Anstractor Vestalia

by Greg Dragon

  ~ * ~ * ~

  Cally, Apun, was barely on the thoughts of the Felitian Empire. Its population consisted mostly of resistance fighters, rebels, and outlaws that were not welcome anywhere else. Cally was not as advanced in its architecture as Dearin was on Talula. It did not have the metal work and masonry that blended to form graceful shapes on the horizon, or the advanced solar technology to keep it lit at all times of day.

  Cally was a slum in comparison to Talula’s cities, and the outskirts held savage, doglike animals that would devour those who dared leave with their guard down. Within its streets, the people were mostly outlaws and some of them were scavengers. It would be rare to find Felitian troopers there, and the resistance had gotten so comfortable with their haven that an open recruiter would patrol the streets, looking to grow their ranks.

  Whenever the Felitians would show up, the city was relatively peaceful and quiet. The magistrates knew that Cally was a nest of traitors to the empire but left it alone to use for information gathering and for the occasional raid. The city had its good parts, too. The saloon was reputed to have the most exotic dancers in the entire Lucan galaxy, and it was where Rafian VCA sat at his usual table.

  His favorite dancer, Dawna, was not there, and due to the early hour, neither were his friends, Orion and Corgan. Looking about at the saloon’s patrons, he tried hard not to let his thoughts roam to Riyah. He badly needed a distraction, and it took all his nerves to avoid approaching the vine-peddling smuggler named Vinny. He missed Dawna; she was always good for a conversation. The other girls were either looking for money or pleasuring themselves in mind games with grunts like him.

  With much effort, Rafian reflected on his resistance career to keep his mind occupied. Just recently, the leadership had sent him a letter of appreciation. He and Corgan had raided the capital of Veece, Apun, to rescue fellow freedom fighters, and then there was his hugely successful solo effort that destroyed multiple Felitian satellite camps.

  It was freedom fighters like him who kept Cally invisible to the Felitians. He had every right to be proud, but it was never enough to take away the melancholy mood that haunted his every moment. As he reflected on all of this, he heard a familiar voice. “Hey, baby.”

  Rafian smiled without even looking up because he knew the honey-sweet voice to be that of Dawna. “Dawna! I was just thinking about you.”

  “Oh, really?” she teased as she began her dance routine in front of his chair.

  “Well, it’s either you or the war. I think I’d rather think about you,” Rafian said, smiling at her.

  Dawna was a tall amazon of a woman. She was the first dancer he had met, and they had become quick friends. Since the death of Riyah, the thought of intimacy with anyone else would reopen old scars for him, so he saw Dawna as a friend and nothing more—at least this is what he had convinced himself of.

  Dawna was also a fellow resistance soldier. He was surprised by this revelation one night when he attended one of Corgan’s raid meetings, and there was Dawna decked out in full armor, semiautomatic gun inside her belt, and war paint smeared all over her face. He had never looked at her quite the same ever since. This indeed was the people’s rebellion, and the way she hid her identity during her daily work hours was something he admired.

  Orion, ever the enigma, came in after another hour looking cleaner than normal. He was wearing a purple smock and carried a spice pipe horn instead of his rifle, and he joined the band onstage to begin droning on his instrument. Looking on, Rafian smiled in spite of himself. War or no war, everyone had a special something about them, and he loved how they were able to turn it off to enjoy their lives beyond the fighting.

  He got up and walked outside quietly, shaking hands with his Daltak friend, Makk, on the way out. With ill intent to keep his mind clear, Rafian headed towards the rear of the saloon and injected a shot of the vine that he had bought from Dawna’s friend, Losa.

  The brand was called Mystic Ginger, and it burnt him when he injected it. These days, it seemed as if he was always on the vine. He felt he had to use it as a crutch for the depression he suffered consistently. Riyah haunted his mind nonstop, and he had never forgiven himself for dragging her into his mess and causing her to die in the skies above her home planet.

  The vine was an escape from it all. That sensation of fire was now in his brain, and he felt less like the perpetuator of Riyah’s death and more like a god of war.

