Williams wasn’t wrong. Once word had gotten out that the Draconians did more than take over the planet, plans had been drawn up by the UNE military with the assistance of Foster and her crew of the Johannes Kepler, to land and investigate. Numerous constructs were appearing across the surface of the planet, the largest one appeared over the ancient city, where the golden monolith was that gave Foster her tattoos and its powers. It was no coincidence that the Draconians built it there. They too knew there was something very special about it.
Of course, with the wormhole leading into the Kapteyn’s Star guarded by Draconian force forces twenty-four-seven, meant the only way to enter was via a long FTL flight from the Gliese 1061 system, some three point seven light-years away. The plan was simple, enter via FTL, then create enough havoc to force the Draconian ships away from the wormhole, so the navy could send a small fleet through.
Naturally, this act went against Foster’s original plan of showing the Draconians that Earth, the Empire, and Union were not their enemies, as this was a straight-up military operation that saw a few battles flare up in random parts of the system. But the risks needed to be taken, they needed to see exactly what was being built, and Foster needed to recommunicate with the monolith and see if there was something more that could be learnt from its secrets.
And maybe get the heads-up if it’s possible to remove these damn tattoos. They get super itchy when they glow blue like this, Foster mused while her hands continued to glow. “Yeah it is, but you know the drill? Marines do recon first, and then we move. We’re the galaxy’s golden boys and gals, if the dragons eat us for lunch because we didn’t take the time to look before we leaped, well, you know.”
“Okay enough talk, back to the music,” Chang’s voice returned.
Foster shook her head. “Oh please.”
“Captain, you should join us.”
“I’ll pass.”
“Okay, here’s the next song, and like the last one, it’s a classic.”
The music player flashed as it began to play a new song, one that started with a saxophone solo, an alluring one at that. “Chang, what are you trying to do? Get us in the mood?” Williams said.
“Oh, this brings back memories,” Pierce said.
“I’m pretty sure you’re the only one that was around when this came out,” Chang transmitted. “Hold on, guys, I’ll be right back.”
A few seconds had passed while the song played and echoed through the ruined store and out into the abandoned streets of the city. With the exception of Pierce, nobody else recognized the lyrics of the song.
“I'm Never Gonna Dance Again.” Nobody else, but Tolukei that was.
Everyone gave Tolukei a confused glare. Even Odelea, who had briefly returned to her analysis of the holograms around her, had taken notice that the Javnis psionic, of all people, knew the song.
“How did you know that?” Foster asked him.
“I had the . . . unfortunate pleasure of participating in a human ritual, Flight Lieutenant Chang, held in his quarters, during our journey to this world,” Tolukei said in his all too familiar monotone voice.
“And what ritual was that?”
Tolukei sighed, shutting all four of his eyes. “I believe it was called, karaoke night.”
“Since when did we have a karaoke night?”
“Since we made the long and uneventful month and half flight to this planet,” Pierce said. “I believe you opted to go into cryostasis, Captain.”
“What the hell else were we going to do during that time?” Foster spat.
Pierce shrugged. “Participate in karaoke night, evidently.”
“I can’t imagine Tolukei singing karaoke,” Foster said, imagining an alien like Tolukei singing karaoke with no shame.
“It was a . . . regretful experience,” Tolukei said, and meandered out of sight into the storage room Foster was in previously.
Chang’s music continued to play while the sounds of a struggle and yelling from the outside caught her attention, barely. The music was loud enough to drown most of it out. Foster moved to the front entrance of the shop and looked outside at the post-apocalyptic city streets, trying her best not to imagine the last moments of the dead bodies in the streets.
She didn’t see anything out of the norm at first. What she did hear was gunshots, then particle beam blasts, and the roars of dragons. They didn’t sound happy. Shit.
Four Marines, wearing exosuits, ran out from an alley with their rifles in hand. Last time Foster checked, they had moved out in groups of six. Marines leave no one behind, unless they were vaporized by tachyon blasts, like the six beams that fired past them.
