Five large purple krokator crouched behind the burnt shell of a likala, okka rifles at the ready. They wore thrown-together battle armor and had their red-dyed hair spiked straight up and their faces painted with diagonal yellow lines, the traditional battle garb of the Forbidden Army.
Zurra crawled behind a likala and turned on his voxcom. “Be advised, there is a Hudda Kugrall presence in the city. At least two soldiers down at Empire Plaza Station and several civilians killed. This is Sharm Akgu Zurra, I need immediate backup.”
Tarkas’s voice was the one to reply, strangely enough. “Sharm Zurra, more soldiers will be there shortly. The Hudda Kugrall must be circling the radius of the beacon to try to prevent us from lighting it and bringing in more soldiers.”
“Sir, I request permission to head for the 2nd District’s beacon and light it instead. The garrison leaders can move from there.”
“I have a team moving there already. If you can find a way through the heretics, do it. If not, stand your ground until reinforcements arrive.”
Zurra rose and fired six needles from his gun. All of them missed the heretics, who shot back with a storm of poisonous barbs which punctured the front of the likala like a porcupine.
There was no way through. It would be a suicide mission. Unless…
Zurra’s eye fell upon a dead soldier slumped against the wall, his pogo pawing at the ground with a soft mew, scratching at a blood stain on its fur. The pogo was a mighty beast and Zurra knew he could use it to his advantage.
“Pogo, I will not hurt you… here, just wait,” he said, approaching the apprehensive beast. The pogo stepped backward twice, unsure about the new krokator.
“You are domesticated and you are trained by the military. I am going to ride you,” Zurra said softly. He paused for a minute as a rioter swung a haphazard punch in his direction. He caught the krokator’s fist in one hand and drove his other fist under the rioter’s jaw, hearing a convincing crunch. The unconscious delinquent collapsed to the ground, dark blood pouring from his mouth.
Pogos were not dumb animals, and this one could tell Zurra was no enemy. It bowed its front legs slightly to allow Zurra to climb onto the saddle on its back.
“Go!” Zurra roared and tugged at reins. The pogo galloped down an alley, slamming the ancient bricks with its paws. Zurra jerked the reins as they passed a staircase and the pogo threw itself up the steps, climbing with excitement.
As they reached a low rooftop, an explosion rocked in the distance and Zurra got his first view of the Krokandir at night. Lights littered the valley, but so did cold firelight. The sounds of riots dozens of miles away echoed through the air, the entire city pulsing with anger and violence.
“This way!” Zurra ordered the pogo and it scampered up a makeshift ramp from the roof to another. Vagrants in the Imperial City tended to make their homes on the roofs of other buildings, not at street level, and gardens and markets were kept on rooftops as well. Zurra was surprised to find such a large rooftop community so close to the Manganese Palace, but it served his purpose well. They clambered across plank bridges and through small clusters of tents until they had completely circumvented the towering skyrail station and Zurra could see the beacon in the heart of a large marketplace.
And as Zurra had anticipated, the beacon was surrounded by at least twenty Hudda Kugrall commandos.
Zurra checked the saddle’s pouch for spare okka clips, finding two and also something even better; a satellite director. He smiled cruelly and armed the director carefully before lobbing it into the square, immediately steering the pogo away from the edge of the rooftop to safety.
The director bounced to a halt about thirty yards from the beacon, whirring and making its characteristic sound. The commandos nearest to it considered running for a moment, but they knew they had no chance of escape.
A fleet of satellites were in a permanent point orbit above the Imperial City, and most large urban areas in the Empire had their own small contingent of “Death Birds,” as they were nicknamed. It took only a second for the nearest satellite to pick up on the director’s signal and target the square.
There were several hot flashes of light in the air, like shooting stars, before the ground around the beacon erupted. Zurra threw himself to the roof as debris floated skyward. The orbit-to-surface missiles tore through the pavement and the commandos. As quickly as it had begun, the Death Bird’s job was over. The director whirred to a stop, its purpose fulfilled.
