A Dramatic Turn of Events
“They say
there’s a special place reserved in the Abyss for traitors.”
“You mean the
throne?”
Payle
frowned
at his partner. Jakub had never paid
much attention to the tales about Kuldaan.
He cared even less for stories about the Maker. Myths and fairy-tales,
he called them. Payle wasn’t sure what to think about either,
but of one thing he was certain: What they were planning to do was
wrong.
Very wrong.
Jakub pushed
his wire-framed glasses against the bridge of his nose and stood. “This should do nicely. What do you think?”
Payle
eyed the
steel case on the floor, suppressing a shiver despite the warmth of the
laboratory. There was no cause for alarm, he knew. After all, Jakub’s
expertise in the field of
explosives was noted throughout the Athena solar system. Some suggested
that he could build a bomb out
of nothing more than onions, if necessary.
It was his great gift, his contribution to the universe. At least,
that’s what he said.
But in Payle’s
estimation, the man’s true gift wasn’t something crafted by hand. Jakub was a man who could organize armies,
direct supplies, and coordinate hundreds of battalions with his left hand and
cure disease, advance starship engine technology, and invent a
self-replenishing energy reactor with his right. Most dared not dream of developing a quarter
of the smarts Jakub possessed. He’d been
blessed with more intelligence than any man could ask.
More intelligence
than any man should ask.
“Well?” Jakub
was still waiting for a response.
Payle took a
deep breath. “You know what I think.”
Though he
wasn’t a large man, Jakub had a menacing presence about him, especially when he
lost his temper. With arms crossed, he gave
Payle an impatient frown. “Why are you
here, then? Why do you align yourself
with us when you do not support our cause?”
“I support our
cause,” Payle growled through clenched teeth.
“It is our methods that I oppose.”
Jakub rolled
his eyes and turned back to the counter, wiping his hands his shirt. “Our methods have placed us on the brink of a
monumental victory," he said, typing notes into his data pad. "Years of hard work and meticulous
planning have gone into this operation. If
all goes well, the Aeden Alliance will lose hundreds of senior officers in the
coming days. But while our people
celebrate our success, you will be sulking in a corner somewhere.”
Payle put a
palm to his forehead. “I did not sign up
to fight from the shadows like a coward.
I agree that the Alliance
has oppressed us—all of us—for far
too long. But this plan of lies and
deception will do more to hurt our cause than to help it!”
Jakub whirled
around, shouting so loud that his voice echoed through the lab’s
corridors. “We don’t have the manpower
for a direct confrontation, Maker curse you!
We have to struggle just to procure what weapons and supplies we
have! If we were to waltz out into open
space to declare war on our enemy, we would all be crushed like ants under a
child’s foot!”
Though Jakub
could be intimidating, Payle was no pushover.
He stepped forward, one fist clenched while the other grabbed a handful
of Jakub’s shirt. “I seek to end the oppression and bring some
measure of peace to my homeworld. And I
don’t believe these acts of terrorism will squeeze one ounce of mercy from the
Aeden Council. Might will not win this
fight, Jakub! We must get them to
negotiate with us!”
Jakub’s jaw
tightened. “Take your hands off of me,
you fool. I am not your enemy.”
Without
realizing it, Payle had pinned him against the counter. Allowing himself a frustrated growl, he
released his grip and turned away. “I am
sorry. I just do not believe this
massacre will help to further our cause.”
“Do not worry,
my friend. In one week’s time, you’ll
see the difference. Besides, you are
right about one thing.”
Payle looked
over his shoulder as Jakub lifted the steel case. “And that is?”
Jakub tapped a
finger against his temple. “Might will not win this fight. Brains always triumph over brawn.”
His grin sent a
chill down Payle’s spine.
*******
It had been far
too long.
Arus Sheeth rotated
his sword in long flourishes, twisting and stepping through the warm-up
routines that Master Eaisan had taught him so many years ago. The hilt felt comfortable in his hands
despite having been in storage for two months.
And though he had enjoyed his vacation on the tropical island
of Manwana, there was a part of him
that had missed the daily workouts with his fellow soldiers. Now he was back, rested and refreshed and
ready to take on the dark underbelly of the universe once again.
Del’Carjhal was
one of the smaller Alliance
outposts in the Omega Region of the galaxy.
The base was located on the snowy planet of Vaank, a giant world on the
outer rim of the Athena solar system. Arus
had been assigned there after graduating from training camp eighteen months
earlier. He wanted to make a difference,
to help people in need. And in
Del’Carjhal, such opportunities were abundant.
