The North Star, page 8
part #1 of Galactic Sentinel Series
How long have I been here?
Cloying smoke filled her throat and sent her into another coughing fit. She shifted her weight and leaned into the metal sheeting with the little strength she could muster. It wouldn’t so much as budge, and she eased back into the chair.
“Anybody there?” She wheezed.
Still nothing.
The smoke became thicker, and her eyes began to water. She tore her left sleeve and wrapped the fabric around her face, careful not to upset her head injury. The makeshift filter made little difference, but she hoped it would buy her some time, though, for what, she didn’t know.
Her exposed arm started to burn all of a sudden. Flickering yellow-orange smudges appeared to the left of the chair. It was hard to tell how close the flames were, but Clio suspected they were just out of reach.
“Help.” She managed a weak scream. It was possible there were enemies nearby, but she didn’t care if they heard her. Whatever their plans, they couldn’t be worse than slowly roasting alive.
The heat grew more intense, and she was forced to lean as far to her right as she could.
Through the stinging smoke, she managed another call. If help wasn’t on the way, it was already too late, but she refused to surrender so easily.
She desperately shoved and clawed at the heating metal until she was exhausted.
It was a horrible way to go: cooked alive like a pig on a spit and she’d soon be squealing like one too.
If only I died in the crash.
The flames crept up next to her, and the heat became unbearable. She removed the makeshift mask, hoping the smoke would suffocate her quickly.
She was about to draw a deep breath when a bang rang out nearby. Only when hands dragged her from the chair did she realize that the noise was the rubble trapping her being removed. Shadows danced and faded as she was carried out of the darkness.
Her lungs were so choked with smoke that she could just barely breathe, let alone call out to whoever it was carrying her.
He, she, or it set Clio down on her side. Breathing gradually became more comfortable, and the air tasted cleaner. She coughed violently, drew shallow breaths, and brought up phlegm. Her legs were still numb, not that she had the strength to check them let alone stand.
Despite being out of the smoke, Clio’s nose and throat burned. She rubbed away the tears and had to shield her sensitive eyes from the powerful light that had replaced the darkness inside the crashed wreckage. She cautiously looked from under her hand. A blurred silhouette of a figure stood over her, and it occurred to Clio that her eyesight was damaged. She stifled a moan.
As much as she wanted to speak to the figure, her mouth refused to move. She was drowning in a merciless sea of exhaustion. The silhouette expanded until darkness tugged at the edge of her awareness, threatening to envelop her.
She welcomed it.
***
Clio opened her crusted eyelids and found herself in darkness. She sat up and leaned against a rough wall. Her body was stiff as if every muscle had recently taken a serious beating, which she supposed was a good way of putting it. She was surprised to find that her legs worked and that the pain in her head had dulled to a throb.
That all she could see was darkness, however, was worrying. For all she knew, she had been taken prisoner by the invaders and a horrendous death awaited her. She fought back a wave of panic.
“Hello.” It was barely a whisper.
Something shuffled somewhere up ahead then clicked.
Dim light poured into the room as a door opened in front of her framing a dark figure. Her eyesight had improved, and she could make out crates and stacked shelves in the room, but everything lacked a certain sharpness, even in the gloom.
“I’m glad you're awake.”
She recognized the voice but had trouble matching it with a face.
“Who are you? Where am I?” She had a million other questions, but those two seemed like a good place to start.
The figure moved into the room and the soft light reflecting off the walls revealed some details but nothing that stood out.
“It’s Aegis Nakamura. I was on the bridge when we went down. We’re in a storehouse basement in Sector Two, Targos, Colony 115. Do you remember?”
“I know what planet we’re on. I didn’t hit my head that hard.” Clio was surprised to hear she still had some humor left in her voice. “What happened? Where are the others?”
“We cut through a building before crash-landing. We scraped up the avenue, and that slowed us, but we hit another structure hard not far from Gate Two.”