Zurra jumped off of the pogo and slid down a drainage pipe from the roof to the square below. A heretic tried to rise up off the ground but three needles to the chest put him down. Zurra checked to make sure another twitching heretic was dead. He wasn’t, but he wouldn’t last much longer.
The beacon was still intact, the Death Bird well aware that it was an illegal target. Zurra pulled the large lever on its side and the beacon flashed to life, giving off two loud bursts of alarm before lighting up the night sky.
His voxcom buzzed. “Good work, Sharm Zurra,” Admiral Tarkas said. “Where was the Death Bird strike? I got word that we used one in the 1st District.”
“I had to take out the heretics somehow,” Zurra panted with a grin.
“Return to Empire Plaza, the riot will be under control soon. We have sporadic firefights with heretics and I think most people will realize that Hudda Kugrall is behind this whole mess.”
“Yes sir,” Zurra replied, breathing deeply and looking for his pogo.
At that moment, something hard struck him in the back and he fell to the ground. A scaly leg stepped next to his face, an armored boot covering the foot.
“Do I kill this one?” the creature before him asked in flawless Krokam.
Zurra felt another metallic boot nudge his side hard and he wheezed. What had he been struck with? He was more or less paralyzed and drifting into unconsciousness.
“No. We got him. He’ll be unconscious in a moment.”
Through his fogged vision, Zurra could see three aruntuk turning the corner into the square and hurrying to an old tavern overlooking the beacon. “Good, Sharm Ukkado, the heretics are cleared out. We can move the Emperor to safety now.”
“No…” Zurra wheezed, but he could barely even hear himself. Several more aruntuk entered the square, Emperor Urkus Ruskir huddled in the middle.
The aruntuk realized something was wrong at the last second, but by then it was mostly too late. Okka needles whistled through the air, the little darts like an angry swarm of hornets. In the other direction, hot flashes of pink light lit up the square, turning night into the brightest day.
The lights extinguished and all that was left of the aruntuk contingent were piles of smoldering bones. Five large, reptilian creatures descended upon the survivors, their alien guns in hand. One aruntuk rose, okka gun at the ready, but a dancing arc of electricity lopped his head off as if it had been a sword. A hot pink beam of light melted away the other aruntuk trying to protect the Emperor, who was sitting calmly next to a barrel amid the slaughter.
As the alien lizards descended upon the Emperor, Zurra could do nothing to keep his eyes open and stay conscious.
Chapter Eight: Repercussions
Los Angeles, Planet Terra, Sol System
The situation room at Military Intelligence was packed almost wall to wall when Gresham got there. A sweaty, red-faced Moss stared blankly at the large screen at one end of the room, where a nervous-looking reporter stood bravely in front of a raging fire.
“…this is Stephanie Palmer, Allied News Service, reporting from the Krokandir on Rukkur. For those of you just watching, right now we are seeing the largest Urkuran riot in decades come to a conclusion here in the capital of the Krokator Star Empire. Government sources have confirmed that the riots were begun by a bomb attack at a rally meant to be staged immediately following the Emperor’s address at Empire Plaza…”
Gresham felt his cheek muscles tighten and he took a deep breath. His eyes met Moss’s and his boss discreetly
pointed at the far hallway.
“…a government spokesperson referred to the bombing at the rally as ‘an act of terrorism’ and a source close to the High Prod Nikkwill confirmed to ANS that authorities are already following up leads and interrogating rioters who were arrested near Empire Plaza and the Manganese Palace…”
They both made their way through the crowd and arrived at the hallway simultaneously. Moss jerked his head towards his office a few doors away.
“What’s up, Gary?”
“Thanks for getting here so quickly,” Moss replied glumly and handed Gresham a file. “The reporters haven’t caught wind of tonight’s biggest story, or if they have they aren’t running it yet. Probably a gag order from the krokator.”
“What are you talking about?”
Moss opened the door to his office, and once they were inside he shut it abruptly and said in a low voice, “Emperor Ruskir was assassinated during the riot.”
“What!” Gresham blinked and leaned against a chair. “How?”