  Sitting down with his back to the saloon wall, Rafian withdrew the needle slowly and relaxed. He was feeling calm, and the grin would not leave his face. This was a side effect of the drug and one of the reasons he hid when he took it. Vine heads were not looked upon favorably, and for Rafian VCA to be seen grinning like a fool would cause him to lose every ounce of respect the rebels had for him.

  Rafian passed out on the ground. It was the oh-so-familiar crash from injecting illegal vines. For two hours he lay brain-dead and fried from the vine injection, and then he awoke vomiting all over himself—he had taken this a bit too far. Embarrassed and now sober, Rafian took the back route home to clean up. Once he had showered and changed his clothing, he returned to the saloon as if nothing had occurred for the three hours he was gone.

  It was dawn, and the band was still in full swing. The Primian and human women were spinning onstage in a sort of dervish brought on by the melody of the horns. The place was packed and Rafian’s favorite seat was taken, forcing him to stand as he clapped along to a freedom fighter song led by Orion.

  “Hey, Rafian!” a familiar voice yelled, and he smiled at his good friend Saiko, a fellow freedom fighter with a spotty background just like his own. According to his story, Saiko was the victim of a mind-wash and was at one time a hired gun for the Felitians. As a result of the payment for his services, he was made filthy rich. But his mind was also wiped, and his memories of the event were removed along with any recollection of family, friends, and skills.

  Rafian wondered sometimes if he had once been a great bounty hunter like Saiko, wiped of his memory to protect a client. Saiko’s story had always interested him—being that he also suffered from a similar affliction.

  “What’s up, Sai? How’s the training?”

  Saiko nodded and replied, “Good, I’m getting it back little by little every day.”

  They found a place on the stairs to watch the girls while knocking back a few beers and sharing battle stories. Rafian could count over fifty freedom fighters in attendance, including himself and Saiko. This was always a bad omen because Felitian spies had breached the small town.

  No sooner had the thought crossed his mind that an alarm went off to warn of an incoming attack. Rafian tossed his mug down and pulled a five-foot-long sword from a sheath on his back. The sounds of gunshots and explosions could be heard from over the central bridge in Cally, and the sky was flashing red as the Felitian ships rained deadly fire down on the saloon entrance, killing a few unlucky souls who came out at the wrong time.

  Looking on, Rafian could see his Deijen friend, Barri, amid the fray, ducking and dodging gunfire while tossing grenade after grenade at the Fels. The fight was intense and it made Rafian’s blood boil, so he started up the bridge in full stride, swinging at any Fel who dared cross his path.

  Running into two Felitians, Rafian slid left, then right, allowing his blade to cut a horizontal V path in front of him. Dodging the deadly slash, one of the Fels ignited a rocket-pack and flew backwards while covering Rafian with flames. He dove over the edge of the bridge to douse the flames in the water below. He barely made it, and then he swam to the bank to take the hill and rejoin the fight.

  Rafian was wet and scarred from the scorching, but he was not slowed, as his anger carried him forward. Swinging the blade like a scythe, he managed to bring one assailant down before taking a gunshot to the arm. Dropping the blade, Rafian rolled towards his shooter and knocked him down with a sweep. He then mounted the Daltak marksman and choked him to death with his bare hands before recovering
his blade and rushing back into the fray.

  The small band of fighters was getting desperate. Never before had there been this many Felitians in Cally. Rafian continued his berserker run amid the Fels until he was floored by a martial arts practitioner, who happened to be a Ranalos. The Felitian commenced to stomp on Rafian’s chest with blow after blow until a gunshot to the head dropped him. Rafian felt the giant arms of Barri pulling him into a nearby building, and he silently thanked the giant for saving his life.

  Cally had become a battlefield, and Rafian knew things were going badly when not only Barri but Vinny, Orion, and Corgan were wheeled in to be looked at by the doctors in their makeshift clinic. His own wounds were too great for him to be allowed back into the battle, but Rafian couldn’t allow himself to watch as his friends were patched up and released back into the hell outside. Impatiently, he got up from the bed and with sword aloft joined them in regrouping.

