Chapter 47
The dead littered the cityscape, bringing a twisted smile to Nom's face. He wandered through the carnage, searching for a way to bring about his own salvation. What had once been a thriving tourist destination was now nothing more than a grotesque example of brute force.
The explosion had been tremendous. Meter thick metal walls crumpled like sheets of notebook paper. Buildings that had once reached the sky were now shattered and crumbling into dust. It was amazing that anything had survived.
Nom paused briefly in his search to savor the final breath of a crushed Malgar, his grey skin ripped and stained with his dark blood. Death was a sweet release, and one day the Masters would grant him his. Until that day, he would savor the death of others. He was sworn to serve the Ta'Reeth, to bring about their glorious reign.
It was still unknown to Nom how these people had survived his bomb. The explosion should have been enough to vaporize this disgusting machine of a planet. Someone must have tampered with it after he had set it. That was the only explanation that came to his mind. He would find out who had done this, and bring them his retribution. That would be a marvelous day indeed.
His wanderings brought Nom deeper into the core of the wreckage, deep beneath the surface. Pale emergency lights lined the passageways, allowing Nom to travel without using the different features in his suit. There was no need to continue using the cloaking feature, since he was the only one still alive in the depths of the city.
Stopping to investigate some wreckage, Nom was thrown from his feet. Dazed, he picked himself up and looked around. Something had happened. Something had slammed into the wreckage. Still deeper in the core, he found it. It was fairly large and boxy. Upon closer inspection, he discovered what it was. It was a shuttle. As he came closer, Nom found the hatch to the shuttle, and it was welded shut.
Cautious now, Nom activated his cloak. He slowly drew closer to the shuttle. It was Resistance by design, and had been well maintained. There were no signs as to why it had crashed, except the inexplicably welded door. Either no one was supposed to get in, or something was not supposed to get out.
Why was this shuttle here? Was there anyone left onboard? Could he use it to find T'Sula Mir? She had to die; she had to pay for his failure. What would his Masters think? Was he capable of making this thing his own? How would he kill the ones left inside? The last thought sent waves of joy cascading throughout his body.
Nom carefully approached the shuttle. The cursed thing had sustained some damage from the crash but it seemed insignificant to him. As he drew closer, he began to hear a buzzing coming from inside the craft. The noise grew louder the closer he got, until the incessant buzz became unbearable.
Enraged from the buzzing, Nom screamed and attacked the shuttle. He slammed into it with his body and with his hands and feet until he could not move any more. Then he saw it, a breach in the hull. It was a small breach, approximately half a meter in length, and only a few centimeters wide. Yet, there it was.
The buzzing continued as Nom found a piece of metal and wedged it into the breach. He pressed with his entire weight against it, and was rewarded with the hull ripping a little more. He continued to work on enlarging the breach, all the while silently cursing the buzzing in his head.
Soon, the hole was large enough for Nom to squeeze through. It was nearly dark inside the shuttle, and cramped. Pieces of equipment were lying everywhere, with a few men thrown in for good measure. Nom picked his way through the wreckage, looking closely to see if anyone was alive. If they were fortunate enough to be breathing, he simply placed his foot on their throats, and pressed until their pathetic little lives were snuffed from existence. Still, the infernal buzzing persisted.
Nom searched the shuttle for more victims. Finally he found one lying face down near the back of the shuttle. He was tall and thin, with a fresh wound on the back of his head. Curious, Nom leaned in closer. The man had been struck in the back of the head with something hard. Cautiously, he rolled the man over.
His next victim was an Admiral. Maybe he would allow this one to live. Maybe Nom could find a use for an Admiral.
Finally, the infernal buzzing ceased.