely able to hover due to losing all but one of its gravity drives, but half its weaponry still worked, as did its sensors. He’d sent Yenni off in the transport to pick up Lenna and Ben’ra, so he was hovering down into the canopy slightly and doing his best to blend in with the terrain as he kept watch. Jo’ra was dead, having been killed defending the Era’tran against far too many opponents and being unable to reposition. Defending immobile people was far harder than fighting on the run, and Mario’topa didn’t fault him. He hadn’t really stood a chance.
He’d been 835,022 years old, and the others were no younger. This war was taking away experienced troops more than anything, and doing so in such worthless fashion. Jo’ra didn’t do anything worth his death, for he couldn’t have stopped the attack, and had Mario’topa been in his place he wouldn’t have run and abandoned the Era’tran either. It was such a wasteful situation that it caused him to hate the Zak’de’ron even more, for ultimately they were responsible for all of this.
No, that wasn’t fair. The Elder Council had started this war. Eldorat was Zak’de’ron, but he wasn’t one of them. Over the past 200 years no other Essence users had entered the fighting, making it abundantly clear he had been a rogue allied with an extra-galactic power just as he’d said. Mario’topa wondered if the Zak’de’ron would have struck first once they knew Mak’to’ran was gone. It was possible they would have, and having gotten the first decisive attack in the war would have been to their advantage rather than the V’kit’no’sat’s, but still there was the possibility that there would have been no war and both would be fighting the Hadarak. Now it was a moot point, and there was no way to know what could or would have happened otherwise.
He still blamed the Zak’de’ron. He always would. And the more they killed the more his hate grew, but if Mak’to’ran said to stop fighting he would. The V’kit’no’sat desperately needed his guidance, and from everything he’d seen thus far Mak’to’ran had fully recovered. That was impossible, yet here he was, combat capable and with his memories intact. Sol’an couldn’t explain it either, and right now both were talking and eating up the dead drop foodstuffs to replace the tissue the Kich’a’kat had carved out of their bodies to regrow their wounds.
There hadn’t been enough of Jo’ra left to heal. His chest cavity had been hollowed out by weaponsfire to the point where his armor could not heal him. His heart had not been wounded, but destroyed, so there was nothing left to regrow. Fortunately Sol’an had been salvageable, along with her arm which had been reattached, but right now both Era’tran were famished and telekinetically flying food into their large mouths at a rapid pace.
Mario’topa would continue to guard them until the others came back, and right now there was no one out here in the skies to bother them. The planetary shield overhead was still up, and the nearest enemy installations were more than 1000 miles away. That was too close, but they didn’t appear to be interested in what had happened here. Or maybe they didn’t have any ships left to send. He assumed a signal had been sent out when this group started to fight, or at least when they began to lose, but there were no more transmissions coming from the jungle, so he waited a
nd watched to see if their luck was going to run out again.
“There are still blank spots where we regrew tissue,” Sol’an said, using her halo to lightly scan Mak’to’ran’s brain. Somehow it had survived the fighting without taking any damage. “You must have some memory loss from it, but the rest of your brain is as if it was never damaged. I cannot explain it. I should have shot you long ago.”
Mak’to’ran huffed, but did not stop the flying train of food cubes from arcing up into his mouth. It paused every time he chewed and swallowed, and Sol’an should have been doing the same, but the mystery before her had taken priority after the first few canisters had been emptied.
I do not believe that is what did it, he said telepathically as he continued to eat. The resistance in my brain melted away from the bottom up. The shots merely woke me.
“Replay the memory for me, as much as you can,” she insisted, knowing that such things were highly inaccurate, especially after battle and severe wounds, but she needed something to work with.
Mak’to’ran paused his chewing as he tried to remember back. Most of it was a blur, but he remembered the resistance in his mind like a great wall that would not bend to his push. It annoyed him so much he had flung himself at it, then…
Mak’to’ran’s body twitched as he felt something inside him snap again, then everything went weak as he fell to the ground.
“What did you do?” she demanded, scanning him again but not being able to find anything biologically wrong.
Mak’to’ran pushed himself to his feet with an odd look in his eye, ignoring her question and lifting one of the empty foodstuff canisters telepathically. Sol’an could see it begin to crush slightly in his grip, then a moment later it snapped into a smashed rod with such ferocity that she began to reevaluate his Lachka strength.