Because of its
less than favorable climate, Vaank had become a haven for criminal activity. The harsh weather conditions made it
relatively easy for smugglers and pirates to set up hidden installations from
which they could conduct their illegitimate businesses. Though the planet itself was largely
desolate, those surrounding Vaank were densely populated. It was those civilizations that the Alliance
had come to protect, those worlds that had been raided by pirates and besieged
by a war they never saw coming.
Arus could
empathize with their plight. His own
homeland had been nearly destroyed by an invading army when he was a boy. It drove him to follow his father’s footsteps
by dedicating his life to defending those who could not defend themselves. Whether he was delivering food to
impoverished colonies or tracking and arresting pirate lords, he knew that
there were a lot of people counting on him.
And he was not going to let them down.
A bitter wind
blew as he rotated on his heels, raising the sword above his head. His heavy white coat, made of several layers
of satin and fleece and wool, deflected most of the cold. Its fur-lined hood often caught falling snow
before it could reach his face, and sturdy winter goggles shielded him from the
rest.
“Good to have
you back, Boss.”
The voice came
from a silhouette to the right. Sergeant
Linard Baird, a seasoned soldier who’d spent over seven years in Del’Carjhal,
emerged through the falling snow. He was
as cunning as he was deadly, a master sniper and excellent strategist. Mostly, though, he was known for calling
everyone “Boss.”
“Good to be
back, Sergeant,” Arus responded, continuing his exercises as he spoke. “Did I miss anything exciting?”
“Same ol’ garbage,”
Baird told him. “Commander’s got himself
all riled up over supposed raids on a number of Luncia’s weapons
facilities. We’re expecting orders at
any time, though I’m sure he’ll keep us in the dark as usual.”
Luncia
was
another planet in the Athena system, a world populated by humans. Two
billion of them, to be more precise. Though they did not possess the
technology necessary
for space travel, they were by no means primitive. Through their
long-range communications
towers, they had begun to reach out in search of interstellar life
twenty years
ago. The Alliance
answered the call, and a pact was made between the two. It was agreed
that the Aeden Alliance would
patrol the system and protect the planet in exchange for the right to
mine a
valuable mineral called tridonium. The
metal, which some Aeden scientists said could hold the future of
starship
construction, was useless to the Luncians as they lacked the technology
to
properly manipulate it. In the end, the
deal worked out well for everyone involved.
Especially when offworld pirates began targeting the planet for tridonium two years later. Had the Alliance
not been there, the people would’ve been helpless.
“That’s a bold
move for the pirates,” Arus said, sweeping his weapon low along the surface of
the snow. “If they're desperate enough
to take such risks, it could signal that our efforts to disrupt the smugglers’
supply chain has been effective.”
“For sure,” Baird
said with a nod. “How was Manwana? Had to have been better than this ice cube!”
Arus focused his sight on a single snowflake
and promptly cleaved it in two. “It was
gorgeous. Best vacation I’ve ever had.”
It had been
Kitreena’s suggestion that they visit Manwana to celebrate both his sixteenth
birthday and his recent promotion to Lieutenant, Junior Grade. Several months had passed since they had
last been able to spend any quality time together. Her duties as first officer aboard the Refuge, one of the Aeden Alliance’s most
decorated and respected starships, kept her busy. But Damien, Captain of the Refuge and close friend to Arus, arranged
things so that they could all take a much needed leave together while the Refuge underwent scheduled maintenance
and repairs.
“Did you get a
chance to see the Shel Falls?”
Baird asked. “Most gorgeous waterfall
I’ve ever seen!”
“Indeed.” Arus twisted again, swinging his snow-covered
boot into a roundhouse kick and following it with a downward swipe of his
sword. “Actually, Kitreena’s coin purse
was stolen while we were there.”
“Really? I bet you made the thief wish he’d chosen a
different target.”
Finally,
Arus
sheathed his weapon and turned toward the soldier. “Actually, I didn’t
have to. It was rather amusing. We were standing along the observation
path
opposite the falls when this kid yanked the pouch right off of her
belt. He didn’t make it two steps before Damien
snatched him up by the scruff of his neck!
I almost felt bad for him; poor boy couldn’t have been more than eight
years old.”
Baird let out a
boisterous laugh. “Oh man, I bet he
soiled himself when he realized Damien was with you.”