Foster was quick and dashed back inside. So were the four Marines that saw her and took cover behind the overturned shelves of the shop. She recognized the Marines. They were part of a group that led Foster and her team into the shop to stay low as they scouted ahead. The leader of the team, a man with red hair and a thick beard, placed his index finger to his lips making a shush noise. It was Lieutenant Jacob Miles.
“Is he shushing us?” Williams said to Foster, having seen the four burst in.
“Turn off the music,” Corporal Valiyev whispered.
Miles hastily peeked outside with his weapon drawn and its barrel hungry for combat, while Private Ingram joined him. Private Murphy moved to the back where the holographic music player continued to blast George Michael’s singing. “All right guys shut it down.”
Williams went to do just that, tapping the holographic stop button on the player. The music continued to play. “How do you turn off the fucking radio?”
“Just hit the off button,” Foster said, walking back to him.
Williams’ finger did so, nothing happened. “It’s not working.”
Foster lifted her wrist terminal to her face. “Chang, radio silence, now.” There was no reply. “This is Foster to Chang, are you there?”
The comm channel remained silent. Silent being something Foster needed the music player to become as she quickly realized it was blowing their cover. George Michael’s sexy voice was luring Draconian forces to the area. The four Marines retreated away from the shop’s entrance, hunkering down at the small area where Foster and her crew had remained for the last few hours.
Wyverns were heard screeching in the skies above, and Draconian soldiers marched in the streets following the sound of the music that wouldn’t stop. The humanoid dragon soldiers eventually stepped inside the shop, their helmeted heads and rifles conducted a search.
No further words needed to be spoken. Everyone ducked behind debris or product shelves, remaining out of sight from the Draconian soldiers, all while the holo music player hovered, shined, and blasted the tunes.
“Kill the music or they kill us,” Miles whispered.
“We can’t!” Williams said, trying one last time to shut it down before diving back into his cover.
There were seven Draconian soldiers in total from what Foster was able to count. They fanned out with their heads bobbing up and down looking for the source of the music, and the humans that thought it was a good idea to play. The Draconian soldiers spoke with one another in their language. Discussing a battle plan? Issuing orders?
Foster had no idea, nor did everyone else around her, except for one person. She faced her and whispered. “Odelea, over here.”
Odelea crawled over to Foster’s cover, without making a sound remarkably. Foster wasn’t sure if it was the fact the skinny Aryile girl weighed no more than a hundred pounds, or the fact her species, in ancient times, were heavily hunted by predators and were quite adept at sneaking about undetected.
“What are they saying?” Foster silently asked her, while pointing at the conversing Draconian soldiers.
Odelea listened in, carefully doing whatever it was her brilliant brain did to translate mysterious languages on the spot. “He seems to be their leader, he’s ordering them to find the survivors.”
“Survivors?”
Odelea’s l
ips moved, but no words came out. The sound of gunfire from the four Marines was much louder than her. Tachyon rifle fire erupted next, mixed in with Miles’ voice, issuing orders to his team. A full-blown indoor battle ignited, and all that Foster and her crew could do was duck, remain prone, and hope no stray shots hit them.
Especially tachyons, as they vaporized most things they hit.
2 Peiun
Atrium Arm, A-OK Fourteen Pub
Amicitia Station 14, Arietis system
October 13, 2118, 04:46 SST (Sol Standard Time)
Captain Peiun Starblazer of the Imperial navy double-checked the current time using his HNI. He was on time, one minute early in fact, his contact better be as well, unlike the last. His captain’s Imperial uniform attracted the stares of the multispecies atrium as he strode to the A-OK pub. He liked the nonverbal respect he received and hoped his contact would show him the same respect when they meet. A Hashmedai man dressed as he was sent a powerful message after all, one of intimidation.
