CODE: S2/S18
Episode Eighteen
Niall Turner & Greg Miller
War Stories: Fall
“Rukaar! We’ve been blown away from the blockade. I’ll need you help to try to take control of the ship from here.”
The Draconian had climbed to his feet for the first time since the initial explosive jolt. “One side, female!” He shoved Alf none too gently. “We must determine our trajectory quickly. This area of space is too crowded for us to careen about at random!”
While somewhat annoyed at the rough handling, Alf took Rukaar’s point and stood close behind him. The ensign was using the touch pad to call up an image of what lay directly in the shuttle’s path.
A small planetoid filled the pixelating screen. As Alf watched appalled, it seemed hours, days and even years were squeezed into each passing second. As the seconds ticked by like decades, the features of the Settii planetoid’s surface became increasingly detailed.
A collision was inevitable.
One word filled Alf’s mind: Nick!
***
When Alf woke up, she had her face pressed against the hard metal floor.
For a moment, she couldn’t recall what she’d been doing last night to find herself in such an undignified position first thing in the morning.
It must be morning. She could smell something cooking.
The smell reminded her of the big fry-ups her Nan would prepare for breakfast. The things she used to cook! Alf was sure that some of them were never meant to be eaten.
Kidney. Liver. Lamb’s fry. What kind of a name was lamb’s fry in any case? If you’re going to be eating the liver of a lamb, you could at least be honest about it!
But no. She wasn’t smelling lamb’s fry or liver or kidneys. Something else, some other kind of offal.
Offal! Awful, more likely.
‘I haven’t had these for years!’ she could recall her Nan saying. It was on the tip of her tongue…
Brains! She could smell brains. Frying brains. Her Nan liked them crumbed and fried with garlic, but that wasn’t what she could smell here. Something else. Something… spicy.
You wouldn’t catch Alf eating brains. She’d tried it once, but the simple thought of chewing on something someone else had been thinking with was just too much! Give her bacon. Give her eggs. Give her mushrooms and beans, kippers and kedgeree. But no brains.
She sighed, but that very act increased the smell of the brains when she inhaled afterwards. She’d have to get up and open a window.
And then a cold chill ran through Alf’s body.
She hadn’t fallen asleep last night. She hadn’t been out drinking.
And it wasn’t just brains she could smell. She could also smell an electrical fire, sparks shooting and plastic melting. She could smell hot metal.
She opened her eyes and untwisted her body from the awkward position she’d fallen in when the ship had crashed. She rubbed the contusion on her forehead, where she’d fallen headfirst. As she stood, she saw a body at her feet. Rukaar. Well, he hadn’t landed as well as she had. Or maybe her skull was thicker.
The electrical fire that had broken out close to the body had caused the cooking smell. The cracked skull did nothing to keep the smell in. The fire was burning out, with nothing to feed it. There was no way she’d ever have a big fry-up for breakfast again.
* * *
In the dream it is always the same. The boy is standing above him, watching. Smiling. To start with it is unclear where he is. Then he knows. Hanging from this precipice in the middle of infinity. One arm gripping the rock face above; the other holding the boy, a deadweight, pulling him.
Holding the boy? At this point the sense of vertigo is real. How can he be above him and with him?
“Let go.” The boy’s eyes are twin suns of bruised orange. His voice is crystal, chiming. Commanding. He releases the boy but he is always the one that falls…
… He wakes up, heart lurching. Reaches for a weapon that isn’t there.
Darkness. A groan.
He blinks, a vague shape coming into focus. Pain, hard and numbing all down his right side. More than one rib broken for sure.
The darkness becomes grey light, the shape resolving itself into Voraann, who offers an ironic smile. He is pointing the energy weapon directly at him. So this is what it has come to!
“Kill me then!” His voice is hoarse, his throat and chest as painful as his ribs.
“I believe you were about to kill me, father.” Voraann leans closer, hands over the weapon.
He stares at it stupidly, his eyes accustomed to the gloom now. The charge is dead, the barrel misshapen. He becomes aware of the table and chairs on the floor above them. They are lying on the ceiling. He drops the weapon, a harsh metallic clatter. A sigh. “We are lucky to be alive.”
“I don’t understand what happened, father.” Voraann is looking at him in earnest, almost appealing for him to believe.