Arus couldn’t
help but chuckle himself. “Actually, the
look on Kitreena’s face was probably more terrifying. Needless to say, he returned the purse
without protest.”
Another voice,
this one far deeper, came from the right.
“One can only hope the act was not a symptom of a troubled youth on a
reckless path.” The towering figure of
Sergeant Merculas Garren came into view, his powerful arms folded across his
broad chest. “Welcome back,
Lieutenant. It is good to see you.”
Arus returned
the greeting with a slight bow.
“Likewise, Sergeant. How’s the
arm?”
“Good as new,”
Garren replied. “I assume Baird has told
you the news.”
“The weapons
raids?”
“What? No, that’s old news.” He turned to Baird. “You didn’t tell him?”
“I was getting
to it, Boss.”
Arus looked
back and forth between the two. “Getting
to what?”
“Nasael has set
a new record at the Proving Grounds,” Garren told him. “He beat your old record by three and a half
seconds.”
“He’s issued an
open challenge to anyone on the base to try to beat his time,” Baird
added. “We all assumed you’d be up to
the task once you returned.”
“Three and a
half seconds, huh?” Arus repeated with a frown.
A month or so before leaving for Manwana, he had set a new record on the
Del’Carjhal obstacle course. It was a
tough challenge that tested every aspect of a soldier’s physical and mental
prowess on the battlefield. Arus’
previous time had been four minutes and twenty-two seconds with perfect
accuracy and no penalty points. He had
practiced the course nearly every day since being assigned to the base in order
to achieve such a time. Shaving another
three to four seconds off of his performance—especially after two months of
downtime—was going to be difficult.
But a difficult
challenge had never stopped Arus before.
“I’m a little
rusty,” he admitted, “but I worked hard for that record, and I’m not going to
give it up that easily.”
Wide creases
formed in the scarf covering Garren’s mouth, suggesting a smile. “Shall I inform Nasael?”
Arus
nodded. He never liked to be arrogant,
but there was nothing wrong with healthy competition between friends. “Tell him that he has three days to enjoy
being the record-holder. After that, I’ll
be taking back what’s rightfully mine.”
*******
The Del’Carjhal
Proving Grounds served both as a training facility and a recreational area
where many platoons met for daily workouts and training drills. Most often, that meant gathering along the
western perimeter to participate in what had come to be known as the Trials of
Fire. There, soldiers tested their
endurance in various physical and mental challenges until they could no longer
continue. The last man standing was
declared winner, usually to be awarded with an extra day of rest. To the east, an assortment of tables, chairs,
and cots were set up where friends could socialize and the weary could rest
between drills. The obstacle course
stood in the center of everything, a string of near-impossible challenges lined
up one after the other. Some men
theorized that it was expected that
soldiers fail the course so that they might learn to recognize insurmountable
odds when in the field.
It
was a
behemoth of a structure consisting of six challenges designed to test a
soldier's mental and physical conditioning.
The first was called the Cliffside, a rigorous climbing wall that had
forced many men and women into early submission. The Drawbridge
followed, a ten-pace bridge
that began to open just moments after the starting buzzer. Participants
were challenged to make it
through the first obstacle and across the gap before it became too wide
to traverse. Any who failed to reach the other side fell
into a pool of ice-cold water below. Wet
or dry, runners next faced the Frozen Tornado, a hollow column of ice
standing
straight up beyond the bridge. To pass
through, soldiers had to place their hands and feet against the walls
and
shimmy their way to the top. There had
yet to be a man or woman who successfully completed the ascent after
falling
into the pool.
The fourth
obstacle was Marksman's Mountain. Using
a provided laser rifle, course runners were required to shoot down fifteen
automated targets flying high above the course.
Hangman's Drop was next, a series of parallel bars that descended in a
spiral to the ground. The final
obstacle, simply called Death Row, amounted to little more than a shooting gallery. Twelve turrets—six on either side—fired
special painless lasers at runners as they used sandbag walls and other various
cover points to reach the finish line.
It was not
unusual for newcomers to spend twenty minutes or more completing the course. Experienced soldiers averaged five to eight
minutes. Few had finished in less than
five, but with hard work and dedication, Arus had managed to do it. And though Nasael had a way of getting on his
fellow soldiers' nerves, Arus had to respect his ability to do the same. He was a dedicated soldier and a hard worker
even if his ego frequently got the best of him.