Various species from across the galaxy passed through the entrance of the pub, most of them nonhuman, understandable given the time. Some wobbled with the smell of alcohol on their breath, others not so much. Peiun went to make his appearance inside after flicking a small piece of lint off his shoulders. First impressions were critical going forward.
His body was briefly denied entrance, accidently of course. He bumped into a fellow Hashmedai, a young woman with long silver hair. Of course, watching where you are going is just as important as first impressions . . . A gentle smile and nod followed as the two entered.
The pub was lightly attended much to Peiun’s delight. It would be easier to spot his contact and reduce the chances of too many ears overhearing what would be spoken. Best part of it all? Peiun was able to find his contact right away, without meandering from table to table. His contact was sitting at a remote table in the far right-hand corner of the establishment, nursing a small glass of ale.
Peiun sat with his contact, an average-sized Qirak male. Its head had to tilt up, way up, to make face-to-face contact with Peiun as it spoke. “Greetings my friend, you come seeking knowledge, yes, yes?”
Peiun relaxed in his chair, as blissful frigid air cooled his body after it detected he was Hashmedai. “I have, Hoylu.” That was his name, right? Peiun thought as the Qirak’s head curved to the side. “That’s why we agreed to meet here, is it not?”
“Ah, please forgive, Hashmedai; all Imperial navy officers look the same to me.”
“Do you have the information I seek?”
“Do you have the payment I seek?”
Peiun produced his credit chit from his chest pocket and showed its small digital screen so Hoylu could read the number of credits he was willing to deposit into his account.
Hoylu’s ratlike nose and whiskers twitched. “Oh . . . that’s it?”
“Three thousand credits,” Peiun said. “It can all be yours, Qirak, if you accept.”
“Three thousand Earth credits . . .” Hoylu said with disappointment. “Three thousand Radiance credits, yes, that could be a temping offer, but Earth credits?”
“It’s all I have. As you know, my species does not use a currency system.” Peiun’s recent memories of him spending days hauling goods across the galaxy on his free time to human merchants came back into his thoughts. It was the only way for him to earn credits, and if Hoylu didn’t accept, well, then he wasted his time and his crew’s. The Rezeki’s Rage was a warship, not a cargo hauler.
Hoylu pushed the credit chit, still jammed in his face, away forcing Peiun to pull it back. The message was clear, no deal. “Do you have any jewels, perhaps?” Hoylu asked.
“I do not.”
“Gold?” Peiun shook his head no. “Platinum?”
“You can buy those with these credits.”
“But not enough!” Hoylu jubilantly exclaimed. “Earth credits slipping thanks to the Draconian attacks, Radiance credits, are rising.”
“Every nation has been attacked,” Peiun said as his arms crossed.
“Not the Qirak! Let’s not forget, Earth suffered the most. Draconians spent more time on Earth, took away the Kapteyn’s Star system and attempted to take Sirius! Earth credits fall, Radiance credits rise!”
“I have nothing else to offer you then, my friend.”
Peiun went to pocket his credit chit, sighing loudly in the process as he glared at the display, surprised how badly the UNE economy had been doing. He was surprised to see the screen had changed. The balance in his account had increased, a lot. It was an exuberant number, and one he had no memory of earning. He continued to eye the screen, certain that it was a computer error.
It was no error. Tapping through it revealed he had a balance of over three hundred thousand Earth credits, and it had been there the whole time. He quickly adjusted the offer he made to Hoylu, held the screen out for him to see, and hoped if it was a computer error that it would attempt to correct itself after the transaction had been made.
“How about now?” Peiun said, smirking.
Hoylu’s eyes opened wide, while his hands rubbed together with excitement. “Oh . . . okay, this number could work, many, many new zeros added to the end of your original offer.”
“So, we have a deal then?”
“Yes, yes! We have deal, Hashmedai.”
A chime sounded, notifying him of the completion of the transaction into Hoylu’s credit chit. Out from Hoylu’s sack he had lying on the chair next to him was his holo pad. His tiny hands swiped and tapped across its UI. It was a reminder to Peiun and the rest of the patrons in the pub, that most Qirak never got HNI implants, nor did any Qirak controlled world get attacked by the Draconian horde. I wonder if there’s a connection.
