Unsanctioned Reprisal

by Eddie R. Hicks

  Her right arm was free, and soon afterward her body was free to leap off the medical bed as the sliced-open bindings hit the floor with a clatter. Moriston had slipped away, being the g-man he was. She grabbed a Draconian tachyon rifle from the pile of tech on the floor that was to be studied, joining Chevallier and her team in the fray.

  “Foster . . .” Chevallier said to her, with a hint of regret in her voice.

  “I’m already over it, Chevallier,” Foster said, discharging her tachyon rifle at the armored guards.

  The four exchanged weapons fire with the ship’s security detail, moving in and out of cover at random. Foster quickly explained what she learned from Moriston, revealing his and the ship’s loyalty to the Terran Legion, something Saressea was trying to warn her about before the comm link was cut. Follow-up text messages from the Kepler and data it received from the Rezeki’s Rage also confirmed her claims.

  “Let’s get to the AI core,” Foster said.

  Chevallier looked at their psionic warlock. “LeBoeuf?”

  “The mind shield is limiting my powers,” LeBoeuf said “Teleportation is a no-go; I’m surprised our rifles still work and other psionic abilities.”

  “They don’t work very well,” Maxwell said. “I can’t channel all my power into it.”

  “Guess that explains why these guys are still shooting at us,” Foster said, while ducking back behind her cover. “I figured you two would have made short work of ‘em by now. Well then, guess we’s gonna have to disable the mind shield and then the AI core.”

  “Both exist in engineering,” Chevallier said. “Getting there alive, that’s going to be tricky.”

  Foster took a deep breath and prepared to look around the corner at the guards forming a choke point at the exit to the main corridors. They all wore combat armor with shields that flashed blue when shot at by the EDF trio, much like theirs. The four could shoot at them all day, but sooner or later they would be overwhelmed. Then there was the shipboard psionic that could easily teleport down to assist.

  They didn’t just need a means to escape and make it to engineering. They needed a distraction that was going to force the crew to ignore them. She lowered her tachyon rifle, one that was proudly held by the half dragon soldiers the Draconians deployed to the frontlines of the campaign against the galaxy. Doing so made Foster realize how much blood was raining off her arms, human blood that wasn’t hers.

  She stepped back into the second room where the dead doctors laid and the captured dragons in their stasis tanks. Foster looked at the stasis tank she nearly backed into and had stopped out of fear she would let the beast loose. It was an act she wished she had allowed herself to do. Her reflection on the glass tube shot back at her. It showed her how red her uniform, face, and arms had become as she held onto the tachyon rifle.

  She looked like an enemy to the galaxy.

  “Guys, back up,” Foster shouted to them.

  Chevallier looked back. “What are you doing?”

  “Everyone and their mamma think I’mma dragon lover,” Foster said. “Guess it’s time I played that role.”

  She tapped the control console to the stasis tank and deactivated it.

  The drake inside was awakened, and its roars made the guards in the corridors rethink their choices in life. The drake stamped past Foster and the EDF trio like a raging bull, shattering the shields of those it assaulted. Various stasis tubes were deactivated, all releasing hordes of wyverns and drakes onto the ship, ignoring Foster and bypassing Chevallier’s team as they hid in a closet.

  Foster’s blood-drenched body stepped out into the corridors over the body parts and internal organs ripped out of the slain Terran soldiers. No further bullets were discharged. She pulled up a map of the ship, memorizing the maze of corridors she needed to traverse to get to engineering.

  She faced the EDF trio that joined her and primed her tachyon rifle for another round. “The enemy of my enemy is my friend.”

  51 Avearan

  Phylarlie’s Manor

  Muro, Taxah, Uelcovis system

  October 17, 2118, 00:47 SST (Sol Standard Time)

  Meanwhile . . .

  It was Conquest Day, the number one reason why Avearan came to this world with Lisette. In place of celebrating this day with her, she spent the day holding a tray full of wineglasses and elegantly prepared snacks, offering it to the Hashmedai of high birth and power.