Still, Arus had worked hard for that record, and the time had come to
reclaim what he'd fought hard to attain.
He arrived just
after dawn, stomping his feet on the entry mat to loosen clumps of wet snow
from his boots. Baird was waiting for
him near the storage lockers, sipping tea from a steaming cup. Chief Laine Morsul accompanied him with her
digital notepad in the crook of her arm.
She was an older woman, though her precise age remained a mystery. Aside from Kitreena, she was the only Morpher
Arus had ever encountered. Morphers had
the ability to transform into beings entirely different from themselves, but
the Chief had yet to give Arus—or anyone,
for that matter—any clues regarding her transformed state. No one saw fit to pry, and Arus certainly
wasn't going to ask.
Besides, Chief
Morsul's duties to the Alliance had
nothing to do with morphing. She was a
mathematics wizard. Considered by many
to be the warden of the Proving Grounds, she walked the facility from end to
end and back recording each soldier's performance statistics. She measured everything from the basics of diet,
weight, and size to unpredictable variables like jump heights, objects carried,
breathing rhythms, and water consumption.
Her calculations gave each man and woman a very distinct report of where
they excelled, where they fell short, and what they might do to improve.
She smiled when
she saw Arus, a pleasant if contemptuous smile that suggested she was skeptical
of his guarantee to beat Nasael's record.
"Well, well, well," she said in her scratchy voice. "The robot-boy returns."
Arus unbuckled
and removed his heavy coat. There was a
time when that sort of remark might have stirred at least some feelings of
sadness, but no longer. He'd learned to
accept the cybernetic implant fused to the left side of his head and even
appreciate the robotic arm hidden under the left sleeve of his tunic. And his eye, the little metal cylinder that
had been crafted from a modified sniper's scope, had become an integral part of
his life. The synthetic components
interfaced directly with Arus' brain, allowing him to combine the split-second
calculations and projections of the implant with the decision-making
intelligence of the human brain. The
result was a blend of man and machine, or what some thought to be the perfect
weapon.
Chief Morsul
mostly referred to him as a walking calculator.
"Morning,
Chief," Arus said, hooking his coat inside his locker. "I hear Nasael has set a new
benchmark."
"And I hear you think you're going to surpass
it already," she replied, tapping her fingers across the notepad. "I don't see how you expect to do
it."
"He'll do
it," Baird told her. There was a
bit of satisfaction in his eyes; no doubt the thought of anyone taking away
Nasael's bragging rights gave him reason to be excited.
The age lines
in the Chief's face darkened as she frowned.
"Either way, just shut that thing off first," she said, pointing
a finger at the implant.
"Of
course, Chief," Arus agreed. While
the implant did provide various advantages in combat situations, Arus refused
to use its abilities to give himself any sort of edge over his fellow soldiers during
training exercises and competitions. He
wanted to be on the same level as them; it helped him retain a strong
connection with his humanity. Any
non-vital functions remained deactivated unless needed.
With a shake of
her head, Morsul was off to the watchtower at the end of the obstacle course
where she would later oversee Arus' run.
He sometimes got the feeling she held some sort of malice toward him due
to the implant—it was the only one of its kind in the known universe, and many
people feared what they didn't understand—but he shrugged the feeling away just
as quickly as it surfaced. The Chief
took special care to ensure that every competition was fair to the participants
involved, and there was no reason he'd want her to treat him otherwise.
"You nervous,
Boss?" Baird asked, dropping a tiny piece of peppermint into his tea. An experienced man at forty-five years of
age, Baird was one of those soldiers that never lost his cool. Tall, lean, and relaxed, his scratchy voice
sometimes cracked like an adolescent boy's.
Standing beside Arus, he sipped his tea and flicked his thin black
mustache. "You look it."
"Just out
of practice," Arus replied, gazing up at the Cliffside. Running a hand through his crimson hair, he
suppressed a gulp of anxiety. That
bloody wall had always been one of the toughest parts of the course. No matter how many times he scaled it, the
mere sight of the structure churned his stomach. It was built to simulate a rocky mountainside
with grips placed few and far between.
And though his artificial arm could
pull him up with relative ease, cheating like that was something Arus would
never consider. "I wish I'd had a
chance to get in here and train a bit before today."
Baird nodded in
understanding. "What's the
Commander kept you busy with for the past few days?"
"Briefings,
mostly. Captain Ressia and Captain
Prinst brought me up to date on what's happened since I left. The increased starship activity near Irius
has me concerned. It's a prime location
to serve as a hub for any illicit activity in this galaxy."