Before the boy can continue there is an abrupt crash of metal on metal from the upended floor, a door being forced open manually. A failing light stick glimmers. Familiar armour silhouetted in the doorway, one of the Honour Guard leaning forward awkwardly.
“Supreme Admiral Vorkuuthh? This is Sergeant Kraatoor”
“Yes! I am here!” A pause. “So is my son.”
“My life at your command!” Another pause. “Only two other survivors as far as I know. We are on the cluster.”
Gods! This is as much a curse as a blessing. He wonders briefly about the girl, Alf. Did she make it down? He hopes so. There have been too many mistakes and too much dishonour this day. “If you have rope then use it, Sergeant!” He eyes Voraann as he speaks. “If this is the cluster then it’s almost certainly our grave and I’d rather not waste whatever time I have left with words.”
Voraann grins, seeming to appreciate the gallows humour. “Ever the statesman, father.”
* * *
Perched in the flight deck of the shuttle, Alf manipulated the controls. The shuttle was a top-of-the-range number, unlike ‘Earth’s Pride’. But then, she’d been stretched to afford even such a very old model ship on her wages, even with the military surplus stock discount she’d received as part of the Galactic Federation’s security forces. About the only perk of the job, and military surplus merchants had been loath to give it to her.
The equipment on the flight deck was mostly fritzed by the crash-landing. The external monitors weren’t providing any visuals - or the view screen wasn’t working. Didn’t really matter which! It appeared that the atmosphere outside was breathable, if very thin and full of all sorts of exotic elements. Gravity was a bit under half of Federation norm.
She re-checked the drive instrumentation to the extent she could. Fuel reserves were pretty low, a fair chunk consumed by the breaking attempt she and Rukaar had made. There was probably a leak or rupture of some kind as well, or someone hadn’t kept it fully fuelled. She’d hate to be the technician who Vorkuuthh found was skimping on routine maintenance, so it was most likely a rupture caused by the explosion or the crash.
The communications equipment was shot to shit as well. She’d found an automatic distress beacon and laughed. It hadn’t come on when the shuttle crashed, so it certainly wasn’t an example of truth in advertising. While she hadn’t downloaded much in the way of electrical engineering skills from the experiential memory transfer grid, the basic spacer handyman set she had already downloaded enabled her, with a bit of effort, to get the beacon going. So, hopefully help would be on its way.
She went back to the entry to the main cabin of the shuttle and looked out. One of the things about space travel is that you lose track of the time of day because there is nothing that represents it - no planetary rotation causing night and day. So she wasn’t exactly sure what to call the meal, the remains of which were congealing beside Rukaar’s body. Given the lack of any food on the shuttle, she really wished that the meal were still in her stomach. No use crying over spilled... Well, no use crying in any case.
Poor Rukaar. He may not have been worth much alive, but he certainly didn’t deserve to die this way.
The smell wasn’t attractive, so she moved back into flight deck. She had two choices: she could wait, or she could try to open the damaged airlock and see where she was. She’d done far too much waiting recently, but she recalled what Vorkuuthh had told her. That there had been two exploratory expeditions to the Settii cluster and neither had returned. However, that didn’t mean there she’d crashed on the same planetoid as either expedition had visited or, even if she had, that there was anything out there. In fact, it didn’t mean anything at all.
The wrecked shuttle moved suddenly, like it was rolling. Like a large weight had been attached to one side, and it was seeking a new equilibrium.
Alf grabbed a hold, and repressed a shudder as she heard the body slide across the floor.
There was a rasping, screeching sound coming from direction of the airlock. She moved back to the entry to the main cabin and looked, seeing that the bulkhead was still in place. Again the screeching, and this time… surely the metal wasn’t buckling?
Before Alf’s astonished gaze, the bulkhead was forced apart and something large, orange and moist was thrust between them. It was part of some huge creature and it was sniffing… and opening its enormous mouth. A tongue, which more closely resembled an orange, fleshy tree trunk, dripping with a viscous black liquid began to probe its way across the floor.
The creature sniffed again, and the tongue reared up towards her, wavering slightly. Alf reached for her gun… and then remembered she’d put it on a shelf before that stupid, stupid duel with Rukaar. Damn! It would be somewhere in the cabin below.
