Unsung Heroes

Loralona hid as best as she could behind a large boulder, but the three moons that orbited Moaz made finding shadows difficult. It had been hours since the attack on the village—since the very man whom she was sent to detain had saved her life. He didn’t seem to be the monster her superiors had portrayed him as. But nevertheless, she had to find him—first to thank him, and second to fulfill her duties. She had sworn an oath to the Shock Syndicate, and to Loralona her word—which was rarely given—was her bond.

From her position, Loralona overlooked a large valley with a rock cliff lining the far end. Squinting, she was able to see her ship, nestled under one of the rock formations jutting out from the bluff.

It can’t be . . .

A squad of Varrcaran soldiers crawled all over her ship like ants on a discarded apple core. They had disassembled half the vessel already, picking her ship dry.

Loralona sat down with her back against the boulder. An insatiable fire burned within her. Varrcaran ideals held to order through relentless might, no matter the cost. Loralona didn’t like that. Her freedom was too important to her, and if there was one thing the Regime was good at, it was stripping people of their freedom.

Flashbacks of her childhood danced through her mind, but Loralona forced the thoughts from her brain. Balling up two handfuls of sand, she squeezed until the fire within her subsided. The first thing she had learned during her training in the Shock Syndicate was that that fire, the anger toward the established order, was not a bad thing. In fact it was the most important trait of a the Shock Syndicate operative. But it had to be controlled—driving passion without blinding rage.

Once Loralona regained control of her fury, she peeked over the boulder again. Peering into the moonlit night, she observed the situation through cold, deadened eyes.

The squad was made up of six soldiers. Two, armed with plasma rifles, walked a perimeter. The other four were armed with pistols and split their duties—two starting a fire, and the other two exploiting her ship.

Loralona let out a breath, watching it float leisurely into the air and dissipating into the light of one of the moons. Whatever she decided, she had to do it soon. The temperature was dropping fast and if she was stuck in the desert overnight, she would freeze to death.

Setting her jaw, Loralona darted from cover. Her only way off the planet was her ship, the Coming Storm. It could take hours to put it back together herself—if she could figure out how—but in the meantime it would provide shelter from the planet’s harsh conditions. Careful to run from boulder to boulder, she covertly approached the squad. A calm resolve washed over her. This was exactly what she was trained to do.

Tola collapsed onto the ground. After climbing fourteen floors down the fire escape, he was exhausted. The alien looked down at him and waved impatiently.

“Hurry up, human.”

Tola rolled to one knee and gave an easy smile. “My name’s Tola. I figure since we’re working together, it might be good to know each others’ names.”

The Latoroth turned his back to Tola and marched down the corridor.

Chatty fellow . . . I guess I’ll have to keep calling him alien for now.

Tola hauled himself to his feet and ran to catch up, his legs feeling like jelly. He still didn’t know why the Latoroth had decided to go along with his plan, and as such he watched the brute closely.

“Which way to the command bridge?” the Latoroth said, pausing at a four-way intersection.

“Take a left here, then it should be at the far end of the corridor, about a hundred meters,” Tola replied, taking a quick glance around the corner. “We’re in luck, I don’t see any soldiers.”

Without warning, Tola heard a loud humming sound like a million swarming bees. The sound slowly trailed off as the lights flickered twice, then shut down completely. Red emergency lights activated, providing only minimal illumination through the vessel.

“They’ve turned off the main power,” Tola murmured, more to himself than to the alien.

But why? The engines weren’t running and life support is already running out. What purpose would the Varrcarans have for shutting down the power as well?

Turning to the Latoroth, Tola took a moment to collect himself. The crimson hue cast on the hulking creature barely changed his appearance—yet, somehow, he looked even more terrifying. Tola had his dagger hidden in his left sleeve, just in case the Latoroth tried anything.

“Don’t worry, I have a light,” Tola said, reaching to the inner linings of his coat to retrieve the miniature flashlight he had found. Clicking the light on, he pointed it down the hallway.

“I don’t need it,” the alien replied, pushing past Tola and walking into the near-total darkness.

Suit yourself, weirdo.

Tola shook his head and followed close behind. As they traveled farther down the corridor, Tola noticed a table overturned. Three chairs lay on their side and a fourth was ruptured. Crackling sounded at their feet and Tola pointed his flashlight down to see shattered glass blanketing the floor.

