Freeforce: The Gryphon Saga

by L. E. Horn

Ewtk’fisk’s eyes widened in surprise. She had already determined the rebellion must have well-placed operatives. To have someone within the war coordinator’s office was as good as it got, with the possible exception of having someone within the Chamber of Elders.

  “I am surprised too.” Xoek’sank’s eyes swirled red. “It is privileged information—do you understand?”

  Ewtk’fisk nodded, too shocked to speak. More privileged than a plasma cannon powered by five Motherships? Since learning of the plan, she had received only generic information on the rebellion’s progress. She guessed that was about to change.

  Her friend continued. “I know why the elders are so determined to pursue this war.” The skin of Xoek’sank’s face flushed red. “There is a species on this planet whose ability, with only minimal modification, can make us a dominant force in the universe. This creature is a ready-made weapon just waiting for exploitation.”

  The new information sank in and suddenly a lot of things made sense. Ewtk’fisk’s hearts pounded but now her brain throbbed right along with them. She had recognized misuse of power as the reason for the war, but she hadn’t realized the elders hoped to acquire more of it. She wondered if this information changed anything. Ewtk’fisk wanted success for her species, but what did success really mean? For whose success did they fight?

  Xoek’sank watched her. She had taken a huge risk in telling Ewtk’fisk about this. If Ewtk’fisk decided the rebel forces were wrong to interfere, and their people should push ahead to acquire this new species, she could bring down the entire rebellion.

  Power. Ewtk’fisk envisioned the Tlok’mk as an interstellar powerhouse and not just an esteemed species producing valuable slaves for the universal markets. The kind of power that would enable us to dictate and conquer as we pleased.

  She considered. Most advanced beings progressed through a so-called primitive phase where they made significant mistakes. The Tlok’mk were no exception. They lost their home world long ago due to a struggle for power. They should have advanced beyond such mistakes. They genetically manipulated their embryos to decrease the likelihood of such irrational behavior.

  But Ewtk’fisk recognized a subtle shift in her species’ behavior during her lifetime. She thought of the disparity already appearing within their political structure. The fact they lived within giant Motherships rather than on a planet only enhanced the necessity for a balanced society. Could her species survive another power struggle?

  Ewtk’fisk sighed before voicing her question to her friend. “Do you think our species would survive having that kind of power?”

  Xoek’sank shook her head slowly. “The rebellion feels this information only strengthens the rebel cause. My informant is adamant that offering more power to a system already out of balance leads to further corruption.” Her eyes still swirled red, showing her distress. “I agree our species needs to rebuild from the core. We have seen the decline in the quality of our offspring in the last few generations. Acquisition of this species will only give more power to the highest levels of our structure, where we have already seen the imbalance at work. It could create a permanent chasm between the policy makers and those of us providing the information.”

  Xoek’sank folded her chilled arms into her cape. “The rebellion calculates that if we acquire this species and the power it represents, we would quickly devolve into a primitive, class-based society. Or, even worse, the Fara could devolve to behave like the Farr, concerned more with blood and battle than science and intellect.”

  This philosophy made sense to Ewtk’fisk. The females of her species had always been proud of their enlightenment, even as they worked to preserve the primitive instincts in the males that proved so useful in battle. The Blooddances and Pitfights provided a means to an end— keeping the Farr’s thirst for blood quenched and under control.

  How many Fara enjoy the bloody contests from the concealment of their own quarters? Ewtk’fisk thought. Most Fara did not like to admit the hearts of a primitive predator beat within all the Tlok’mk, and not just in the males.

  Ewtk’fisk felt those hearts beating now and recognized her instincts wanted her species to succeed at all costs. What imbalanced genes are within me? How often had she succumbed to the animal part of her, the part wanting to dominate other species? How often did she react without thinking to external stimuli? Imagine if all the Fara behaved like the Farr?

  Discussions about such primitive feelings once seemed like an intellectual exercise, something civilized beings discussed over a meal. Ewtk’fisk believed the Tlok’mk were a civilized race. She wanted them to be known for their intellect, and not merely for the physical ability to dominate.

