The Forbidden Army
Part One of the League of Planets Adventure
By Henrik Rohdin
Chapter One: Piskka
Hrageth City, Planet Piskka, Lodon System
A single snowflake danced in the air above the mammoth Hrageth Crater. Beyond the frigid basin, the setting sun outlined black peaks against a cloudy sky. Another snowflake fell, and soon a third, a fourth, and a fifth. Anuut Oraank had never been to Piskka before, but he knew enough about the frigid hellhole to know that this was a precursor to a violent blizzard.
The krokator tightened his four-fingered hands into fists as the rickety elevator worked its way up along the side of the crater wall. In his time as a guerilla, he had come to know one truth – the Imperials loved to attack during inclement weather. As the snow started to fall heavily, his heart beat rapidly and he narrowed his eyes. Something was definitely wrong.
The elevator continued to move away from the main settlement towards a separate structure two hundred feet above, awkwardly glued to the side of the cliff near the crater’s top. Oraank glanced over his shoulder at his five bodyguards, each a tall, mottled gray-skin of Wurkkan like himself. Their clothing gave them away as krokator long separated from the norms of Imperial society and their torsos were covered in battle scars.
The elevator pulled into the bottom of the overhanging structure and screeched to a halt. The doors slid open and a purple-skin standing immediately in front of the elevator opened his arms in welcome.
“Anuut Oraank, friend,” the waiting krokator said. This krokator was a few inches shorter than Oraank and less muscled, but still an imposing presence. Oraank laid note to the long scar stretching from the bottom of his hairline down to his jaw on the left side of his face.
“Comrade,” Oraank replied and embraced the purple-skin. “It has been a long time, Grakko. It is good to see you once again as a friend.”
Marsa Grakko ran a hand through his short crop of spiky hair. “I hope the accomodations here were sufficient?”
“This city belongs in the Origin World, but I have not been for want of food or beastwine,” Oraank answered curtly. He indicated his associates. “These are my bodyguards. We are armed but come in peace.”
“As do we.” Grakko led the party of Wurkkanosh krokator into a large chamber overlooking the crater through a gallery of dark, tinted windows. A dozen krokator of every size and color lounged about the room, and a lone human – short, thin, and weak like his whole species – sat cross-legged on a chair in front of the door.
“This is Mr. Fallon, one of our financiers,” Grakko said, indicating the human. “He hails from the Alliance, as I am sure you can see.”
The human rose and approached Oraank, standing several heads shorter than the towering krokator. “I represent the banking interests of the Forbidden Army. I understand you may be seeking our services as well.”
Oraank glanced at Grakko before nodding slowly. “I am a freedom fighter of Wurkkan, Fallon. We have fought valiantly against the Imperial garrison imposed after we failed to meet our grain quota, but our numbers are dwindling and we cannot last much longer without help.”
Grakko smiled, his lower lip peeling down to the bottom of his two tusks. “I am glad you came to me, brother Oraank. We may not have the same cause, but we share a common enemy – and my enemy’s enemy is my friend.”
Fallon cleared his throat. “Mr. Oraank, I am here to propose a partnership between your group and our own. We have the support of powerful business interests in the Alliance, interests that supply us with heavy weapons and provide a reliable source of income. Their backing allows us to move black money through Piskka to reputable accounts on foreign worlds.”
Oraank flared his nostrils in contempt and studied the human. “And what do you want in return for these services?”
“We’ll sell you more weapons than you yourself would need, the understanding being that you sell the excess as a source of income. In return, you’ll give us a percentage. Our typical rate is fifty percent, but we’re willing to accept thirty since we know times are tough for you financially.”
“Who exactly is ‘us,’ if you do not mind me asking?” Oraank growled and felt his muscles tense up. Who was this human who dared demand he give him a cut of the profits?
Grakko quickly coughed to interject. “Oraank, what are you doing? Fallon has powerful friends. It will not look good for me if the friend I introduced him to spit on his feet at the first meeting.”