Something’s terribly wrong here . . .

The beam of light floated over a hole in the wall, sparking an idea in Tola’s mind.

Maybe it was the bounty hunter. The last time I saw him on the cameras, he wasn’t far from this spot. He must have gotten into a battle here.

Momentary relief flooded through him, but there was still one thing that didn’t add up: all the signs of a struggle were present except there were no bodies or wounded.

Tola’s light ran across a reinforced hatch on his right. The pit of his stomach twisted, and a cold sweat formed at his brow. The door had been bisected from top to bottom, but the metal was strained and twisted as though it had been torn apart by overwhelming force.

“I don’t like the look of this,” Tola whispered to the alien. “We should get out of here.”

“Shut up. We’re here,” the Latoroth replied. “Shut off that light.”

Tola hesitated. Whatever they were getting into was much worse than the eight guards he had planned for. But it was too late now; they were already here, and with the life support down, they didn’t have much time to work with. Clicking the flashlight off, he steadied his trembling hands on his thighs and took a deep breath.

“All right, I’m ready,” Tola said.

Following the alien, he walked through the split door and onto the bridge. Fear racked his body. At any moment Tola expected to be shot or run through. But they were met with no resistance. No soldiers stood guard at the entrance. Straining his eyes further, Tola realized he couldn’t see any of the flight crew either.

“There’s no one here,” Tola spoke into the darkness.

“Shhh . . . there’s definitely someone here. I can see them.”

A cold drip splashed on top of Tola’s head. A few seconds later, it happened again.

“What is that?” he mumbled. Pulling his light back out, he shone it toward the ceiling.

Tola’s heart skipped a beat as he took in the horrific scene. Blood had splattered across the walls like a coat of fresh paint. Soldiers lay dead on the ground, and the lifeless commander was still slumped in his seat where Tola had last seen him.

Then, from within the darkness, someone started to clap.

Terrik quickly scanned the supply closet. A few poison grenades were on the table next to him, but they would be useless against the cyborgs. No other weapons were nearby.

Gotta think fast if I’m gonna get out of this alive.

His heart racing, Terrik turned around just as the first cyborg was entering the chamber. Without warning, he pressed his plasma rifle against the door controls and fired. The mechanism blew in a shower of sparks, sending a security override into place designed to contain reactor leaks, and keep explosive chemicals from spreading. The steel door, regardless of what its sensors read was in the way, slid shut, slamming sideways into the cyborg entering the room and pinning it against the wall.

Metal strained against metal, but the cyborg couldn’t break free from the reinforced door. Terrik jammed his rifle against one of the few vulnerable joints in the cyborg’s armor: its neck. Squeezing the trigger twice, he put it down for good. With his other hand he plucked two anti-tank grenades from the cyborg’s weapon canisters and tossed them through the tiny opening above its head where the door couldn’t quite seal. The grenades blew, and he heard a second shower of sparks as the other HK unit was destroyed.

Sweat poured down Terrik’s forehead. He took in a few deep breaths to calm his pounding heart and still his tensed muscles

That was way too close.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Terrik turned around to look for an emergency exit. His trick had worked, but it had also sealed him in the room. To his surprise, however, he found his armor and weapons stored in a heavy trunk by the wall.

Figures. Now I find them.

Dex watched Tola closely as they wound their way through the barren capital ship. Though his intentions seemed genuine, he had seen treachery too many times in his life to lower his defenses. If this man was leading him into a trap, he would be dead faster than he could imagine.

The human shone his light so he could navigate the scarcely lit chambers, but Dex had no such trouble. As a Latoroth, he could smell organic creatures for kilometers in every direction, in addition to being able to see in the infrared and ultraviolet spectra. Dex knew there had been a massacre long before he and Tola stumbled upon it.

Still carrying the scimitar he’d picked up from a fallen soldier, Dex searched the command bridge for the one he’d seen on the security feed: Janus, the Biomancer who had taught him, tortured him, and nearly killed him.

Clapping echoed through the chamber, and Dex looked up to see Janus perfectly balanced on one of the rectangular light fixtures, barely lit by the red emergency lighting. A cruel grin stretched across his face, and Dex suppressed a shudder. The massive, pale human was clad from head to toe in thick black armor that looked as though it had been carved from a creature’s carapace. Drops of dried blood marred his attire.

He hasn’t changed one stupid bit.