  “I think the rebellion is right,” Ewtk’fisk admitted. She looked into her friend’s eyes and saw acceptance.

  “Then let us hope,” Xoek’sank said, “the rebels’ plans will work. The elders have given the cannon priority and work on the power grids continues. The procedure is unprecedented and not assured of success because there have been glitches slowing the process down. The elders have our best and brightest on it. They are confident the cannon will operate as planned.”

  Ewtk’fisk gave her head a slight shake. “The rebellion might be running out of time.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  DRAKE IS SMART, LIANNDRA THOUGHT. He is wily. They have the high ground. He would’ve held them off while the others escaped. As the Gryphon ran, Lianndra chanted the captain’s assets off to herself and tried not to think of Michael’s vulnerability. He couldn’t be moved quickly. If the attack came as a surprise, he wouldn’t have stood a chance.

  What had taken her an hour to walk took the Gryphon minutes at a gallop. When they approached the cliffs, the column, and the forward scouts, slowed to a halt. The cliffs remained silent. If there’d been a battle, it appeared long over.

  No, no, no . . . The repetitive chant echoed through Lianndra’s brain.

  At a nod from the column leader—an old female with broken spikes—the scouts vanished into the rocks. The Gryphon’s claws proved superior to a horse’s hooves when navigating rock but she still expected them to make some noise. Lianndra heard nothing as the scouts moved higher even with the loose rock beneath their feet.

  They returned too quickly. The entire troop moved into the cliffs, following the scout’s lead.

  Close to the cave where the rebels sheltered lay a hulking form—Bradley. The tough alien had fought bravely. Black blood and scorched laser wounds covered his huge form. The second Zraph lay inside, cut in two by a laser cannon. They were the only bodies. The cave showed every sign of a hasty departure. The blanket where Michael had rested remained on the floor, the logs of the nearby fire strewn across the dirt.

  Fighting her tears, Lianndra dismounted to walk to the cave’s mouth. After a moment, she turned her back to it and Kaye moved to stand beside her. The rest of the troop waited on the rocks below. Lianndra looked away, her gaze tracing the line of rock. If not killed outright, the rebels faced capture, unless they had escaped along the cliffs. The Zraph couldn’t navigate the narrow passages Lianndra saw ahead of her. Was that why they’d chosen to stay behind? The tears washed across her eyes and flowed down her cheeks.

  She turned to Kaye. The Gryphon stared at her, head tilted. Then she reached out a hand, touching Lianndra’s cheek with an elongated finger. With her finger dampened by a tear, she brought it to her lips. Her ears twitched.

  “Trail?” Lianndra asked, pointing along the cliffs to where the rebels must have fled.

  Kaye turned and whistled to a scout who whistled back.

  Kaye picked her way along the cliff. Lianndra followed. The other Gryphon fell into line behind them, silent save for the occasional scrape of a claw on rock.

  Lianndra made out the barest trace of a retreat: rocks rolled out of place, and the faintest boot track imprinted in rock dust. The rebels had made a run for it. The Fang unit couldn’t have had any big aliens such as Zraph in the group or they would nev
er have been able to follow the rebels. Only the streamlined shape, grasping toes, and amazingly flexible Gryphon bodies allowed them to pick their way over precarious rocks and through the narrow openings.

  They rounded a huge outcropping and saw the scorch marks of lasers. Heart in her throat, Lianndra picked her way between rock walls so close they posed a serious navigational challenge for the Gryphon.

  Beyond the narrow cliffs, the trail opened to a flat stretch of rocky slab. Laser scorches scarred the rocks, and on the flat area in the middle lay a small pile of bodies. As Lianndra rushed forward, she identified two mangled forms as having come from the rebel group. The rest must have been from the Fang unit.

  Michael’s not here. Looking at the bodies, guilt followed on the heels of her rush of relief.

  A Gryphon spoke rapidly in its native tongue as Kaye guided Lianndra away from the bodies to the signs of many footsteps creating a new trail down the cliff face.

  “Capture,” one scout said, gesturing to the tracks. The Fang had obviously taken their captives out of the cliffs on a direct line back toward the jungle.