  The human chef from the Kepler that assisted the Imperial family’s personal chef, referred to the snacks as a canapé. They were disk-shaped meals served on an in-house-made cracker, topped with smoked salmon, a fish from Earth, seasoned with spices popular amongst the Hashmedai that lived on Taxah.

  Nobody recognized who Avearan was, neither did she after taking a number of glances in the mirror. Her hair had been cut short and a lock of it was braided and dangled close to the right side of her face. Her scars had been covered up by an excessive amount of makeup applied to her arms and legs. Basically, Phylarlie painted over them. As long as they didn’t smear, nobody would be able to point out the fact that the lovely servant with them was once a former psionic, one that was on the run.

  The hall, to where the partygoers flocked was a wide-open space at the bottom floor of the manor. It was three stories high, with large, overhanging balconies that gave those not invited a chance to look down and watch the system lords, nobles, and the emperor and empress mingle, socialize, and laugh. A fountain was in the middle of the hall, it silently poured ice water into an oval-shaped pond, teeming with tiny pink and blue fish from Paryo.

  Kroshka and her mate Eensino stood across from the fountain’s pool with wineglasses in their hands, allowing the shimmering light from the water to bathe across their expensive and custom-tailored outfits. She considered murdering the two of them by smashing the wine bottle against the pillar behind her and stabbing them with the sharp edges. They were, after all, the two people in the Empire that continued to enforce the archaic laws that now saw the arrest and imprisonment of Lisette, according to Phylarlie.

  Avearan, from time to time, tried to reach out to Lisette telepathically, but was unable to touch her mind. The Empire either had her executed or placed a slave collar around her neck, suppressing her powers until the day of her execution. Her teeth gritted at that thought. She took her leave from the halls having seen enough of the emperor and empress laugh, smile, and enjoy the evening, something Avearan and Lisette couldn’t do given their current situation. It was irritating.

  She found a dark storage room not far from the kitchen where the Imperial chef and the human chef worked to finish the main meals for the event. Her duffle bag was stashed in the corner, and from that she pulled her wrist terminal, establishing a connection with the one system lord that wasn’t in attendance.

  “Everyone keeps asking about you,” Avearan said, as Phylarlie’s hologram appeared.

  “Good for them, I’m busy trying to create an escape route for you.”

  “Any news about Lisette?”

  “They targeted you two because of your relationship.”

  “Obviously, they wanted me and settled for her instead.”

  “No, it’s worse than that. It’s because you two are both female psionics.”

  “She’s human and doesn’t live in the Empire.”

  “Imperial laws still need to be obeyed, Avearan.”

  Avearan groaned. “How did they know? We didn’t spend that much time together since you asked me to work for you.”

  “I don’t know, someone must have seen you two showing affection for each other and discovered you both had psionic powers and filed a report,” Phylarlie said. Avearan took a look behind, ensuring no one else was listening. “The good news is they don’t know who you really are, thanks to my ways of concealing your identity.”

  “You have a plan, I presume?”

  “I’ll have one of my psionics perform a site to site teleport and get you to the bunker. I’m sending you the contact codes now
. Use them once you’re ready, and we’ll track your signal.”

  “That’s it?”

  “That’s it.”

  “What about Lisette—”

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake! I’m still looking into that!” Phylarlie exclaimed. “She’s been arrested, that part we know. She’s probably going to be taken to Paryo for processing. Nothing has gone through the space bridge recently, however, so she’s still in the system. I just don’t know where exactly—”

  Alarms began to sound, while red pulsing lights emitted from all active computers and holograms. The alarms had a frightful tone to them, meaning it wasn’t a fire alarm. Taxah, being a habitable planet, meant the alarms weren’t an environmental problem either. She stood up, keeping the communication holo screen from the wrist terminal to her face, while watching numerous staff and partygoers speak to each other with extremely concerned voices.

