Unsung Heroes

Loralona guided her craft around the derelict Varrcaran cruiser. She had never actually been this close to one of the massive vessels, and even in its powerless state it made her hands tremble. Whoever had called for help was inside, and was most likely the cause of the destruction. She briefly considered leaving, slinking off into the void of space, but decided against it. The owner of this ship had saved her life, then requested her help; the least she could do was return the favor.

Besides, if they can do that to a Varrcaran dreadnought, it might be wise to get on friendly terms with them.

The hangar doors were lodged slightly open, allowing Loralona to guide the ship safely through the narrow channel and the particle field protecting from depressurization. The bay looked like a bomb had detonated inside: panels were ripped from the walls and ceiling, crates lay toppled on their sides, and the charred remains of plasma fire peppered the entire chamber. In the center of the room were three men—one alien, one human, and one fully armored—passed out on the ground.

Loralona looked at her gauges and saw that the atmosphere wasn’t safe. She touched down as close to the men as she could, knowing every second wasted reduced their odds of survival. Slamming the hatch button, she jumped up from the pilot’s seat and sprinted to the rear of the ship, donning an oxygen mask on the way.

Two of the three men looked extremely heavy—one because of his size and the other because of his armor. The lightest man lay face down, closest to her, so Loralona grabbed his hands and dragged him up the ramp of the ship. Without taking the time to check his vitals she ran back into the bay, scouring the area for anything that could help her with the two heavier men. Her eyes came across a hover dolly, used to move heavy crates into tight corners.

Grabbing the dolly, she positioned it beneath the alien first and glided him into the vessel, hoping the man in the armor might have some sort of oxygen reserves. Loralona dumped the heavily muscled creature beside the human and returned for the last person. Pulling the armored man up the ramp, she shut the hatch and ripped off her oxygen mask. Fresh air circulated through the ship, and she gulped it in as fast as she could.

Loralona wiped the sweat from her brow and knelt down beside the armored man. Loralona twisted his helmet off and checked to see if he was breathing.

He was.

With a small sigh of relief she replaced his helmet, shuffled over to the scarlet alien and repeated the process. The alien bore a serious cauterized wound in his side, but both men were still alive; she had made it in the nick of time.

One more to check.

Loralona stepped over the unconscious bodies strewn across the ship’s floor and grabbed the smallest man’s shoulder, rolling him over. Her eyes went wide with shock, the realization of who she was looking at hitting her like a sledgehammer. Lying before her was the very man she’d been assigned to kill.

Tola. . . .

He was alive as well.

Reflexively her hand went to the combat knife she kept in her boot. In one smooth motion she unsheathed it and held the blade to the man’s neck, but something gave her pause. The Shock Syndicate had taught her not to hesitate, yet Loralona couldn’t get past the memory of him saving her life, nor his goofy wave thereafter. She had planned on hunting him down and thanking him before she completed her mission. But with him lying here, unconscious and helpless against her blade, it just didn’t seem right.

He was going to die anyway; maybe I should drag him off the ship and let him suffocate as he was.

Loralona lulled the thought over in her mind; somehow it didn’t seem as bad. She stepped over the other two bodies and placed her hand by the hatch release.

Once more she hesitated.

Her hand hovered there, unable to control the slight tremor in her fingers. Tola seemed nothing like the cold-blooded murderer the Shock Syndicate had portrayed him as. Not only had this man saved her life, he had done so without any provocation or expectation from her.

With a begrudging sigh Loralona clenched her hand into a fist and turned away from the door.

Digging into her satchel, the assassin pulled out a syringe filled with grayish liquid. She knelt down and stuck the needle into the side of Tola’s neck with a little more force than needed. The liquid emptied into her mark’s body and a satisfied smirk stretched across her face. This really was the best way. The syringe was filled with explosive nanites, and with a push of a button, her mission would be complete. He’d never know the danger he was in, even once he woke up.

I’ll give this murderer time, she reasoned. See what he’s really made of. But at the first sign of trouble . . . I’m finishing this.

Terrik woke with a start, adrenaline pumping through his veins. He instinctively reached for his plasma rifle, but it was gone. The entire room was green, yet familiar.