He seemed to be avoiding her second question.
“Where’s Captain Desmond? Lieutenant-commander Gargan? The others?”
The Aegis crouched down in front of her. “As far as I know, we’re the only ones who made it.”
“I…” Words failed as a flood of burning guilt overcame her.
“Don’t blame yourself. Thanks to you, we’re still alive. That in itself is a miracle. I found you in the wreckage and pulled you free, but before I could check for others, the invaders descended on the area. I got us out of there, and found somewhere for us to hold up. I returned to the wreck in the night, but the bodies were gone. The invaders seemed to have picked the bridge clean.”
A tear broke free of her left eye and trickled down her cheek. Others soon followed, and she forced herself to draw deep breaths.
Maybe I’m not the cold-hearted bitch everyone thinks I am, after all.
But everyone was gone, apart from her and the Aegis.
“Who are they?”
“I’ve never seen them before. They’re tall, fast, and they wear powerful black armor. I haven’t seen what’s under it yet. Going by the level of damage in the city, their weapons are deadly. In short, it’s best they don’t find us.”
Clio recalled Gargan confirming that the drop-ships had deployed successfully. “What about the Storks? Commander Grimshaw?”
“As far as I know, most of the Storks made it to the ground, probably somewhere in the hills to the west, but I’ve not been able to confirm. The enemy is jamming communications on the surface too, and there’s only so much I can do without giving us away. There was an explosion beyond the western hills not long after I found you. Most likely the Bakura’s core going critical. If there were survivors, I hope they got off in time.”
She forced down a sob and brought herself under control, wiping the wet from her face with a dirty sleeve. “My injuries seem to be much better. I can wiggle my toes, but my left thigh’s still a bit numb.”
“You’re lucky we saw to it in time. A chunk of debris had you pinned down and cut off circulation to both your legs. The left was worse, but I patched it up. Your concussion was pretty bad too. I injected you with the last of my nanomeds. They should help the wounds heal completely within the next day or so, but don’t be surprised if it continues to hurt in the meantime.”
“Thank you,” she whispered before asking what was really on her mind. “What about my eyes?”
“According to my scans, the bots should fully repair your eyesight too, but I’m no doctor.”
“I don’t know what to say.” It was an insufficient token, but it was all she could manage without crying again.
“You would have done the same for me, I’m sure.”
An awkward silence filled the dark room, and Clio couldn’t bear it.
“What do we do now?”
“I’ll head out before the sun comes up, take a look around. From what I’ve seen so far, there’s been a lot of fighting. Looks like the city took a lot of damage, possibly some kind of air or orbital strike. One building looked like it burned to the ground several days ago, so this has been going on for a while. We probably would have known if the enemy hadn’t been blocking comms. I need to find a path to Xerocorp Labs as soon as possible, but it’s miles from here, and the invaders are everywhere.”
“I’ll go with you.” Clio tried to get up and collapsed back to the ground. She may have had feeling in her legs again, but they still didn’t want to work.
“You need to rest, and let the nanobots do their job. Otherwise, you’ll take longer to heal. Take this.” He fetched something from a dark corner and set it in her lap.
She opened the field pack to see what was inside.
“You’ll find a pistol and a field-shield. They’ll come in useful when we need to move. The shield has a full battery, but it won’t last long in a fight. I’ll see if I can find a suit while I’m out. There are enough liquid and ration packs in there to last you a week or so. Only use two pouches a day. There’s no telling when we’ll find more.”
“How long will you be?” She tried not to sound too desperate.
He checked his exo-tool and smiled at her reassuringly. “I’ll be back by zero eight hundred. The entrance to this place is hidden behind a collapsed wall, so we should be fine, but hold onto that gun just in case. I’ll be back before you know it.”
He made his way to the door.
“Aegis Nakamura.” She got his attention. “Thanks again for everything, and good luck.”
“Thank you, Evans. You too.”