“You have sold out, brother Grakko. You have abandoned the principles of your own cause to become a gun peddler for some human.”
“Mr. Fallon’s partners are keeping us afloat. We have not sold out, brother Oraank, we have just become more sophisticated in how we wage our war. You have seen with your own eyes that our methods have results. Remind me, how long has your struggle on Wurkkan lasted?”
Oraank fumed, running his eyes along Grakko’s facial scar, secretly wishing he could extend further so that it crossed the purple-skin’s throat. Instead he grinned disarmingly, revealing his full tusks and rotting teeth, and replied, “I may have spoken too brashly. Please, tell me more.”
#
In Piskka’s orbit, a flotilla of Imperial warships hovered in geosynchronous position above the Hrageth Crater thousands of miles below, the world’s features indistinguishable from the spacecraft through the snowy white clouds covering the planet’s northern hemisphere.
On the deck of the lead warship, Admiral Runka Tarkas placed the cup of beastwine to his lips and took a long, deep sip. The dark, thick liquor warmed his throat.
“Admiral Tarkas, the blizzard is intensifying on the surface. The pilots want to know if they should abort the mission,” an aide said from his console a few feet away.
Tarkas set the cup aside and ran his tongues against his tusks, staring out the window at the planet below. There was a flash from one of the clouds, indicating lightning.
“We proceed,” he finally answered. “Oraank is meeting a Hudda Kugrall officer and one of their backers. We may never get another shot at him in the open.”
“And the financial records at the various bank offices?”
“We move on those as well. The days of the local government hiding the money of heretics are over.”
The aide nodded and flipped two switches on the flagship’s control board. “Teams One and Two, this is Control. You are a go, reconfirm, you are a go. Team Three, wait for my word.”
Tarkas leaned back in his seat and swirled the beastwine in his cup. All that was left now was to wait.
#
In the settlement’s main cantina, a party was roaring. The beastwine flowed like a river from behind the bar and a diverse array of species from around the galaxy mirthfully partook in the revelry. Like every public place in Hrageth, however, there were always tall, stern krokator watching, their hands inches away from the okka pistols and Obedience Sticks dangling from their belts.
One of these guards’ eye fell on a slowly opening door at the cantina’s near. The noise was deafening, so he had a hard time hearing if his communicator was buzzing to tip him off to anyone coming down the back stairwell from the spaceport.
The door flew open and six krokator wearing gleaming combat armor burst into the cantina, holding okka rifles up to the eyeholes in their helmets. The cantina guards reached for their own guns in surprise, but before they could draw them the newcomers launched five-inch needles coated in the lethal venom of the okka plant across the room.
A needle buried itself in the shoulder of the nearest guard and he felt the poison pound through his veins, his back nearly breaking from the spasms. The other guards were struck by the deadly barbs, their shrieks ended by the ruthless efficiency of the okka v
enom, their suffering over in mere seconds.
The revelry abruptly ended as the patrons screamed and cowered in fear while the Imperial soldiers moved through the crowd. “Everyone get on the floor! Get down!”
A patron suddenly rose, grabbing a beastwine cup in his hand as a bludgeon, drunkenly hoping he could beat aside one of the soldiers and escape. The soldier sidestepped the wide swing of the pewter cup and almost as quickly tore his Obedience Stick from his belt, striking the unruly krokator across the back with the long, electrified baton. The patron collapsed to the floor, unconscious from the shock.
Two guards burst in through the far door, fingers clenched down on the triggers to their okka rifles. Needles tore through the packed bar, striking innocent bystanders in the crowd as the cries for help intensified. Two soldiers had their armor pierced and fell to the wounds, but their comrades avenged them with a return volley of barbs that slew their attackers as well as another half-dozen bar patrons.
“We said stay down!” the leader of the Imperial contingent roared and the survivors all curled up on the floor. The commander pressed his finger to a button on the side of his helmet and said, “Control, this is Team One, we’ve secured the lower cantina. Casualties are heavy and we lost Gurkk and Ulikkor. Seven enemy kills confirmed.”