* * *
The other survivors are an Alpha Centaurian called Altaeses and a Taurean calling himself Whyde Farren. Peace Timers. They seem to take little note of who he is, or his rank, as the small group part crawls, part swings its way through the depths of the ship. Little is said as ceilings (now floors) are tested for strength, bulkheads breached. The plan, such as it is, is to head for an outer wall and blow or cut their way out with the equipment they have - and anything of use found en route.
They crab shuffle sideways into a workable service lift, Kraatoor jacking the manual systems into action.
“This situation is most unfortunate!” Altaeses is shrill, bobbing in agitation, it’s one eye blinking rapidly.
“Unfortunate!” The Taurean is hysterical, his tattoos pulsing violently, livid spirals and random hemispheres. Whyde is temporarily cut off as the service lift comes to a halt in the bowels of the merchantman. They seem to have travelled no distance at all.
He eyes the Peace Timers with distaste. Give him a functioning weapon and he’d kill them both now, individual rights be damned! Oh for a good old fashioned blade! As it is Kraatoor is the only one with any weaponry, a handgun on reduced power and two thermium grenades.
“Be at peace, my brothers!”
Voraann, practical. Yes, Voraann was always more practical than Harkothh. He doesn’t take in the rest of the conversation, remembering the strain in Vihhnaska’s voice, her face in the holo-beams wan light. And now this! He has betrayed her…
“Supreme Admiral?”
Kraatoor is at his shoulder, the soft burr of the west isles in his voice, unusually accentuated for a Draconian who has seen off-world service of any length. A good man but his eyes are tired.
“Do you have a family, Sergeant?”
“A wife and two daughters, Supreme Admiral.” Kraatoor is levering the doors open as he speaks.
The moment passes, Voraann moving to help Kraatoor and together they lever the doors apart.
The cold bronze of an engine deck corridor greets them, recognisable system wide but tilted at a crazy diagonal in this instance.
Kraatoor pulls himself into the corridor and leaning back, kicks the far wall with a booted foot. A hollow echo from beyond. If it’s an outer wall they’ve got a chance so long as there’s some kind of breathable atmosphere. If there isn’t, well at least it’ll be quick.
“I think we should try here, Supreme Admiral.” Kraatoor looks to him, fingering one of the thermium charges.
“I agree.” Voraann.
He looks at the boy curiously then nods. “Very well.”
Kraatoor is already attaching the charge.
He ushers the rest of the group to the back of the lift, Altaeses’s one eye widening in alarm.
Kraatoor moves to join them and is caught by the blast as the charge explodes early. The sound of the explosion is lost in the sudden inrush of sound from outside. Howling, screeching winds, accompanied by billowing smoke.
He inhales deeply. Bitter, some taste of spice but it isn’t killing him. Stepping towards the rent in the outer wall he looks out across a striated plain of angular rock and impossibly jagged columns. The sky seems to bend in close to the land, strange blue lightning flashing on the horizon, soundless beneath the winds.
“What exactly is this supposed to have achieved?” Whyde, lips pursed and robe pulled close about him.
He grins mirthlessly and steps towards the Taurean.
“Father?” Voraann is eyeing him with concern.
Kraatoor smiles.
Up on his Tech reports. Good man. He hoists Whyde bodily towards the tear in the outer wall and flings the Taurean outside to a shrill cry of alarm from Altaeses.
Voraann steps awkwardly to the rent and favours him with a reproving frown as the Taurean pirouettes clumsily to the ground, held safe in the planetoid’s half gravity.
* * *
She had no choice.
She could wait and see if the monster’s tongue found her, and probably die as a result, or she could find her weapons and fight.
Alf dropped herself down into the tilted main cabin where, fortunately, there was very little in the way loose equipment to make it a perilous act. Glancing up, she saw the tongue probing at the flight deck entrance, almost as though it was licking the taste of her from the floor.
Tearing her eyes away from the sight and its portent of a horrendous death, she began seeking out the weapons in the cabin. She found and quickly drew out her dagger.
Behind her, the sound of sniffing started again. That thing’s tongue would be after her again soon.
Her quick scan of the cabin area failed to reveal her gun. There was only one place it could be - under the corpse. Damn!
Looking around, she saw the tongue was busy with another target: the previous contents of her stomach. Alf was glad she’d already lost her breakfast (or whatever meal it was), and she guessed so was this creature.