Baird frowned
with a slight shake of his head. "I
heard they were going to send a few fighters and even an assault ship out that
way soon. Doesn't sit well with me. Situations like this call for a more delicate
approach. Could be just rumors, though. You know how stories get blown out of
proportion around here."
Arus' thoughts
turned to the billions of innocent lives across the Athena galaxy, the men,
women, and children who were simply trying to live their lives in peace. It brought his homeworld of Terranias to
mind, where the Kyrosen had disrupted his otherwise peaceful society with
bloodshed, war, and death. Now, these pirates
were doing the same across Athena. It
had to be stopped. It would be stopped.
"Don't
worry," Baird said, patting his shoulder.
"We'll put an end to whatever they're cooking up. For now, just focus on the course."
Forcing
himself
to put worries aside, he turned his attention to the pool beneath the
drawbridge about midway through the obstacle course. Although the
facility was heated to a
comfortable temperature, that water was always bloody cold. And the
Frozen Tornado stood behind it. Just thinking about the walls of ice
inside
that tower made him shiver.
"You look
scared."
Nasael appeared
to Arus' right, waves of various colors rippling across his skin. A member of an odd race called Clu, his complexion
changed based on his surroundings. It
was a genetic defense mechanism not unlike a chameleon's ability to blend in
with its surroundings. His flesh, a
blend between scales and skin, had the ability to produce a wide range of
pigments. And though it wasn't perfect,
it certainly gave his people an advantage that was not shared by many species
across the universe.
Arus spared the
corporal a glance and inclined his head.
"Good morning, Nasael."
"A very
good morning, indeed. I trust you've
adequately prepared yourself for today's challenge?"
Arus
shrugged. "I could've used a few
practice runs. But I roll out of bed
every morning preparing myself to take on the entire galaxy. We could find ourselves fighting for our
lives at any moment out here, so I live each day like the fate of the universe
just might find its way into my hands. It
makes tasks like this seem just a bit trivial in the overall scheme of things."
Nasael's brow
furrowed over his blood-red eyes. To
some, he was probably a visually intimidating individual. A head taller than Arus with a well-defined
physique, he was a good ally to have in a fight despite his arrogance. His tail, which reminded Arus of an
alligator's tail, whipped against the floor.
"You fear embarrassment," he said, his raspy voice full of
pride. "You know you cannot win, so
you seek to minimize the importance of the achievement."
While there was
a certain amount of truth to that—a little less pressure might have calmed
Arus' nerves—there was no fear of embarrassment. "There is no shame in defeat,
Corporal. I'd rather try and fail than
never try at all."
A voice called
from the distant left. "Arus! Come, you must warm up!" Garren stood beside the Trials of Fire,
waving his large arm over his head.
"Good
luck, Lieutenant," Nasael said through a toothy grin. A wave of grey rolled across his skin. "I'll try not to gloat when you
lose."
For the next ten minutes, Arus ran endurance
drills with Garren. A man of excellent
health, Garren was an expert in human nutrition and fitness. When Arus transferred to Del’Carjhal, Garren
had been the first to welcome him to the base and even offered a tour of the
facilities. During their talks, Arus
mentioned that he would need a sparring partner, and though Garren had never
lifted a sword, he offered to assist Arus in honing his skills as a rifleman if
Arus would in turn train him in the ways of the blade. And though, when activated, the implant gave
Arus the ability to fire any laser weapon with pinpoint accuracy, he refused to
rely solely on artificial skill.
Machines could be tampered with, altered, damaged, or destroyed, and
Arus wasn't about to risk finding himself in a situation where he could not
properly defend the people he was sworn to protect because the implant was
malfunctioning.
By the time he
turned his attention to the obstacle course, Nasael was standing along the
eastern perimeter tapping an impatient boot.
A group of Aeden soldiers had gathered around him in anticipation of
Arus' attempt to reclaim the record.
Some smiled at him as he approached the starting mark, but he paid them
no attention. Master Eaisan's voice
floated through his head as though his old teacher was coaching from the
sidelines. Focus, determination, and patience, Arus. Without these, you will fall on your face
before taking a step.
Chief Morsul's
voice came over the intercom. "Are you ready, Lieutenant?"
Arus
nodded. "Ready."
"You'll
have fifteen seconds before the drawbridge begins to raise and one minute and
thirty seconds before it is completely open.