  “What’s that noise?” Avearan asked.

  Phylarlie’s likeness on the hologram had vanished. She moved off screen to check with her staff in the bunker. When her image returned, she calmly revealed, “We’re under attack. You need to hurry up and get to the bunker, now.”

  Avearan peeked out into the party hall full of panic-stricken faces and guards asking people to stay calm and not move. She pulled away from the door, keeping to the shadows.

  “What about everyone else?” she asked, not that she cared for them. It was Imperial laws that put her in this position.

  Phylarlie’s projection shot her a grimacing smile. “I’ll . . . take care of them.” Then flicked off when the communication link was cut.

  Avearan overheard roaring guards in the halls beyond speak of dragons, and that they made it to Taxah. Many were in the skies above the manor, besieging the city. She hissed and groaned like the beasts Hashmedai had evolved from, throwing the wrist terminal across the room. She came to sit on the cold floor, hugging her knees, regretting choosing Taxah over Earth for her vacation time. Coming to Taxah, losing Lisette, being forced to work as a servant . . . it was all Phylarlie’s fault, and now she was asking to her come along for another trip.

  Fear-fueled flashbacks to last summer hit her, when the news talked about the Draconians entering Sol, laying waste to everything in their path. She felt trapped back then, thinking the Draconians were going to hit Titan, and knowing there wasn’t anything she could do at the time to escape. It was too much for her then, and it was too much for her now. Avearan needed to do what she did best in life when things didn’t go her way. She had enough. She had to escape and get away from the planet, the system, and Phylarlie, before things got out of hand and she lost that chance. Sooner or later an evacuation transport would come to collect the partygoers, she just needed to find a way aboard and make it to safety, then make plans for another new start in life. She was done with Phylarlie.

  She collected her wrist terminal, stuffing it back into her bag before making her way into the kitchen. Plates of food were lined up, single file, waiting for the two chefs to apply the finishing touches and garnishes to them. She had doubts that she’d be fed any time soon if her plan worked out, and so went back to her old thieving ways, quickly eating the food, and filling her bag with the freshly baked breads cooling on a nearby tray.

  Her bag had reached its maximum storage capacity when she squeezed in three bottles of Earth wine, and an unopened bottle of bourbon, the human chef was using to cook with. They would be perfect items to barter with should she need anything else while she tried to wheel and deal her way onto an evacuation transport.

  “Hey,” a voice called out to her in English. It was a Jamaican accent if she remembered correctly. “I know you Hashmedai don’t pay for things, but I’m pretty sure this isn’t for you.”

  The chef from the Kepler stood watching her from behind as he entered the kitchen, shaking his head in disappointment.

  “Oh, sorry, I like, didn’t know,” Avearan lied in English. “I was scared and hungry. Not sure if we’re going to ever eat a decent meal again if we don’t get rescued.”

  “I’d believe if you weren’t puttin’ all that food, up in that bag,” said the chef as he moved closer to her, pointing a finger at her bag. “You planning to flee?”

  “No, that’s not the case.”

  “Then why you move so sneaky? I know panic and fear in its visual form, as with regret and vengeance. I can sense that in you.”

  Her head tilted, giving him a wincing stare. “What are you? An empathic chef?”

  “Just an observant one,” he said, drawing her attention to the smeared makeup on her legs from when she was hugging them. Her scars were made visible. “You’re a servant with psionic power, one that had them machine parts. What’s your story about that?”

  She sighed, placing her bag on the food preparation table, and rubbing her forehead. She was caught. There was no point in hiding it any longer. “I’m a doctor . . .” she mumbled.

  “The Poniga of the Sirius system taught me many things when I lived with their kind,” the chef said. “You are running away from a problem, and that problem isn’t just the chaos outside. I don’t know what that problem is, but not sticking around to find the answers and solutions is just gonna make more problems for you.”