While the creature was distracted Alf took her opportunity. She skidded her way across the slanted floor, and grabbed Rukaar with her left hand, dragging him away from the wall. Behind him were both her gun and the Draconian’s robes. Quickly sheathing the dagger, she picked up the blaster pistol and turned to face…
She dropped immediately as the tongue struck at the place she was standing, and started scrabbling around on the floor. Alf dragged herself quickly up the slope, finding a foothold in the benches. She looked back, and saw the tongue was wrapped around the corpse, jerking the body around a little to get a better hold.
With a huge exhalation of stinking breath, the creature’s maw gaped wide and the tongue, prize and all, was withdrawn into it.
And then the shuttle fell back into its original position, with the now breached bulkhead opening out onto an alien and dangerous world. The creature was gone.
For the moment.
* * *
Slowly they make their way across the planetoid’s surface, the wreck of the merchantman lost in the perpetual sandstorm all around them. Without equipment to guide them they might be making their way in a perpetual circle, looping the grounded craft. Each step is an effort, walking in the half gravity impossible. Altaeses in particular is having trouble, bowled sideways by the keening winds, bouncing haphazardly.
Voraann stumbles closer in ungainly, leaping steps. Shouts to be heard above the storm all around them. “There is something you wanted to ask me, father?”
He doesn’t look, merely shouts back. “You said this wasn’t what you had planned? You didn’t intend this?”
Whyde is there too, struggling to stand upright. “You think we would?” Another flash of the blue light casts his face in strange shadow. “Our word is peace not butchery!”
“So who blew the blockade apart?”
Voraann is frowning. “There were others… They said they were our allies…”
“And you trusted them? You fool! Agents of Nova Mondas no doubt!”
Voraann stares hard. “No, they were different, father.”
Before Voraann can continue there is a shout from Kraatoor at the brow of the hill above them. “Admiral! You should see this!”
He leads the others towards the Sergeant’s vantage point. The view, when revealed is admittedly astonishing. Not going in a circle then.
The plain stretches away below them, a great circle encompassed by low, ragged hills and twisting mountains in the distance. Settii itself looms on the horizon; a giant of waxed orange and blue, impossibly near. Blue lightning bounces randomly across the plain below, seemingly spat from the face of the gas giant itself. A beautiful place to die.
As it is, one of them does.
A sudden shuunnk of motion, keening through the surface storm. He turns with the group, uncertain. Figures loom away to the left but Whyde shouts and points. He follows the gesture.
Altaeses body hovers on the rim, suddenly lightened. The Centaurian’s head floats in the half gravity several feet above, the one eye staring in surprise. The body doubles up, sluggish rivulets of oily blood pooling in the sand about it. A sudden obscene crack of impact as the head is hit by some kind of missile weapon, bursting spectacularly. Viscous flecks spatter the ground.
Whyde vomits.
Carefully, very carefully, he raises his arms, the others copying the motion.
Harsh laughter from the left.
Slowly he turns. The creature approaching him is close on seven feet, clay grey skin and tar black eyes peering from beneath a bony brow. Shoulders sloped and walking naturally in the half gravity. Crude leather jerkin and boots, baubles of some unknown rock, deep black, strung at its belt and calves.
Now it stands before him, the face splitting in an animal grin. The tongue, long and pointed, seems to taste the air. Then it speaks. “I Narr! We Borukk!” It prods his chest with a crude finger. “Your kind not come here!” Another laugh, echoed, dog like by the group behind him. “Now you all die!”
* * *
Alf adjusted the Draconian robes, trying to make them fit better. Rukaar had had a different build to her, and the robes had obviously been tailored to fit him, but she needed the extra layer to help deal with the world outside.
The violated airlock, now free from whatever creature had thrust its snout in, opened out onto a desolate and cold world. Lower gravity, less atmosphere, less heat retention.
And it was time to go out.
Somewhere in the back of her memory she recalled a cat sitting by a mouse-hole. A cat who had once caught a mouse there, and would spend hours hoping for the second course. Whatever that creature was, she imagined that predators had similar behaviour the universe over, and that the creature would be back looking for its second course any time now.
Maybe she’d find some food. Big carnivores need something to live on. They can’t just be hanging around on planets hoping that shuttles will drop out of the sky.