Start when you hear the buzzer.
Good luck."
Anticipation
set butterflies loose in Arus' stomach.
He believed what he had told Nasael; there was no shame in defeat. Unfortunately for him, only a select few
agreed. If he failed, Nasael and his
friends would never let the matter rest.
Shaking his head, Arus kneeled with his back to the course—that was the
generally accepted starting position—and silently cursed himself for arrogantly
guaranteeing victory three days earlier.
Me and my big mouth.
The buzzer sounded,
and Arus leapt to his feet. With a burst
of adrenaline, he dashed to the Cliffside and began to ascend. The senior officers of Del'Carjhal often
ordered changes to the positioning of the grips so that there was no set
pattern participants could memorize in order to shorten their time through the
course. The climb was different from one
day to the next, and for Arus, that meant finding his way to the top would be
just as challenging as the day he first arrived on the base.
"Come on, Boss!"
Baird called. "You can do it!"
He started
slowly at first, hands sweeping across the holds and notches above in search of
the shortest route to the top. There
would be no time to analyze options, no time to second-guess his chosen path,
and certainly no time to backtrack. Once
he decided on a course of action, he had to stick with it. Picking out a few of the larger grips, he
followed a path up and to the left, trying his best to keep a steady pace. Some of the holds were big enough for him to
wrap his hand around, but others were so small that they might as well have
been coins pressed flat against the wall.
About a third of the way up, he found himself caught with no way to
advance; the grips above were just too small.
He could probably get his fingers around them, but that wouldn't be
enough to support his weight.
A quick glance
revealed two solid notches in the wall a moderate distance to Arus' right. If he timed it properly, there was a chance
he could propel his body over to them.
But the wall above that section leaned forward at a sharp angle, which
would shift Arus' center of gravity to a point where his arms would need to
support the majority of his weight as opposed to his legs. It would be tough, but the most important
thing was to keep moving.
From somewhere ahead,
the repetitive click of the pulley system signaled the opening of the
bridge. From both the Chief's calculations
and Arus' own experience, he knew he had about a minute left to get to the
drawbridge if he wanted to have any chance of avoiding a bath in the icy pool.
With a grunt,
he swung his body to the right and flew toward the waiting handgrips. He grabbed both as he came down, bracing a
boot against the wall to break his fall.
Some quiet applause came from the spectators. Using all the strength he could muster, he scurried
upward as fast as his limbs would move.
When the positioning of the holds allowed, he scooted back to the left
to escape the angled portion of the wall and continued climbing. Finally, with beads of sweat clinging to his
forehead, he pulled himself over the edge to the top of the platform.
The bridge was
just ahead.
*******
Commander Terras
paced back and forth in his chambers.
Every senior officer in Del'Carjhal had assembled in the briefing room
adjacent to his office, and he was keeping them waiting. He'd always been known as a punctual man who
obsessed over schedules and timeliness, and the usual morning briefing should
have been well underway by now. But word
had reached his comm that a crucial piece of intelligence was being escorted
into the compound. Details had been
sketchy, but what he'd managed to piece together seemed like good news. Great, even.
Petre Sanse,
Terras' captain of the Del'Carjhal recon unit, had discovered some sort of data
transmitter in the field. Its size
suggested that the information it collected was being sent offworld, and that
meant it was likely connected with the pirates.
A discovery of such magnitude would open the door to numerous
opportunities for gathering intelligence on the locations, movement, and
communications of the enemy. Indeed,
great news.
Upon hearing of
the find, Commander Terras had summoned the senior staff for Sanse's
report. Fifteen captains, seven
lieutenants, and four other commanders sat in the briefing room. The only person missing was—
The door opened
and Lieutenant Crux poked his head inside.
"Sir! He's here!"
"About bloody
time," Terras muttered, grabbing his jacket from the coat hanger in the
corner. "Is it in working
order?"
"He hasn't
said, Sir. He just arrived."
Slipping on the
coat, Terras followed the Lieutenant across the hall to the briefing room. The other officers were murmuring amongst
themselves, craning their necks to get a look at Sanse's discovery. It sat on the table in front of the room, an
unimpressive silver box with small indentations on either side. Behind it, Sanse stood with a somber look in
his eyes that suggested many good soldiers had died in the process of
recovering the unit.
Terras saluted
him. "Welcome back, Captain. I'm relieved you've made it back in one
piece."
