by L. E. Horn
He had his suspicions. The thought coincided with Karn’s voice rising over the surrounding din. “Where Michael?”
Roz fell into step with Karn. The rain diminished, and from Roz’s great height, Drake looked around for the big man. Michael is tall enough—he should stand out. Drake scanned the surrounding crowd with increasing concern. Michael seemed invincible, but Drake knew his friend was all too mortal. The big bloke’s gone through too many Berserker rages over the last few days. He might have crashed and burned, leaving him stonkered during the fight.
Karn whirled and cantered along the canyon floor. Drake and Roz followed.
“Last saw him.” The big Gryph leader gestured around him with atypical agitation. “There. Then gone. Could not find.”
Drake knew from experience once Michael lost it, no one could keep up with him. You just followed the trail of corpses. The trail began with a halfway visible Farr soldier lying in the mud. Another lay a short distance away. Maybe if I get off, I’ll see things like he did . . .
Drake dismounted and scanned the area. From this vantage point, he spotted the crack in the canyon wall. The entrance proved much too small for the Gryphon to gain access—they hovered as Drake hoisted himself inside. No sooner had he disappeared than he came back, yelling for the Healers.
It seemed Fate was not through with them. It chose that exact moment to light the sky with fire and an earsplitting crash.
Gryphon voices yelled in horror. Karn whirled toward Drake.
“Shield down,” he said, his deep voice grim. Then he wheeled and shouted instructions to his warriors as he cantered off. Drake realized the Gryphon leader did his best to get everyone, Gryphon and slave alike, out of the canyon before the plasma cannon rained hell down on them.
Drake’s heart clenched as he saw Hannah and Andrea running toward him. He grabbed Hannah’s arm. As he guided the Healers to the cave, he wondered if these were the last moments of their lives.
TARK’TOSK STOOD IN THE TECHNICIAN’S room when the shield succumbed.
Tlok’mk throats were not well suited to cheering, but the sounds filling the room were those of jubilation. Tark’tosk’s thin lips twitched; she would have smiled if it were possible. She calmed everyone and brought their minds back to the tasks at hand.
Jubilation turned to horror when a progress report came in. With her voice trembling in disbelief, a tech announced the plasma cannon destroyed. The backlash of power damaged the power grids of all five Motherships, causing the massive vessels to run solely on backup systems.
A blast of pure anger burned through Tark’tosk. My instincts were right—the elders ignored my messages. The plasma cannon could have destroyed the Gryphon, but the elders’ arrogance left the cannon vulnerable. They have denied us our moment of victory. Their foolishness has risked the Motherships’ integrity as well as our campaign. She struggled to focus on the task at hand. Now we will have to fall back on our drones to finish the job.
“Report!” she snapped. “What is the drones’ status? Can they be launched?” The Gryphon army will leave the canyon. We must get them while we can.
A recap from surveillance monitors on the Motherships showed the cannon ripping apart just as it sent the fatal blow to the shield. As the blinding explosions faded, small objects appeared where the cannon had been.
Tark’tosk’s eyes narrowed. Gryphon ships?
Her tech said, “Mothership Katkya has enough power to launch drones. The other four can launch manually but automatic systems are offline. The delay will be minor. Katkya will annihilate the invaders. The remaining drones will begin the surface assault.”
Tark’tosk’s body stiffened with anger, and she sensed the nervousness of the tech closest to her. The coordinator calmed herself. The result will be the same, but the cannon would have shortened the battle. With damage to the power grids, we have paid a high price for this victory. And without the cannon, the drones will have to chase the Gryphon around like slaves in a Blooddance. Curse our elders who were too arrogant to expect an attempt on the cannon. Curse the puny rebellion that distracted the elders from the truly important. Curse the Gryphon for their persistence. Above all, curse the humans with their clever little brains. They will pay for this humiliation with every single molecule of their being.