She checked her equipment. Not much to speak of: her blaster and dagger, and the blaster she’d found in the robes.
She breathed in the atmosphere of the world outside, as it whipped dust through the violated airlock. It had a musky-cinnamon smell. Heavy on the musk, with just an after-taste hint of cinnamon. Not a combination she’d recommend to designer planet builders, but better than gaseous sulphuric acid.
She approached the airlock cautiously.
The view outside was spectacular, brilliant colours - orange, turquoise - but her first priority was to be away from the shuttle and in cover. Time for sightseeing later.
The rock formations of this world were a little bizarre - it was like the molten rock had been stretched, fused into bands of blue glass and warped. The lightning strikes? Still, the ridged formations would provide numerous handholds while she sought higher ground.
High ground. There she’d be able to survey the area, see any rescue ship that might arise, keep an eye out for the creature with the enormous mouth, and be in the best position for the fight or flight choice that would eventually be demanded.
Climbing a nearby cliff helped to show how the environment would both help and hinder her. The lesser gravity was a significant bonus, allowing her to climb far more quickly than she was used to. However, the gusting wind and accompanying dust impeded vision and made her cough, and any coughing led to more mouthfuls of dust and more coughing, until self-discipline allowed her to stop and cover her face mid-climb until she recovered. She used the torn-off hem of the robe as a kind of mask.
Her glasses were coming in very handy - they looked like sunglasses, but contained a whole series of visual enhancement options. Or, in the case of this wind, simply kept the dust out of her eyes. She may very well use some of the other functions later, but at the moment the dim regular light and the frequent lightning were okay.
From the top of the cliff, she surveyed the land around her. She was towards one side of a huge circular plain. The regularity of shape seemed likely to indicate some kind of crater. Using her glasses, she focussed in on the shuttle’s wreck. Nothing happening there - the mobile mouth not in evidence.
The view across the plain was frequently blocked by swirling sandstorms, but most if was clear enough from time to time. The plain wasn’t as smooth as she’d first thought - there were boulders, rocky outcrops and cavernous cracks all over it. Hang on… that looked like smoke!
There was another metallic object, something else that wasn’t native to the planet. From the smoke, she guessed it was recent. She didn’t recognise it, but no surprise there - it was much the worse for wear from the crash it appeared to have had. Maybe it was some piece of the blockade knocked loose by the explosion? Much bigger than the shuttle! If it was from the blockade, it could be from near where the shuttle had docked. Any survivors?
There. In the distance, and largely obscured by a sandstorm, was a group of humanoids. They were moving away from her. She’d need to catch up with them. Safety in numbers and all that.
Where were they heading? Alf scanned the plain ahead of the group and saw, quite a bit further away, another metallic object. It was partially buried, but had the look of a spaceship of some kind, probably Draconian. A rescue vessel wouldn’t be buried. One of the Settii expeditions Vorkuuthh had mentioned?
Time for that later. Now, she had to see who this group was. And cautiously - ‘Peace Timers’ sounded nice, but put people in a bad place and who knows what they’ll do?
* * *
He tests his bonds, thinking. All about them the air is thick with the spice smell, close and choking. He catches Kraatoor’s eye from the other side of the pound. The bonds are breakable. Metal but malleable.
Kraatoor shakes his head, imperceptible.
Voraann and Whyde are talking in whispers, casting their captors an occasional glance, as they move beyond the pound in ugly preparation.
He smiles to himself. Borukks! It somehow has an appalling symmetry. He thought they were all destroyed, classified information. Part of the failed Technology Pact with the Qux and Omnisci. Ha! Insanity Pact seems more appropriate! Now even their failed genetic experiments are catching up with them.
Voraann is at his side, eyes drawn to the jagged pit at caverns centre. “Father, these creatures?”
“The Borukks? What of them?”
“Who are they?”
He shakes his head. “ A genetic cul-de-sac. The Borukk are an offshoot of the Ogron, five times the strength, sadly a tenth of the intelligence and an unwillingness to follow even the simplest order. Only such as they could survive here!”
An animal chant starts up from the cavern beyond. Voraann has to raise his voice to be heard. “Orders?” He laughs mirthlessly. “That’s fitting - it really is! We’re going to die at the hands of one of your military experiments!” He claps his hands, strides the pound.