Oddly, Sanse
did not return the salute. "Thank
you." He seemed terribly
distressed.
Hoping to lend
a shoulder of sympathy, Terras lowered his voice. "How many soldiers were lost,
Petre?"
It took a
moment for Sanse to reply, but when it did, it almost seemed as though he
hadn't been paying attention. "What? Oh.
None. No casualties, Sir."
The answer
surprised Terras. "Are you alright, Captain? You seem . . . troubled."
Sanse shifted
his eyes to the silver box beside them.
"Fine, Sir. Ready to give my
report."
With a
reluctant nod, Terras put the matter aside.
Temporarily. He'd speak with
Sanse in private at a better time. For
now, there was business needing attention.
"Ladies and gentlemen," he began, turning to the rest of his
officers, "I want you to take a good look at this box. It is going to be your life for the next
forty-eight hours, so play close attention while Captain Sanse gives his
report. Take notes, ask questions, and
stay focused, because this ordinary looking box may hold a wealth of
information about our enemies."
Motioning toward Petre, he stepped away.
"The floor is yours, Captain."
Sanse said
nothing at first, instead allowing an uncomfortable silence to fill the
room. His eyes, distant and unfocused,
rested on the box in front of him. It
was as though something was eating away at him from the inside, a burden heavy
enough to bring a battle-hardened warrior to his knees. As the silence dragged on, Terras considered
putting the meeting on hold. The
transmitter was safely in Alliance
hands; that was the important part. The
report could wait for a few hours if that might allow Petre to compose himself.
Terras
was
about to say so when the captain's eyes suddenly focused on the box.
Jaw set firmly, he shifted his attention to
the other soldiers. "I've been a
member of the Aeden Alliance for seven years," he said. "And over the
course of these seven
years, I've often imagined how this day would unfold. What would I
say? How would I feel? And now, as I stand here before you—many of
whom I consider to be honorable soldiers and close friends—I find myself
deeply
torn. There is sadness. Remorse.
Pain. But there is also joy. Satisfaction.
Even excitement. Because today
marks a tremendous victory in this fight."
A wave of
unrest crept over Terras as the captain continued. The man spoke with a tone of finality usually
reserved for victory celebrations and retirement speeches. It was as if this had been the last mission
of Sanse's career. But he was a young
man in prime condition. He had the
potential to be an excellent commander one day.
Perhaps even a general.
"Over the
years, I've gotten to know many of you.
Even some of your families.
You're good people with good intentions.
You want to make this galaxy a better place for everyone, and I
appreciate that." He removed the
captain's rank insignia from his uniform, and a chill rolled down Terras'
spine.
Something was
wrong. This was not a victory
speech. And it was not a retirement speech.
"But I
have spent seven years here at Del'Carjhal turning men into cripples, wives
into widows, and children into orphans.
Our strike on the pirates' supply cache last month killed nearly two
thousand civilians. I've got enough
blood on my hands to earn two eternities in the Abyss." Dropping rank insignia on the table, his gaze
returned to the box on the table.
"So when I received word that my assignment could come to an end
today, a part of me almost felt relieved."
He drew a small silver disc from his pocket, a wafer shaped like a coin yet
no thicker than a piece of paper.
"What is
this all about, Captain?" Commander Kurn asked, rising from his
chair. "Are you trying to tell us
you're retiring?"
But Terras face
was pale. It had been many years since
he'd been a soldier in the field, but his instinct hadn't dulled beyond all
use. Sanse's voice, his body language,
his speech—they suggested he was on the verge of doing something rash.
The captain
looked Commander Kurn in the eyes and, with a flick of his wrist, tossed the
silver disc into the air. "You
might say that, Sir."
The device was
something unlike anything Terras had ever seen.
It hovered above the seated soldiers, spinning with an almost inaudible
whir. A narrow beam of light, a tiny
stream of blue, shone down from its center.
Gliding from left to right in long sweeping movements, the beam blinked
each time it passed over an officer.
"What is
this?!" Terras demanded.
"Petre, explain yourself!"
"Fifteen
captains,
seven lieutenants, and five commanders." He spoke in a quiet monotone
voice. "All Del'Carjhal senior officers present
and accounted for." Upon completion
of his sentence, the disc fell to the floor.
The previously blue light now glowed blood red.
A single beep
came from the box on the table.