EWTK’FISK PACED IN HER QUARTERS when the planetary shield came down and the cannon exploded. To her alarm, the ship shook with a violent tremor. She pressed her snout to her portal and watched the two Motherships within view grow darker as the lights in her room went out. A sound made her spin around to see a message coming through on her console. Despite the increased security, the rebellion once again pushed a fleet-wide communication through.
A short and simple message. All their efforts, condensed into three simple sentences:
“If you believe our species has pushed too far in the pursuit of this goal, we need you to speak out against those few that have endangered us all. Meet at the Chamber of Elders’ assembly room. It is time to take back our destiny.”
FROM WITHIN THE CAVE, MICHAEL could hear Karn’s frantic efforts to get his people out of the canyon’s confines and into the jungle. Shouts and the sound of galloping Gryphon feet carried through the narrow opening. He saw Drake duck back outside and heard Karn’s deep voice, but couldn’t make out the words.
Collapsed on his side, he panted as his eyes alternated between gold and silver. From his lower ribs extended the hilt of a Fang sword.
“Pull it out!” he gasped between clenched teeth.
“We must go slow.” Hannah shook her head. “Even with us here, you could bleed out.”
“No time.” Michael struggled to sit up. “What’s happening? What was that weird noise?” His voice sounded so hoarse it was hard to understand him.
Andrea pushed him back down as she met Hannah’s eyes. “The shield is destroyed.”
“What? No!” His exhalation turned into a growl. Lianndra . . . No!
Both Healers tried to hold him, but he surged past, struggling to his feet. Before they could stop him, he grabbed the sword by the hilt and yanked it straight out of his body.
Blood fountained as he fell to his knees with a gasp. Andrea’s cool fingers clamped onto the wound to stem the hemorrhage. From behind, Hannah worked to stop the flow as well.
Michael swayed on his knees. He looked up as Drake clambered back into the cave and surveyed him with a shocked expression. “Communications are offline,” Drake said as he moved to help the Healers, “but Karn suspects the plasma cannon is also destroyed, otherwise the Fang would not hesitate to use it against us.”
The cannon is destroyed. But the shield’s down. What does that mean? Is Lianndra alive, or dead? Michael tried to get to his feet.
Andrea pressed her fingers to his ribs. “Dammit, you big ox, you won’t do anyone any good if you bleed to death! Just give us a few minutes to lock things down!”
Drake’s hands pressed on Michael’s shoulders to help hold him in place and continued his update. “Karn and Sean are moving the slaves to the jungle for their safety. Then Karn will take his people to help evacuate the valleys. If he is right and the cannon is destroyed, the lizards will send drones to finish the job.”
Michael allowed his friend to push him backward onto his heels. He tried to keep the Berserker alive to fight the black wave threatening to pull him under. His mind raced on sporadic pulses of adrenaline. The shield is down. The cannon destroyed. Lianndra might be dead. He closed his eyes, holding onto his sanity by a thread. As the Beast receded, the pain within him rose like a living thing. And ships are coming. The war is lost. Unless . . .
“Darkon,” he gasped as a wave of agony threatened to overwhelm him. “We’ve got to get to the Darkon.”
Drake straightened. “The Darkon are all gone with the Healers, mate.”
“Not all,” Michael growled and shoved the Healers aside. Fending off their aid and Drake’s assistance, he ripped off the remains of his shirt, wrapping it aro
und his abdomen as a makeshift bandage. “Karn,” he rasped as he accepted Drake’s shoulder to lean on.
SEAN STOOD APART FROM THE running mass of panicked humans. They’d communicated the importance of hiding in the jungle a little too well.
Lord knows when they’ll stop running. Most are still just as afraid of the Gryphon as they’re of the Fang.
Tomas hobbled by, supporting an injured soldier. Sean moved to help him when he spotted Karn and Roz cantering back into the canyon. Moments later, he saw Drake assist Michael onto the Gryphon leader’s back and tie him in place, along with his bloody great sword.