“Officially, the Hudda Kugrall was responsible for instigating the riot and using the commotion to launch an attack against the Emperor and his security detail,” Moss replied, glancing over a file. “Unofficially, though… the krokator have no idea who did it. They have the same suspicion I do though. Take a look in that file I handed you.”
Gresham took a seat and opened the file in his hand to see the burnt bones of a Gardelli spread across a staircase almost leaping out of the file at him. “Is this what I think it is?”
Moss nodded ominously. “It’s exactly what you think it is. Those are images taken from the Gardelli Crown Prince’s palace. Foreign Intelligence’s top man inside their security police sneaked that out to us. Almost blew his cover. A guy I know down at FI was kind enough to pass it along. Read the third page.”
“Let’s see here… Cause of death from deconstructed tissue… molecular fusion broke down atomic bonds… unfamiliar weapons… hmm, what’s – oh, here we go. ‘Bodies of two assassins recovered, unspecified reptilian race, further consultation required. Origin suspected to be Raptor.’” Gresham paused and looked up. “What does this have to do with the Emperor?”
“His security detail of elite aruntuk was found with their skin melted straight off their bones. The Emperor was cut in half, with his cuts seared closed from the heat of whatever weapon caused it. That’s exactly what happened to the Crown Prince of Gardell. Don’t you see? The same perpetrators carried out both attacks! This garbage about the Hudda Kugrall is just the usual Imperial smokescreen!”
“Look, Gary, this is a lot to process,” Gresham said, holding the file up. “I mean come on… Raptors? Sleazy spacers brag about fighting Raptors to get dumb girls who hang out at spaceports to sleep with them. Giant cannibal lizards are a tall tale.”
“Maybe you don’t see it, John, but there’s something going on here. Two attacks against high-profile League of Planets members within days of each other, with the same mysterious weapons used? Not to mention the bombing here yesterday. That can’t be a coincidence. Either somebody has really opportune timing… or they’re connected.”
The knock on the door nearly caused Gresham to jump out of his chair. A grumpy-looking SIS man poked his head into the office and adjusted his tie as if to impress the room’s two occupants. “Colonel Moss, I was wondering if I could borrow Major Gresham from you.”
“What’s this pertaining to?”
“He has a visitor,” the SIS agent said testily, as if annoyed that Moss would dare challenge him. “It’ll just be a moment.”
“It’s okay, Gary, I’ll be right back,” Gresham reassured. “Don’t have too much fun without me.”
The SIS man led him down the hallway and up a flight of stairs to a conference room on a mostly-empty floor at the Military Intelligence annex. Outside the door, two other SIS agents were posted.
“Major Gresham, if you would,” the lead agent suggested and indicated the door. Gresham complied and walked into the room.
A balding man in his late sixties of unremarkable height and weight was waiting at the far end of the room, looking out over the lights of Santa Monica and the speeding HUVRs zipping along Crest Ave. When he heard the door close, he turned to see Gresham, and smiled with a noticeable look of affection in his kind, knowing green eyes.
“Good evening, John. Thank you for coming.”
“Of course, Mr. President.”
President Howard Paine approached Gresham and paused, unsure of whether he should embrace him or merely shake his hand. Eventually, he settled on a firm handshake and a hand on the shoulder. “You have no idea how good it is to see you again, John. It has been far too long.”
“I think it was a few months after your inauguration last time. So… two and a half years? Time flies, doesn’t it?”
“I’m sorry I haven’t been able to…”
Gresham laughed and waved it off. “I don’t mind, Mr. President. You’ve got a pretty busy day job last I checked.”
“And I can’t go anywhere without an entourage,” Paine chuckled, indicating the door. “How have you been?”
“Pretty good.”
“That cut on your forehead…”
“I was at Shoregrove yesterday,” Gresham replied. “So were a lot of people. You and I were both lucky.”
“I suppose we were,” Paine muttered and turned to look back out the window. “Though we’re the laughingstock of the galactic community. A visiting head of state assassinated on Alliance soil, John. It’s absolutely unacceptable. As if I didn’t have enough problems with next year’s campaign coming up.”