He shut the door behind him enclosing her in darkness again. A plethora of thoughts fought for her attention but pure exhaustion pushed them aside and her heavy eyelids closed.
Mourning the dead would have to wait. But until then, Clio had to work on not joining them.
They had to reach Xerocorp Labs. Maybe then she would be able to complete her own mission.
She thumbed the artificial fingernail containing the Confederation data she stole as she drifted to sleep.
ROLLING THE DICE
Randis stalked from the dark alley into the neon glow cast by the Ugly Stepsisters club. A visit to White Dragons headquarters was nothing short of suicide for a man with a price on his head, but Randis had a bargaining chip and a few dice up his sleeves in case things didn’t turn out as planned.
A line of would-be patrons ran the length of the street, and thumping music spilled from an open door as a party of three was admitted. Four bouncers in total manned the entrance, all of whom were Warg warrior-class. The biggest stood off to the side watching the others work. Randis noted the size of the blade by his hand. That was the leader: the one Randis needed.
He casually approached, chest out and shoulders squared: body language that Wargs understood well.
“Where do you think you’re going?” the leader growled, reaching for his knife. “Get in line!”
“Easy there, Spike. I’m here to see Mr. Darcy.”
“I’m not Spike. Mr. Darcy isn’t here. Now take a hike before I cut you a new ass.” The Warg stepped forward in an attempt to intimidate him, but Randis stood his ground.
“I wouldn’t get too close if I were you, Spike.” He smiled, goading the warrior. “It wouldn’t be good for your honor.”
The Warg hesitated briefly then took the bait. He stooped down to touch his bony forehead to Randis’s, which was the customary way for a Warg to accept a challenge.
Before they engaged in head-butting to the death, Randis flicked his hand to his side and pulled the trigger.
A blast took the towering brute in the foot, and he stumbled back howling in pain. Catching the warrior off-guard, Randis wrestled him to the ground and held a pistol to his head.
By then, the other three bouncers had their guns drawn and trained on him. The would-be patrons in the queue observed the scene with unease.
If not for having their leader at his mercy, the three warriors wouldn’t have thought twice about blowing them both to pieces. But Randis chose correctly and was in control.
At least for the time being
“Get a message to Mr. Darcy,” he shouted over the animal-like noises. “Tell him Randis Kahn has something he needs.”
The Wargs looked to their leader but didn’t move.
Spike hissed at them, and the bouncer nearest the door disappeared inside, obeying his master like a dog.
Randis decided to name that one Max.
A few awkward moments passed before Max returned and signaled for Randis to enter.
He pushed Spike to the ground, stowed his pistol, and made his way inside the club. Mr. Darcy had a thing about spilling blood on his premises so he’d likely not need a gun, but it didn’t hurt to be prepared.
Randis followed Max into the club proper, the music assaulting his ears. The place was dimly lit, with smoke blowers highlighting laser lights that flashed and moved to the beat of the music. The place was packed with bodies, half of them moving on the dance floor and the other half milling about the bar.
Naked dancers on poles and platforms entertained customers, and gamblers bet their lives away at various tables. The place reeked of booze and stale sweat.
The party life didn’t appeal to Randis, and he never understood how people could enjoy it. But everyone seemed to be having a good time, everyone but him and Max.
Randis was more of a quiet-poker-game kind of guy. Throwing in a couple bottles of Galtaran Venom always went down well with cards or dice, but the gambling was what really got him going.
He was relieved when they passed through a door and into a much quieter well-lit corridor, the club’s music a dull clamor behind them. The corridor looked familiar, and Randis suspected he came that way before while on the binge that got him tangled up in the White Dragon mess.
Doors lined both sides of the hallway, and two squat Urlocks guarded an unusually heavy entrance at the far end. When Randis and Max approached, yellow eyes looked up at them from inside thick shells. The Urlock on the left chirped in its bird-like song and pushed a button on the wall. A drawer filled with weapons appeared, and it pointed its automatic phase rifle at him.