What the hell are they up to? Relieved as Sean was to see Michael alive, the big guy looked in rough shape. Sean walked toward them, but Drake pulled himself onto Roz as the Healers mounted other Gryphon standing nearby. Before Sean could jog to within hailing distance, they were galloping off in a swirl of dust.
He experienced a surge of frustration and disappointment as he watched them go. Dammit. Like many, he considered Michael a pivotal figure in the war. Things happen around Michael. Important game-changing things. He sighed and moved to help a limping Blooddancer. We desperately need a game changer, but I guess if it happens, it will happen without me. If anyone can change the course of the tide, it is Michael. My prayers go with you, buddy.
Chapter Thirty-Three
CHAOS REIGNED WITHIN THE WILDLY spinning craft. Berr and the copilot struggled to bring it under control while Lianndra calmed fifteen hysterical Darkon. Arms flung out, she tried to give the little creatures as many places to perch as possible. Blood ran along her arms from the multitude of tiny claw puncture marks. She could scarcely breathe due to the Darkon on her shoulder—not only digging in its claws, but as expected, tightening its tail around her throat.
Finally, the crazy spinning stopped, and the engineer translated some tense communications flying back and forth between the pilot and copilot.
“Planetary shield is down. Engine power restored. Cloaking device offline. Ships Three and Four have recovered navigation control. Three’s cloaking shield is also inoperable.” Her words were rapid and clipped.
They were also in English, which gave Lianndra crucial information. Like the fact the Fang can now see us, and that the planet is vulnerable. The plasma cannon is destroyed, which means it can’t obliterate the Gryphon colonies. But the Fang are still free to use whatever warships are at their disposal.
The copilot trilled, staring at her screen. “Drones!” The engineer translated in barely suppressed panic. “Launching from all five Motherships.” She stopped as the small dots became visible on the screen.
Multitudes of oval openings appeared along the Motherships’ bellies. From these spewed hundreds of tiny orbs spinning away from the dark hulls. The orbs paused just long enough to sprout three small stubby wings before moving into an arrow formation of seven crafts. Then the multiple arrows formed into larger groups, one of which moved toward the Gryphon crafts still struggling to re-cloak.
“Two drone formations heading for ship three. Their cloak is still offline.” The engineer’s voice sounded beyond stressed, but she kept up with the progress report. “Taking evasive maneuvers. We have drones targeting.” Their craft dove away from the Motherships and back toward the planet.
Lianndra clung to the perches. The tail tightened above her collar and she reacted by thickening her skin to take away some pressure. The Darkon on her shoulder squeaked, and in response, its friends on the perches squealed.
Images of disintegrating drones flashed in her brain. “Wait!” she called out. The pilot and copilot straightened in their seats but couldn’t turn to acknowledge her. “Turn us back around! I need a visual.”
That got their attention, and Berr glanced over her shoulder. Then her eyes slid to the Darkon. Comprehension dawned, and she turned back, tapping at the controls.
The sleek craft spun, and suddenly the viewscreen filled with seven stubby drone fighters.
When Lianndra’s mind reached for the Darkon, they grabbed the imagery in her brain as she focused. A wide, disorganized beam shot out from them. The targeted ships disintegrated.
“Contact Three and Four. Tell them to use the Darkon,” the pilot called to the copilot.
Lianndra watched out the view port. “What the hell!” she said. “What’s happening to them?”
The drones were no longer in their tidy V formations. Each drone wavered from its place. Some veered into each other, colliding with bright explosions. Others stopped and hung in space as all their exterior lighting shut down, while many spun out of control and an entire squadron drifted toward the planet to burn up in its atmosphere.
The engineer figured it out. “Our saboteur friends in the Tlok’mk came through!”
“Are the drones the only other Fang weapon?” Lianndra said. Could we be that lucky?