*******
Arus pushed
himself up and ran as fast as he could, a fresh surge of adrenaline fueling his
charge. The steel drawbridge was higher
than he'd hoped, but there was still time to cross the gap. Maintaining speed as he ascended the rising
structure, he prepared himself for the jump.
Everything went
wrong.
As he planted
his feet at the bridge's crest, there was a deafening explosion. It came from somewhere outside the Proving
Grounds—perhaps as close as the barracks.
The blast startled Arus so that his legs faltered as he leapt, giving
his body only a fraction of the momentum it needed. Desperate to avoid falling into the frigid
water, he extended his arms and crashed chest-first into the angled edge of the
bridge's opposite side. Metal ridges in
the steel surface provided temporary grips for his fingers as he dangled
precariously high above the pool. Clinging
with all of his strength, he looked up just northeast corner of the Proving
Grounds burst inward in a shower of debris, sending chunks of rock and shrapnel
hurtling across the facility. Survival instinct
kicked in, and Arus released his hold on the drawbridge.
The fall seemed
to last a lifetime. He could see people
racing in every direction, their screams a mixture of frightened shrieks and
barked orders. Then he hit the water, a bed
of frozen needles that pierced him straight to the bone. He panicked at first, struggling and
squirming and flailing his arms about in an attempt to right himself before
finally forcing both mind and body to relax.
For a moment—a brief moment—he could see the surface of
the water. Then it was gone, obscured by
a gnarled slab of debris that crashed into the pool. Arus rolled, frantically kicking away to
avoid being crushed, but the sinking chunk of mangled metal and stone came down
on his back and pinned him to the floor.
Though not heavy enough to shatter his spine, the block forced free what
little air had been left in his lungs.
Twangs of pain
shot through his body. The water seemed
to press against him just as much as the debris. He needed oxygen. Complicating matters, additional pieces of
rock and twisted fragments of metal continued to fill the water around
him. If another large segment came down
on top of the first, his ribs would likely collapse. There would be no wiggling free; the stone
was too wide for that. Had he been
facing up, the strength of his artificial arm would've been sufficient. But with his entire torso trapped, he was
down to his last option.
He never had to
consider it. In an instant, the weight
was gone. Arus barely had time to
comprehend what was happening when he felt two strong arms wrap around his
middle. With just a few powerful kicks,
his rescuer returned them to the surface where Sergeant Garren and Lieutenant
Breila pulled Arus from the frigid water.
He gasped and choked on all fours as Garren kneeled beside him.
"Are you
all right?" he asked.
Arus inhaled as
much as his lungs could hold. "I
think so," he panted.
Nasael climbed
out of the pool beside him, shaking the excess water from his hairless head. The temperature had never seemed to phase him
for some reason, though there was much about the corporal that seemed odd. He wore no shirt, as was often the case.
Even when trudging through the snowy terrain of Vaank, he often needed
to be reminded to put on a shirt and coat before leaving the base. Most often, he wore only loose gray breeches and boots. Arus assumed that Clu were simply not used to
such harsh conditions.
"Thank
you, Corporal," Arus said between breaths.
"Of
course, Sir," he responded. Waves
of blue and grey rolled across his skin.
"Are you injured?"
Arus shook his
head. "No, thank you." Bruised, perhaps, but not injured. His attention turned to the ruins of the
north wall. "By the Maker," he
muttered, rising to his feet. "What
happened?"
The majority of
the wall had been destroyed, seemingly crushed from above by some sort of
debris. Much of the ceiling had come
down with it, including the segment that had pinned him underwater. With the Proving Grounds now exposed, the
winter air swept in unencumbered. But as
Arus raced to the wreckage alongside his fellow soldiers, the harsh winds were
little more than a distant concern in his mind.
"That
looks like a piece of the Command Station," Lieutenant Breila said,
pointing at a giant section of wall partially buried beneath the rubble. Indeed, the color and arrangement of the
individual blocks were very different compared to construction pattern used to
build the Proving Grounds. It appeared
to be a portion of one of the Command Station's towers.
Upon arriving
beside the wreckage, Arus' heart stopped dead.
There, looming in the sky to the northeast of the Proving Grounds, stood
the remains of the Command Station. Only
half of the structure was left; it looked like it had been blown completely in
half. What remained was quickly being
consumed by rabid flames. All across
Del'Carjhal, plumes of smoke rose from various buildings. Whether or not the fires had been initiated
by scattered debris or were separate incidents wasn't yet clear, but either
way, it didn't much matter.
Del'Carjhal was
in flames.
*******