  “It’s the one from before!” he heard the rocket-wearing Fel announce, and then, suddenly, all eyes were on him.

  Rafian did not hesitate to rush the Felitian who had burned him. Two freedom fighter shots had split his armor in two, leaving the Fel vulnerable in multiple places. Felitians wore darsteel armor. It was a flexible material that reflected kinetic weapons and could be destroyed only with laser technology.

  Ignoring imminent death, Rafian slid himself to the left of the rocket man and buried the blade deep into his stomach beneath his armor. The Felitian screamed like a stuck pig as Rafian kicked him into the water.

  All attacks turned on him, so he dove once again to avoid the lasers. And again the water saved him, but he became disoriented and unaware of his surroundings. An enslaved Deijen picked up the broken body of Rafian and lifted him up as he was jeered and mocked by the now-winning Felitians. Looking around as the life escaped his body, Rafian realized he was alone.

  On the ground, about ten Fels were left to do with him what they wished. Slamming him to the ground, the Deijen roared as they handed him a flamethrower. Desperately, Rafian pulled out the last of his Mystic Ginger supply and jammed the needle into his hip. New life erupted in his eyes, and with renewed effort, he recovered the blade, grinning, and took the Deijen’s arm off while running towards the saloon.

  A low-flying X-11 Zenu appeared and scattered the Felitians as it landed resistance reinforcements from Hammerhead, Jaloos, the other moon that orbited Tyhera. Cally had once again been held, and the shouts of celebration were almost deafening as Rafian, the indomitable fighter, smiled from between his charred lips in recognition of his survival.

  Memory 18 | Master Lucci

  Blu the Deijen was an incredible doctor. His techniques were unparalleled by any within the city, and with the help of fellow physicians, he patched up every single resistance fighter who had fallen in the fray that fateful day.

  The Deijen race was from a swamp planet like Geral, but where the lizards were rough and smaller in stature, the Deijen were more like humans. While their features were flat and plain, they were intelligent and resilient beings who stood as giants. The average Deijen was over seven feet tall, and their muscular bodies were equally intimidating.

  From what Rafian had learned, the largely human-run Felitian Empire had joined forces with the Ranalos and conquered Deijo just as they did Tyhera. So it was no surprise to anyone that most of the Deijens were hard-core members of the resistance.

  While Rafian lay in his hospital bed awaiting treatment, he thought of the martial arts masters who could simply will away their wounds to make themselves heal. He had witnessed it once when a couple of masters were in a duel, and the loser—who should have died—simply meditated before getting up to collect his things and leave.

  He thought about how easily he had been disarmed with the sword by a better martial artist when the Fels raided Cally. It had made him feel inadequate, and he knew he needed to train in order to compete. He had begun the training to become a Mera Ku monk when he learned that they were weapon masters. However, he still needed the advanced lessons where this meditation skill would be studied.

  The raid by the Fels had come when he was new to the Mera Ku way of the sword, which was a drastically different style from the one he knew. Though he foolishly ran into the battle, he was proud for doing as well as he had done under deadly fire. He smiled as his friend Blu came over to him to dress his wounds and check his status.

  “You fought like a demon out there, Rafian,” the Deijen said, smiling.

  “Thanks, Blu, but that was all vine and wine. I hope to be that great sober one day.”

  Blu chuckled and started treatment on the wounded rebel. Rafian had always impressed the doc since coming from out of nowhere to command the position he held with their resistance. He himself had taken out three Fels that day. Everyone had done his or her part, but they knew this would not keep up for long. The Felitian Empire was getting too curious about Cally and its citizens, and before long, they would bring their Special Forces to completely wipe them out.

  The long night passed in celebration as a wounded Rafian VCA and his fellow resistance fighters drank in victory to another successful defense of Cally. Rafian lay in bed later that night, his head throbbing, but it felt good to be alive.