Hoylu’s holo pad created a floating holographic document icon between the two. Peiun grabbed the icon and slid it into his HNI received files folder. A prompt appeared over his eyesight notifying him the file transfer process was in progress. The spinning notification froze suddenly, computer lag he figured. It was strange considering he was using military grade HNI, the best the Empire had to offer. Transferring a small document from a holo pad to his HNI should not have generated any lag.
Five seconds after the lag faded, the transfer completed. Quick checks of the document revealed it had the intel he was seeking, and there was no file corruption as he feared due to the lag.
“This is everything I know about what you seek,” Hoylu said. “I’ve been selling tools to a group of Hashmedai that come to the station for supplies . . . human tools.”
“Go on,” Peiun said as he skimmed through the document’s contents superimposed over his eyesight.
“Hashmedai tools fix broken Hashmedai equipment, human tools fix broken human equipment,” Hoylu said drily. “Makes you wonder, why they need those tools?”
“You kept track of them, I see.”
“Of course! They came to me over merchants that sold human tools. They had to fix something they didn’t want humans to know about. There was just one problem, I didn’t have a spanner in my inventory, but I made a promise I’d have a brand-new one the next time they returned to the station.”
“Ah, so you plan on dealing with them again? When will you see them?”
“They were supposed to visit days ago, but never returned!” The best way to enrage a Qirak was to get them fantasizing about a trove of wealth you could give them, then not deliver the results. Hoylu’s newfound tone of voice was proof of that.
I’m glad his species isn’t violent; the number of lives that would have been taken because they were cheated would be uncountable.
“I lost expected income,” Hoylu’s carrying voice continued. “So, I sell this data to you to make up for it!”
Peiun minimized the holo document. There was a lot of content to be read, too much for him to bother with alone. Delegating members of his crew to sift through it was in order. Besides, he couldn’t shake off the thought of the credits that mysteriously appeared
in his account. Times were tough with the lives, ships, and bases lost to the Draconians. No human would carelessly overpay for a shipment of live poultry and their unhatched eggs, humans loved to feast on as their first meal.
“Thank you for your time,” Peiun said, bidding farewell. Hoylu settled up with the human bartender, Paul, and took his leave.
Peiun was ready to do the same, minus the settling up, as he ordered no beverages, only intel that would aid him in the mission personally assigned to him by the empress herself.
Or so he thought, Paul placed a beverage before Peiun.
The beverage was one Peiun had never seen. It was white and creamy, cold to the touch, very cold in fact, he liked it. The mysterious drink was likely something of human origin, so he was unsure of what to make of its contents, why it was offered, or why a blood-red orb of human fruit was on the top middle of it.
“This is a little gift for you, pally,” Paul said to him.
Peiun held the glass the beverage was in. It wasn’t just cold it was ice cold, and its ingredients had to have been kept frozen, rather than cool. He liked it even more. “What sort of concoction is this?” Peiun asked.
“That’s what we call a spiked Milkshake,” Paul explained. “Bourbon, milk, and ice cream fused together and topped with a maraschino cherry.”
“Fascinating.”
“Should be good for you Hashmedai folks, not sure about the cherry, but the gal up front ordered it for ya, and she’s one of your kind.”
Peiun’s eyebrow lifted with intrigue. “Who might you be referring to?”
Paul pointed at the vacant seats next to the bar, he winced. “Well shit, she was there. Thought she was your new girl, you two did enter together.”
“I entered alone.”
“Well, looks like you lost your chance to enter her bed too, ‘cause she’s gone,” Paul said drily. “Good thing she paid upfront for it, the bourbon I have came straight from Earth. That shit ain’t cheap to have it hauled here, especially since the attacks.”
Unsanctioned Reprisal Page 3