  Captured. Lianndra’s heart froze. No telling how large the Fang slave unit is. She stared out across the shale to where the cliffs met the grasslands. They were out there somewhere, likely within the rocky outcrops. Are they still alive? Are they being tortured? It wouldn’t take much to kill Michael at this stage. Her thoughts raced.

  She heard soft footsteps as Kaye moved to lay a hand on her shoulder.

  Lianndra hung her head and more tears slipped down her face. She felt overwhelmed, unsure of what she could do alone against an entire Fang unit. Of course, I may not be alone. But do the Gryphon want to take such a chance? She’d never had the lives of so many hinge on her actions. Michael, Drake, Hannah, and Sean. Why would the Gryphon help a bunch of humans they don’t even know? Do I have the right to ask this of them? To risk their lives for the people I love? Lianndra squared her shoulders. Drake wouldn’t hesitate. He’d be organized and plan an effective assault, reducing the risk to those involved. He would make a proposal to the Gryphon and have a backup plan if they refused to help. Then he’d put himself right into the middle of everything.

  On the wings of desperation, a plan coalesced in her brain. She turned to look at the tall alien beside her. The only way I will know if they’re willing to help, she realized, is to ask.

  MICHAEL’S EYES FELT FULL OF grit and his face ached all the way to the roots of his teeth.

  Strange. I can still feel my teeth ache on top of everything else. Michael turned his head to spit blood. He could only see out of his right eye as the left swelled shut. His chest ached, and each breath sent stabs of pain along his left side where he suspected splintered ribs poked into his lungs. With hands shackled behind his back, even the smallest movement sent pulses of pure agony through him.

  He rolled his eye to meet the maddened stare of the Fang commander looming over him. The Fang showed remarkable tolerance—for a Fang. He’d let Hannah heal Michael three times so far, bringing him back from the blessed blackness of oblivion. The redheaded Healer sat in a corner of the tent. Her bloodshot eyes and strained face focused on Michael. She’d yet to cry, even when the brute backhanded her after the last healing episode. Michael admired her fortitude. He felt like crying himself. I’m just too damned stubborn. Frankly, he didn’t know why he held out. Drake’s freed slaves constituted the slave rebellion in its entirety. With them captured, the rebellion was essentially over.

  Except there are still slaves out there with deactivated collars, including Lianndra, he thought. And I’ll be damned if we’ll make it easy for the Fang to figure out how we did it.

  A heavy boot crashed again into his left side and Michael bit his lip to keep from crying out as the ribs gave way completely. Blood trickled down his face from where his teeth sank deep, which he knew was nothing compared to what happened inside. He wondered if the Fang would let Hannah heal him this time.

  The reptilian commander snarled before turning to where Hannah crouched in the corner. Moving quickly for such a large creature, he grabbed her hair and dragged her toward Michael. Instead of letting her heal him, the Fang slugged her hard. Hannah’s head snapped backward and blood spewed from her nose.

  From a hidden reserve deep within, rage flooded Michael. Faster than thought, he launched himself with an animalistic snarl off legs that, mere moments before, had refused to hold his weight. He slammed the shoulder of his uninjured side into the Fang’s body, clobbering the blocky alien. Caught off guard, the commander released Hannah. Michael and the Fang hit the ground with a crash that brought the Bernaf bodyguards running from outside.

  With his arms shackled behind his back, Michael could not shield himself from the blow that knocked him off the commander. The shattered ribs penetrated deep into his lung. The resulting agony rolled over him like a tidal wave, taking him under.

  Chapter Eighteen

  AN UNUSUAL PROCESSION TRAVELED SINGLE file in the gathering darkness, the cliffs rising high and steep around them.

  Despite their large size, the creatures moved with grace, each footfall of their clawed hind and forelegs silent in spite of the ground’s roughness. Upright torsos freed their hands for the dexterous handling of equipment and weapons. Narrow heads possessed hooked beaks at the end of long jaws, and prominent feathers bristled between tufted ears. The powerful bodies gleamed in colors that helped them blend into the dappled evening shadows, and their long, spiked tails swayed as they moved.