  “I wouldn’t be having this talk, if all I did in life was stick around and faced my problems.”

  It’d been the way of Avearan’s life. She ran from the Empire due to mistreatment, and then ran from the salvager life in the Morutrin system, into the UNE. Now the dragons were ready to turn Taxah into a war-torn wasteland, like Jacobus. She had no plans to become a casualty statistic in life.

  “If you run, then you’ll be repeating past mistakes,” the chef said.

  Hopeful cheers came from the dining hall. Avearan and the human chef stood at the exit to the kitchen and watched as several transports came into view from the massive windows. One of the guards mentioned that the transports would be coming in for a landing to start the evacuations. Those in attendance were given priority, after the emperor and empress had been secured.

  This was it. This was her chance to flee from the rage of the dragons outside. She looked at the chef and gave him a rough translation of what was said.

  “Good for them,” he said to her. “Me gonna stay right here and wait for the Kepler.”

  Avearan made a face at him. “They’re offering us a way out of this mess, and you’re going to stay?”

  “Look at dem transports,” he said, pointing at the windows. “Do you see any weapons? Or fighter escorts? What do you think the dragons will do if they change their minds about mashing up the city?”

  “What do you think the dragons will do to this place when they attack it?”

  “Let them come. The Kepler can handle ‘em, them transports out there cannot.”

  “The Kepler isn’t here.”

  “Neither are ships to protect those weaponless and defenseless transports,” he said. “Whoever called for them isn’t thinking straight . . . or is thinking maliciously; like they want the people climbing aboard to get shot down. You can go with them if you wish, child, but remember what I said about runnin’. If you run from a problem, you also run from the solution. The solution we need is to survive.”

  “I’ll take my chances, mister?”

  “Bailey, Chef Demarion Bailey.”

  Avearan grabbed her bag and made her way to the group. Dying in a burning manor set ablaze by plasma-breathing wyverns was not on her agenda.

  “Hey!” Bailey called out to her as she left the kitchen. “At least leave the dumplings, nuh?”

  Faint cries for help came from the main hallways leading back into the manor. Only Avearan and Bailey took notice since they were closest to the exit, the rest of the partygoers, servants, and guards stood near the windows, watching the transports slowly lower to the surface. That and the cries for help were spoken in English.

  Curiosity made the two leave and enter the hallways of the manor, moving quickly to the sou
rce of the cries. There were no sounds of fighting or raging dragons, which ruled out that they switched their attacks to the manor.

  “Help! Somebody help!”

  They followed the voice to the main entrance, where a human Marine carried the blood-soaked body of another human wearing an IESA uniform. Bailey recognized the two and stormed over, panicking and cursing. Avearan groaned. She didn’t have time for this delay. The transports were probably seconds away from landing. She was going to lose her spot if she stayed. She’d also be a terrible doctor if she left a dying man in the hands of a Marine and a chef.

  “Miles?” Bailey said to the Marine. “What the rass is this?”

  “Commander Williams has been shot! Anyone here a doctor?” The Marine, Miles, said. “Better question, anyone other than chef here speaks English?”

  Bailey’s face met Avearan’s before she had the chance to look away and run. “You,” he said to her. “You said you were a doctor?”

  She winced, licking her lips. “I might have . . .”

  “Save him, please!” Bailey begged, while closely examining the gunshot wounds on Williams. “Oh boy, we can’t lose this one; he’s too young, with so much promise.”

  Avearan had Miles place Williams’ body on a nearby bench, giving her the chance to assess his wounds, and create tiny psionic barriers over his bullet wounds to slow the bleeding. A quick psionic trance allowed her mind to sense which parts of his body’s interior were still operating. She noticed there were no exiting wounds, meaning the rounds that hit him were not only still inside but travelled at a much slower velocity.

  She broke the trance and revealed, “I can only slow the bleeding. I’ll need medical equipment to stabilize and patch him up.”