Wait, why is it green?

Reaching up to his helmet, Terrik flicked the night vision mode off and realized where he was . . . Retribution! Somehow he was back on his ship!

With a heavy groan Terrik hauled himself to his feet.

But wait, how did I survive?

Cautiously, he sprang the twin serrated blades from his right gauntlet as he walked the interior of his ship. The hooded figure was lying on the couch in the main hold. Terrik watched for a moment to make sure he was still alive, and actually breathed a sigh of relief when he saw that he was.

It wasn’t like Terrik to have attachments, but the computer hacker and the Latoroth had proven their valor many times over on the Black Scourge.

Speaking of which, I still don’t know how we made it off that blasted dreadnought.

Terrik carefully made his way through the interior, checking inside every hold as he went. In the med-bay he found Dex on a gurney, his life signs all positive and recovering.

“Don’t move,” a thin voice said from behind him. A plasma barrel jammed against his back.

Terrik slowly raised his hands into the air, trying to determine the best course of action to take. The voice sounded female, calm and assured, as though this wasn’t her first time holding someone at gunpoint.

But Terrik was swift. He was confident he could whirl around and knock the weapon from her hands before she pulled the trigger. Even if she did, there was a good chance his armor would ablate enough of the impact to keep him alive—the barrel felt too small to be anything but a lightweight pistol. And the regenerative nanotech chip in Terrik’s brain would take care of the rest.

Still, the warrior didn’t like to take unnecessary risks. Better to gather information first, if possible.

“You were the one who saved us?” he asked, his voice gruff through his helmet.

“Yes. I was piloting the ship when I got your distress call,” she clarified. “But that doesn’t mean I trust you. Retract your weapon and take off both gauntlets.”

“Not going to happen, lady,” Terrik replied immediately.

The woman pressed the barrel harder into his back. “I won’t ask again,” she threatened.

Terrik paused a moment to reevaluate his options. She sounded like a professional. Maybe it would be wise to go along with her.

“I’ll retract my blade,” he offered. “But my armor stays where it is. I’m not looking to hurt you after you saved my life.”

The woman considered this a moment before relenting. “Fine. But just know there are more than three ways I could kill you right now if you try anything.”

Unlikely. But I’ll play along.

“Where are we?” he asked, changing the subject as he retracted his blades.

“Floating somewhere in Uncharted Space, far from Moaz and what’s left of the Scourge,” she answered, her voice more calm than before.

“What do you want?”

“I want to see what you’re planning. Nothing more.”

Terrik was surprised by her answer. He couldn’t contain his curiosity. “Why?”

“That’s not your concern,” she said bluntly.

“Very well. What about—”

“My name is Tola!” the hooded figure suddenly shouted, sitting up on the couch.

The woman glanced at Tola, but didn’t make a move.

Well, that answers who he is, Terrik thought. Now for the woman.

Orphaned as a child, Tola had lived on the streets of Jeshach in Uncharted Space. Naomi, a human woman with ice blue eyes and curly black hair, had been with him as far back as he could remember, learning to survive while they searched for a way off planet.

One day they came under the notice of the Shock Syndicate, one of the most powerful criminal organizations in the galaxy. Recognizing their potential, the Shock Syndicate leaders had offered them jobs in return for passage away from Jeshach. Tola and Naomi were too young, too naive to understand what the Shock Syndicate was really like. They had accepted eagerly.

For years they worked together, learning new skills from thieves, con artists, and hackers. He and Naomi were naturals at what they did, earning a respect among those in the criminal empire.

Then, one day, the ship they were serving on had been stopped and boarded by a Varrcaran capital ship. Tola and Naomi were captured and separated. For days he was tortured, but Tola refused to join them.

The next day, at the height of his torment, the door to his room brushed open. The torturer stopped immediately and Tola could tell someone important had walked in. He heard the clacking of footsteps on the metal floor, but he was too exhausted to look up. Then he heard a voice.

“Leave us,” the woman said coldly. Tola’s heart pounded. He knew that voice. The torturer left the room and Tola mustered the strength to look up. There, standing before him in a Varrcaran officer’s uniform was his only friend, Naomi.