“You got here faster than I expected, Dex.” Janus’s voice had a low, guttural quality to it.

Dex snarled. “You don’t even deserve to talk in my presence, Janus.”

Janus was about to reply, but Dex didn’t care to wait. Leaping into the air, he swung his scimitar in an ascending diagonal slash. Caught off guard, Janus barely avoided a lethal strike. The metal blade cleaved through the rod holding the unpowered light, and it fell to the floor, shattering the glass bulb.

Janus jumped back and let out a twisted laugh so deranged it seemed to rattle Dex’s very bones. Dex transformed his fear into anger, dredging up the memory of his last encounter with the psychotic Biomancer to fuel his rage. Charging with preternatural speed, Dex flew into a deadly sequence of cuts and swipes with his scimitar. Janus reacted just as fast, dodging every slash and stab before thrusting out his arm. A wave of telekinetic energy smashed into Dex, hurtling him across the room and pressing him against the far wall.

As his breath flew from his lungs, Dex knew he was vulnerable. But rather than pursue his opponent, Janus merely cackled once more, like it was all a game to him.

“Now, is this how you greet a dear old friend?” Janus chastised. “I go to all the trouble of exterminating everyone on the command bridge so that you and I can meet uninterrupted—the least you could say is ‘thank you’.”

Dex rose to his feet. “I have no interest in saying anything to you.”

Janus smiled. “Still the same incompetent fool, I see. You don’t know how much I’ve looked forward to this day.” Janus reached to his belt and unsheathed a chainsword—a mechanized blade that could be turned on and revved like a chainsaw. “Try to make it interesting this time.”

Dex ignored the windbag and focused his power. Over the last six months he had honed his abilities and learned new skills since the last time he fought Janus. Stretching out his hallucinogenic powers like deathly fingers, Dex ensnared Janus in a fog of his will.

But nothing happened.

The Biomancer gave a low chuckle. “I said make it interesting. Instead you come at me with cheap parlor tricks. If this is the best you can do, I’ll skip forward to the crescendo . . . I told you I would cut out your mercy one day. I think I’ll start with your flesh.”

Tola studied the situation. He was trapped with two savage killers, they were running out of air, and all but the ship’s emergency power was cut off.

Wonderful.

Fortunately some functions of the vessel still had power, like the artificial gravity and door overrides so the crew wouldn’t be trapped in a disaster.

“One hour of life support remaining,” the alarm blared through the speakers. “One hour remaining.”

Time was running out, and they weren’t any closer to restoring the oxygen. Tola looked at the two men staring each other down. The alien, Dex, as he’d been called, was significantly bigger than his opponent, yet it appeared as if Janus had the upper hand. His eyes had a disturbing quality, as if all traces of humanity were replaced with a wild hunger to kill.

Dex and Janus clashed again, their two blades colliding a dozen times in four seconds. As long as those two were locked in combat, it was up to Tola to improve their situation. Sprinting to the dead commander, he retrieved the handheld transceiver from his belt.

“Repair the life support, lieutenant. I repeat, repair the life support,” Tola said with a cough, trying to mask his voice.

“What’s wrong with your voice, sir?” crackled the response.

“The lack of oxygen is getting to me. Hurry up and get the life support back online.”

“Certainly, sir. What’s the code?” came the reply.

Tola’s heart sank. A verbal code was the one thing he couldn’t hack. He looked at Dex, but the Latoroth was batting aside a jab at his neck. Janus followed with a kick to Dex’s midsection, pushing him back.

“I didn’t know you were traveling with fluffy little girls,” he said to Dex. “You truly have grown soft. Honestly, it’s best that I kill you now; you’ve become such a disappointment.”

Tola could see the rage burning in Dex’s eyes. Janus was goading him, and doing a good job. If Dex let his hatred control him he would make a careless mistake.

Janus began to laugh. It was a deranged laugh that matched the savage look in his eyes. With his gaze still on Dex, the Biomancer slowly reached out his hand toward Tola.

Telekinesis swept Tola off the ground, suspending him in mid-air. Janus twisted his hand and Tola started to spin in place, picking up more and more speed until he was sure he would pass out.

I should never have taken this job, Tola thought, his heart pounding in his chest.

Janus stopped him abruptly and clenched his hand into a fist. Tola let out a feeble gasp as his bones began to compress beneath the crushing grip.