“Confirmed, Team One. Secure the elevator bay at all costs!” There was a pause before Control’s next message buzzed over the communicator. “Team Three, move on target!”
#
The blizzard was intensifying and the sentries atop the crater lip pulled their thick fur blankets tighter, squinting to keep the snow and ice out of their eyes. They huddled behind the massive anti-aircraft cannons placed fifty yards apart along the cliff’s edge or in the concrete foxholes interspersed between them, clutching their okka rifles.
One of the sentries glanced out over the crater, trying to see through the snow. He grabbed his communicator off his belt and held it to his mouth. “Tarl Grakko, this is the battery. I saw something down in the crater.”
There was no reply, only a buzz of static. The krokator stared at the handheld device in concern. The blizzard was not yet strong enough to significantly disrupt communications.
Lights suddenly appeared in the blackness of the crater and the sentries scrambled to action, attempting to bring around the cannons to face downwards. “Sound the alarm! We’re under attack!”
Out of the blizzard, okka needles buzzed through the air, some clacking off of the metal of the heavy guns and others finding their targets exposed in the foxholes. The sentries turned around to see twenty dark forms advancing quickly up the slope towards the crater’s lip.
There was a sudden roar and the sentries looked back towards the crater, from which six fixed-wing atmospheric craft were barreling up towards the batteries. From their undersides the contrails of rockets emerged and whistled up towards the crater wall.
“Take cover!” the lead sentry roared and threw himself to the floor of his battery’s cabin. The torpedoes missed his downturned cannon by inches and whooshed away into the darkness, exploding in the distance to illuminate the attackers on the ground. Two foxholes exploded and one battery was knocked on its side as a missile tore apart the ground beneath it.
The anti-aircraft cannons roared to life, spewing white-hot HV rounds into the air, evaporating the snow as it fell. The sentries turned the batteries skyward in pursuit of the fighters, but the leader turned his battery towards the advancing enemy on the ground.
Okka needles whizzed from the Imperial side as liquefied metal hissed towards the Imperial soldiers. Their combat armor was built to withstand okka needles, not HV rounds. Their cries echoed through the night, relieving the pinned-down sentries and allowing them to flee towards the safety of the battery cabins.
As they fled, however, the aircraft came hurtling back down, this time following the crooked edge of the cliff. Their guns hummed and their rockets screeched through the night, tearing through snow, rock, metal and krokator flesh as they pummeled the defenseless sentries and took out another two batteries.
The lead sentry ducked as a round seared through the metal of the cabin and dug into the floor only inches from where he stood, raising his hand to his face as he winced at the heat. He turned away from the hot metal, pulled back on the cannon’s throttle and tilted it skyward. His focus on hitting the fighters prevented him from seeing the Imperial soldier launching himself from a nearby boulder into the cabin, knocking him from his perch at the throttle to the floor. The cannon swung around, out of control, launching HV every which way.
The sentry tried to push his enemy away and reach the okka pistol slung on a hook on the cabin’s wall. The Imperial wrapped his hand around his throat, pressing the sentry to the floor while trying to grab the throttle and turn the cannon off. The sentry kicked out his enemy’s legs and rolled on top, reaching his fingers under the Imperial’s helmet.
The helmet came off, causing the sentry to lose his balance and topple backwards, dangling out of the spinning cabin. He saw HV rounds pierce a fighter high above purely by accident, sending the aircraft spiraling towards a building set into the crater’s side. The ensuing blast destroyed both. The sentry looked up to see the vengeful face of a krokator with jet-black skin, his dark eyes narrowing. His white hair was tied in fourteen braids whipping in the wind from three separate knots, identifying him as an officer.
Before he could react, the krokator raised his forearm, revealing the blade fixed to his gauntlet, and violently brought it down onto the sentry’s throat, nearly beheading him. The Imperial kicked the body into the crater and pulled back the throttle, bringing the cannon to a standstill.