Tola grinned. “I knew you’d break free. Here—help me get out of this chair.”

Naomi stepped forward and struck him hard in the face. Tola was so shocked he barely even felt the pain of his swelling lip.

“Now,” she said, her voice devoid of emotion, “you are going to serve the Varrcaran Regime . . . or I will kill you.”

Tola couldn’t believe his ears. She had to be playing a part—a ruse of some sort in case any hidden cameras were watching.

“I won’t,” he said defiantly.

“Why? I have. Your skills are too valuable to simply throw away.”

Tola blinked rapidly. Something was wrong—her expressions, her tone were simply too good for her to be acting.

Once more she struck him.

“Answer me!” she spat, her voice rising in intensity.

And in that moment, Tola saw nothing of the Naomi he had grown up with. Her cheery, easy-going disposition was no more—replaced with a cold detachment.

“Why won’t you work for the Regime?”

This . . . this couldn’t be. She wouldn’t betray him like this—she couldn’t.

“This is your chance, Tola. Joining the Regime is better than death.”

Tola’s eyes narrowed. For the first time in years he was deathly serious. “Maybe for some. But I’ve seen the things they’ve done to innocent people. So have you.”

“Is it really any different from the Shock Syndicate?”

His voice dropped to an accusing whisper. “You know it is. The Shock Syndicate doesn’t bomb an entire city to kill one person!”

She struck him again.

Her eyes hardened. “Don’t make this your final decision, Tola. You still have a chance to join me.”

A long silence followed. Tola stared into her eyes and she stared into his. Then, finally, he spoke.

“What’s happened to you, Naomi?” His tone carried no anger or bitterness. Only a hurt remorse. “After all we’ve been through, how could you willingly join these monsters? How can you turn your back on all our time together?”

Naomi’s gaze turned to ice. She stood up quickly and strode for the exit. At the doorway she halted just long enough to reply:

“You’re nothing to me now.”

And like that, she was gone. Tola never saw her again. Three days later the ship had been raided by an Alliance fleet. As with the Shock Syndicate, they had recognized his potential and offered him work as a freelance agent. Tola accepted gratefully. He made inquiries about those killed aboard the Varrcaran vessel, but Naomi wasn’t listed among the dead. Where she had disappeared to, he never found out. But those words still rang in his mind nearly every night for two years as he struggled to fall asleep.

“You’re nothing to me now.”

Tola woke from his dream in a cold sweat. He had been betrayed by the only person he had ever trusted; he had sworn off working with others . . . until fate stepped in. And even though he meant nothing to Naomi, he wanted the bounty hunter to know his name; that he was a person—someone who mattered. Sitting up abruptly, Tola blurted out the one thing he wished he’d gotten to earlier.

“My name is Tola!”

Exhaustion flooded through him. He still couldn’t believe he was alive. The ache in his shoulder was gone, replaced with a stinging sensation in his neck. Most likely it was from an injection of a healing compound. But even the best medicines could only go so far; he would have to rest more to recover his strength.

At first he thought he had shouted his name to nobody, but as he turned his head he saw the armored warrior and a woman with brown hair and emerald eyes.

The one from Moaz, he recalled a second later. The woman I saved from a soldier.

“What happened?” he asked groggily.

“I rescued you,” the woman answered.

“Right, thanks. And . . . who are you?”

She hesitated a moment before answering. “Loralona.”

Tola smiled. “Nice to meet you, Loralona. I’m Tola.”

“I know. I heard you a moment ago.”

Blinking several times, Tola turned his attention to the man in the crimson-and-white armor. He gave a slight nod.

“Terrik Orden” was all he said.

Terrik. At last a name for his new ally. But then he was struck by another thought:

“Where’s the Latoroth?” he asked suddenly.

“Is that what that thing is?” Loralona asked. “I wasn’t sure. He’s on a gurney recovering from his wounds.”

Tola breathed a sigh of relief. They had all survived. Now he could continue on with his mission. More than ever he knew why the power-suppressing armor had to be destroyed. And unless it was, the Earth Alliance would fall. But for right now he just wanted to rest.

After that he would worry about the fate of the galaxy.