The pilot shook her head and spoke English to the copilot. “Tell the other craft to fall into formation.” As the copilot obeyed, she turned to Lianndra. “The Motherships must have sustained damage to their power grids, or they would be using their laser emplacements on us and the planet. They could do extensive damage to the planet’s surface. But they are not helpless because they still have their manned fighters and battle cruisers.” She looked resigned, her spikes deflated. “Other than our ground-based laser cannons, we are all that stands between our colonies and those ships.”
Five little Gryphon ships? Lianndra felt as though a black hole had opened at her feet. That’s it?
The craft rolled, and the planet slid back into view. “Killing the drones gives us a chance, however slim. We lost ground communication at the same time the shield went down. We will have to take the fight to the planet where our ships might have the advantage.” Berr turned fully around and fixed Lianndra with her violet stare. “You and the Darkon are our only hope. We will be outgunned and outmanned. This is what we’ve dreaded from the beginning of this war.”
Stunned, Lianndra sat back in her seat. I wonder what the Darkon’s limits are. Or, for that matter, what mine is with them? I guess we will find out.
WITHIN THE BARRACKS ON TARIN, Tark’tosk paced in her office. She needed a few moments to regain control over her emotions. The drones are on their way.
Too restless to sit, she made good headway wearing a path in the primitive floorboards. My skin is crawling like I am infested with parasites. Why do I feel the cloud of doubt over me? Surely not due to the pitiful rebellion, although I have little faith in the elders’ ability to deal with it. But the cannon—the Gryphon destroyed the cannon. With their pathetic Gryphon vessels. How is that possible?
A nearby commotion had her striding to the door. She all but collided with a frantic tech heading into her office.
The Fara stumbled backward and blurted, “The drones are not responding!”
Before the war coordinator seized hold of herself, she glowered at the tech. “Report!” she barked.
The tech straightened from her crouch. “The drones have stopped responding to commands. Most are immobile, but some have been damaged in collisions or have succumbed to the planet’s atmosphere. They will require individual collection to bring them back to the hangar bays before we can institute repairs.”
“They can not be reprogrammed remotely?”
The tech shook her head. “Our techs say there is a malfunction in the drones’ operating system. It could be due to a virus, but they do not yet know. Each drone must be individually flushed and reprogrammed.”
Without the drones . . . the Tlok’mk efforts suffered a major blow, perhaps even worse than the destruction of the cannon, and with far deeper implications. The drones were as important to the Tlok’mk’s air warfare as the slaves to their ground forces. Without them, they would have to rely on their manned fighters and the battle cruisers. The numbers of fighters we can deploy will depend on having living Farr to pilot them. And after this crazy ground war, those numbers are seriously depleted.
“Co
ntact the Motherships. We will use the battle cruisers and fighters. They will have to come here first to collect the crews. Get me the earliest possible launch time.” Tark’tosk dismissed the shaking technician.
I have recalled as many of our able-bodied Farr as possible from the front lines to await the shield destruction. I thought they would return to the Motherships in triumph. Instead, we will now need them to chase down the Gryphon in our warships. It will be like swatting insects with a boulder. This just keeps getting worse.
The implications behind the disabled drones were sinister and unexpected. Never in the Tlok’mk history had such an event taken place. This is not the Gryphon’s work. Or their ingenious human friends. The drones could only have been disabled in one way. Now, her earlier feelings of doom made sense. This is not due to the damaged power grids. The drones operate on an independent power supply. There is only one possible explanation: it seems the puny rebellion is not as pitiful as I envisioned. They do have fangs. Tark’tosk gnashed her teeth together. Sabotage. Is this the last surprise? Or is there more to come?
THUNDER ROLLED, AND THIS TIME, the sound didn’t come from a storm or a blast from the plasma cannon. Thousands of Gryphon feet pounded in unison, running flat out, nostrils flared and heat shimmering off their spikes.
They had left the canyon behind. The Gryphon carried freed slaves from the inner canyon to the exit where they could seek shelter.
Back in the canyon, the Tlok’mk army scattered as it retreated toward the jungle. With the shield down, the assault would come from the sky.