His communicator buzzed and he pressed two of his four fingers to his earpiece. “This is Sharm Akgu Zurra, Team Three Leader.”
“This is Control! What in Ugrand’s name happened down there?”
“They were ready for us and sounded the alarm. All sentries dead, but my team has suffered eight casualties, and one fighter is down.”
“We will send reinforcements. Team One is in place in the cantina and main elevator bay and Team Two is moving on the banking sector from the spaceport.”
Zurra looked at the survivors of his unit gathering, beleaguered, along the cliff’s edge. “I will go after Oraank. He will be trying to escape.”
“Sharm Zurra, it is too dangerous.”
“We have no other choice,” Zurra replied and jumped down from the cabin, studying the descent along the steep cliff to the wide structure below. He pressed his earpiece to turn it off and took off running along the crater’s lip.
#
The lights flashed alternating shades of red, green and purple and Oraank snarled in anger, “We are under attack! This is a trap!”
The roar of the fighters’ engines rocked the glass windows and Grakko tentatively raised both of his hands. “This is no trap, friend, the Imperials are here. You must have led them to us.”
Oraank and his five bodyguards pulled their okka guns from their belts and aimed them squarely at Grakko and Fallon. “You have truly sold out, Grakko! You have betrayed us!”
“You were too foolish to even consider that you may have been followed!” Grakko snapped in reprisal and his dozen comrades leapt to their feet, aiming their guns at the Wurkkanosh. “Stand down, comrade Oraank, and we will talk about this.”
“Enough talk!”
Before any shots could be fired, a rocket exploded immediately outside the window, shattering the glass and throwing everyone to the ground. A glass shard struck Oraank in the cheek and he reflexively grabbed at it, feeling his dark blood flow between his fingers.
In the confusion, he saw Grakko scrambling on all fours behind a pillar. Oraank rose and darted after him, but was apprehended by one of Grakko’s krokator, who grabbed at his ankle.
“Release me!” Oraank bellowed and fired an okka needle into the krokator’s head, killing him instantly. He reached the pillar and saw a dim passage snaking awa
y into the rock, cold air at its mouth. There was a secret escape tunnel.
As he stepped behind the pillar, he heard the whine of fighter engines and looked out to see an Imperial assault aircraft hovering outside the shattered windows. He dove into the escape passage just as the fighter fired its okka cannons, sending a spray of deadly needles zipping through the lounge, the force of the green barbs tearing straight through many of the bewildered krokator staggering to their feet.
The fighter pulled away and Oraank looked back into the lounge. Two of his bodyguards had stayed pinned to the floor and got on their feet warily, their faces pale with shock upon seeing the carnage. Oraank motioned for them and they quickly hurried over.
“Grakko has escaped,” Oraank said and indicated the illuminated passageway. “He must have a secret way out of here and off of this planet. Let us follow him there!”
#
Zurra sprinted along the roof of the lounge, watching the fighter pull up. He acknowledged it with a wave as it roared away over the crater to circle around and seek out more anti-aircraft nests. His communicator buzzed furiously as Control ordered larger transport craft to begin moving more soldiers in to secure Hrageth City. His focus was singular – he had to find and apprehend Oraank, the mission’s main target.
Zurra jumped down twenty feet to an adjoining structure, rolling to soften his landing. About a hundred yards away, he could make out shapes emerging from a tunnel dug into the rock atop a long, narrow cliff. That must be Oraank seeking to escape!
Out of nowhere, a hatch opened and a human appeared, grabbing at Zurra’s legs and sending him careening to the cold, icy roof. Zurra grunted, flipped over and fired two needles from his okka gun into the human’s face, the barbs eliciting the usual scream of agony followed by the abrupt silence of death.
He scrambled back to his feet and reached the edge of the building, watching the three shapes descend a series of cutbacks down the cliff wall almost three hundred yards away across a gaping chasm. The roar of fighter engines echoed across the crater as the winds began howling even stronger. He winced as a sharp flake of ice cut his cheek. The blizzard was getting stronger.