Randis pulled the pistol from his belt and the knife from his boot, smiling innocently as he placed them in the drawer. Randis held his thumb on the lock, and the bin vanished into the wall again. Parting from his weapons was less than ideal, but he would liberate someone else’s gun on the inside if it came to that.
The Urlock on his right ran a scanning device over him with a skeletal arm and, satisfied that Randis was clean, stood aside. Max pushed the door open, and the Urlocks chirped playfully as though they knew him.
Must have made an impression last time.
Randis analyzed the room, taking note of the layout, armed guards, and anything that could be used as a weapon.
It was a large, lushly decorated room, and Randis was pleased to find that the music wasn’t as loud as the club proper. The bar had more of a laid-back feeling to it, though dancers clothed and unclothed were in no short supply. Mr. Darcy considered himself a serious collector of all things historical, and cases of ancient artifacts lined the walls.
Randis was disappointed to find that the item he came for was not among them.
Couches and cushions dotted the room, and scantily dressed servants weaved between them with trays of liquids, smokes, and powders for all tastes. At the back of the room, chewing a giant cigar behind an ornate desk, sat the infamous Mr. Darcy: the fabled boss of the White Dragon clan.
His guards were scattered about the room but were mainly clustered around Mr. Darcy’s corner. Two particularly large Wargs — Mr. Darcy’s bodyguards — stood at his shoulders wearing military grade armor and holding vicious looking rifles.
Mr. Darcy was a stocky, round partisan-class Warg with too many chins to number. Whereas his guards were all bone and muscle, the boss looked like he’d have trouble bearing his own weight. He wore a white dress suit, various pieces of jewelry, and was much shorter than Randis remembered, which could have had something to do with his being heavily inebriated at the time.
He tried to summon memories of their previous meeting again, given a fresh look at the private bar, but nothing useful came to him. As Randis and Max made their way to the desk, a more familiar warrior-class Warg caught his eye. It was Brutus who, to his surprise, was not only alive but also enjoying the company of an elegant Shanti dancer.
Randis turned away for fear of the warrior catching sight of him. His current situation was already perilous without throwing someone who tried to kill him into the mix.
Nude male and female Shanti danced at Mr. Darcy’s side.
On seeing Randis and his escort arrive, the boss clicked his fingers, and the duo departed.
“Ah, Randis. You surprised me when you shook my men up like that.” He waved his cigar around with exaggerated gestures. “Didn’t know you had that in you. I’d even offer you a job if I hadn’t already decided to kill you.”
“Flattering.”
“Oh, it’s nothing personal, my dear fellow. It’s simply a matter of protecting one’s honor. You know how we Wargs are about that kind of thing.”
“I do indeed.” He had a burning wound on his ribs to remind him of it.
“I sent a team over to the clinic, but it appears you eluded me again.” He threw open his arms. “Yet here you are, strolling right into the lion’s den.”
“Didn’t take you for a holy man.”
“I’m certainly not holy, but I’ve read all the great books. I must say, you humans have something the other races lack when it comes to religion. Some call it chaos, but I prefer to think of it as flair. But enough of me, how did you escape from Varkal and Chiak?”
“What can I say?” Randis kept his voice calm and casual. “My parents were in the armed forces. Must be genetics.”
Mr. Darcy cackled, an unsettling sound made worse by his pointed golden teeth.
Randis knew better than to trust a man who stored precious metals in his mouth, but recklessness was something born from desperation, and he was beyond desperate.
“You were a funny one last time we met, Randis. Had to keep Varkal from cutting you up back then. You know how we Wargs are about jokes made at our expense.” He chewed on his cigar. “I’m wondering if letting you live then was a mistake given all the trouble you’ve caused.”
The stumpy Warg calmly lifted a gun from under his desk. It was a dusty antique that wouldn’t puncture a suit, but Randis wasn’t wearing any armor.