“Are you alright, sir?”
“Oh, please, John, call me Howard! Like you used to! I do prefer it.”
“It’s still a bit awkward for me, being on first name terms with the President,” Gresham explained. “Even though you’ve been in office nearly three years.”
“Whatever makes you comfortable, I suppose.”
“So what brings you down here, Mr. President? I’m sorry about the commotion downstairs.”
“I heard about the krokator Emperor… Urkus Ruskir and I never met, but I’ve dealt with some of his underlings in the past,” Paine grimaced. “What’s the name of his heir apparent?”
“He’ll be succeeded by his eldest son, Urkus Orkann,” Gresham replied. “He should be presented within the next few days.”
“Orkann! That’s it. Well, to answer your question… I came here to see you.” Paine took a seat and gave a slight smile. “I don’t know what you’re thinking, John. Me throwing you into the fire like this. Richard certainly didn’t approve when I first suggested you.”
“General Godford is pretty by the book.”
“When he wants to be,” Paine said almost instinctively before coughing and continuing, “Anyhow, I wanted to talk to you about this assignment in person. As I’m sure you know, it’s not the President’s job to hand out things like this. It never has been, and hopefully this is the last time I put my foot down and demand my man. But I trust you, John. Always have, ever since…”
“We don’t need to talk about it, sir,” Gresham quickly cut him off. “I understand why you asked me to look into the gun theft, Mr. President. You’re worried that with everything going on now – with bombings, Defense employees getting disemboweled, so on – you want someone who isn’t playing both sides.”
Paine had a sunken expression, nodding. “Something like that. It’s a sad feeling, John, not knowing who in your own government you can trust. But it is what it is. SIS is responsible for my security and they let the Vegan President be blown to hell. They should be looking into this arms theft matter and yet I haven’t heard a peep in days from that troll Simon Cray when I asked him for a full report. He gave me some nonsense about procedural workflow or whatever he called it. That’s why I need you.”
“I get that, sir, but I’m not a field agent. Like I told General Godford.” Gresham straightened his back and cracked his knu
ckles. “An order is an order, especially when it comes down from the President. I’m going to do the best I can looking into the matter, but I agree with Godford. You probably picked the wrong man for the job, sir.”
“I have enough faith in you, John, to know you’ll do admirably.” The President stood back up. “I believe in your abilities.”
“That makes one of us, Mr. President,” Gresham grunted and glanced out the window. “I should probably get back down there and help Colonel Moss. It’s gonna be a long night.”
“Of course. I just… I wanted to see you. It was good seeing you again, John. I hope it won’t be nearly as long next time.”
Gresham smiled and shook Paine’s hand. “I hope so too, Mr. Pre… I mean, I hope so too, Howard.”
#
Pioneer City, Planet Mars, Sol System
Colin Hess’s private elevator stopped at ground level and he disembarked, pulling his heavy winter coat around his shoulders. The dead of the night in the sprawling metropolis was defined by massive holoboards, crumbling advertisements, and pounding, pulsating ‘modern’ music. The Martian capital was a cesspool, a squalid dump of desperate laborers and the disaffected youth of the once-mighty world.
Mars’ economy had once been a dominant force in the Alliance; the mining and metals industries had driven the world to a spot of key importance. Powerful men had run the planet and the Alliance in those days, but the waning existence of minerals on the world and the exhaustion of iron sources had strained the economy, and it had become cheaper to mine on unaligned worlds beyond Allied laws and regulations than to pay the entrenched and powerful Martian labor unions.
Hess got into the back of his LUXR and glanced at the scene around him as it zipped down the barren city streets. A group of young drug addicts sat playing synth-guitars on the steps of an old library, a bonfire lit in front of them to stave off the harsh, unforgiving Martian winter.
He thought back to his youth, when Pioneer City was a thriving, clean metropolis, and not the underbelly of the Alliance. Back then, when his grandfather Albrecht ran Hessian, the city would glow at night in the calm warmth of the public heating system, the light of the advertisements, the sense of life that permeated the air.