  The creatures carried an assortment of equipment strapped to their broad barrels, but one carried something unique: a humanoid form with long golden hair woven into braids and an equally golden tail. Tension radiated from the bodies and demeanors of the rider and the Gryphon. They had the air of those searching for something but almost afraid of finding it. Still, they drove ever forward. No matter where the trail would lead, they had to follow it to the end.

  RIDING ON THE BACK OF a big female Gryphon, Lianndra’s heart refused to settle into a normal rhythm. She had a plan, but there were so many variables. I wonder if Drake feels like this before every raid. He always seems so collected, so in control. I feel incompetent.

  A glance forward revealed Kaye’s tufted ears, flicking back and forth to absorb the smallest sound as her delicate nostrils drank in scents. Lianndra felt the tension in the Gryphon’s—no, Grypha’s, she corrected herself—big body beneath her. It’s time I used the lingo if I’m expecting their help.

  Without her even having to ask, Lianndra’s new Gryphon allies had been keen to follow the tracks of her rebel friends. The group made their way down the cliff until they were once again standing on dirt. The old scout leader halted and indicated to the others to hold their position while two scouts headed off at a trot along the path.

  The sun set fast in this rugged terrain and darkness loomed as the Gryphon troop paused. The scouts announced their return with a series of thin whistles. They returned swiftly, an indication the Tlok’mk unit couldn’t be far away. Everyone gathered around a small light placed on the ground.

  “Close,” a scout said. Bending her forelegs at the knee, she leaned her torso closer to the ground and took a stone in a nimble hand to sketch the cliffs’ outline in the sand. The Gryphon troop’s location became a small beige stone, and she moved a brown one to where the Tlok’mk unit and their captives camped for the night. It looked to Lianndra as if the Fang commander headed back toward the jungle.

  Lianndra had a plan, although she still didn’t know if the Gryphon were game to help. I wonder how well they understand English? Virra indicated they understand far more than they speak. I hope she’s right.

  The Grypha spoke to the others in her birdlike language. When she paused, Lianndra pointed to herself—then to the stone representing the camp and to her collar. “I can free the slaves.” She pointed at them. “Can you kill the Fang, uh, Tlok’mk?” She struggled with the glottal stops of the Fang’s real species name, but
her new friends listened with cocked heads and bright eyes. The moment she finished speaking, an excited conversation started among the Gryphon.

  They made their opinion obvious: although taking on a strong Fang unit with just thirty Gryphon would be a risky endeavor, taking on one with freed slaves contained different possibilities. Feeling her heart lighten with their enthusiasm, Lianndra pointed to herself again. “I’ll go now.” She pointed at them and drew a picture of the rising sun in the sand. “I will need until dawn to work on the collars. You can attack then.”

  They nodded. A brief flurry of conversation in their native tongue sounded much like the twitters of a flock of excited sparrows. Kaye pointed at Lianndra and gestured to her broad back. It seemed she intended to carry Lianndra as far as she could.

  As it turned out, they hadn’t far to go. Kaye kept to the deep shadows, her footfalls silent in the silty sand, and she stopped before they risked running into the Fang sentries. Lianndra scanned overhead. There were no trees for her to hide behind as she penetrated the camp’s perimeter, but descending from the surrounding cliffs should get her in. She slipped off the Grypha’s back and turned to thank her.

  Kaye unstrapped her Vloxx cloak. Once draped over Lianndra’s shoulders, it reflected her surroundings in its scales. As she tightened a strap around her waist, Lianndra ran a finger along a sharp scale and thought of Michael. Biting her lip, she looked at the Grypha and nodded her gratitude. Sneaking into a camp camouflaged by ferns and bushes differed from creeping from boulder to boulder over open ground. With this reflective cloak, she had a fighting chance.

  The Grypha looked at her and whispered, “Tirrek raih.” Before Lianndra could ask what, the words meant, Kaye backed away. The Healer raised her hand in silent farewell, and Kaye vanished back into the shadows. How does something so big move so quietly? She turned and climbed, testing each hand and foothold to make sure she didn’t roll any rocks and alert the sentries.