“Never mind the Borukks!” Whyde struggles to his feet, tattoos pulsing faintly in the underground light. “What do we do?”
They stare into the cavern beyond, the familiar blue glass striations glowing against the ochre of the walls. A ledge is perceptible descending from the highest edge, leading to an unknown network of tunnels the Borukk led them through blindfolded. There doesn’t appear to be any other exit from the cavern.
“I think we are a sacrifice.” Kraatoor, quiet at the back of the pound. The chanting is louder now. “This is some kind of temple.”
The Honour Sergeant stretches, approaches him, a wry smile on his worn features. “No wonder the expeditions didn’t make it back!”
He returns the smile. “If any of them landed here, no wonder. But the cluster is extensive.”
There is a new sound, a metal scream of pulleys and gears, a crude cage being lowered from the roof of the cavern. Halting above the mouth of the pit. Something roars in the depths of the planetoid, the ground shifting.
“Oh gods.” Whyde leans a dirty forehead against the bars of the pound, lips pursed. “Not this… I know that sound!”
They all do. A Rock Burrower, some call them Ogron Eaters. A misnomer. Surely the most notorious omnivore in this galaxy! He stares into the cavern as the Borukk leader approaches, a leering golem in the torchlight.
The animal grin spreads wide again, black saliva drooling. “Now it time! God wake up hungry! You good for belly!”
“Well, father…” Voraann again. “What shall we tell Harkothh when we see him in the great hereafter?”
He stares at his son in surprise, as the pound is unlocked and they are bundled outside. “I shall say nothing! I have no belief in gods and trinkets boy!”
Kraatoor steps forward as they are led towards Narr. A look passes between them as the sergeant is pushed roughly into the cage and hoisted aloft to the screech of gears.
The charge! He still has the thermium charge!
The Borukks seem oblivious, following their leader’s gaze, all eyes on Kraatoor.
The creature in the earth roars its hunger.
Then two things in the same instant. At a command from Narr the base of the cage gives out, Kraatoor dropping like a stone. And he notices the girl.
* * *
As she’d followed the group across the planet’s surface, it had become obvious they weren’t headed for the partially buried ship, but rather for a tower-like crag split open by a huge crack. She’d also gotten a better view of the group - and most of them weren’t of a race she’d seen on the ‘Imperium’. They could be Peace Timers, but they certainly weren’t friendly to the Draconians. The raised hands implied they were prisoners.
She’d made up ground by using the lower gravity to make some prodigious leaps. She liked to think that her experience in the aquatic world of Alpha Centauri paid off here, but she suspected in retrospect that she’d taken a bit of a risk.
When she’d reached the crag, she’d scaled it to get a better view. A ledge just inside the crack allowed her to add images to the sounds of chanting and wailing that hung in the air, swirling in and out of clear hearing as the winds gusted.
And that’s when things got really noisy. There was a bellowing roar, a rumbling tone so low that you could feel it in your bones and so loud that the rocky outcrop itself shook. She thought about the mobile mouth she’d met earlier. Maybe it could have made a noise like this, but it seemed a little small to have done so.
She crept inside, and used her techno-glasses to scan the torch-lit cavern inside. There was a heaving mass of simian creatures, which were the source of the chanting. On the other side of this rapturous mob were the Draconians - no, make that three Draconians and a Taurean - who were penned together. One of them was Vorkuuthh. There was no clear path to them.
As she looked for a way to free the captives, one of the Draconians was forced into a makeshift cage, which was swung out over a pit in the centre of the cavern. Another rumbling bellow.
Now or never.
Alf stood up, drawing both blaster pistols. She saw Vorkuuthh look up at her, and then down again as the Draconian in the cage fell into the pit.
Alf jumped.
* * *
When she thought back about it, Alf wondered how her entrance must have looked to those below. Spectacular, she hoped.
As she leaped down towards the cavern floor, the ragged Draconian robe billowed out behind her. From the corner of her eye she saw brilliant blue lightning bolts in the sky outside, and parts of the cavern were bathed in azure light.
Her two blaster pistols spat red bolts of death into the upturned faces of the alien crowd below. She concentrated her fire on those at the base of the rough-hewn path that led back up to the ledge.
She hit the cavern floor amongst dead creatures and a ravenous bellow from the central pit. Her knees bent to take the impact, and she rolled over and got back to her feet in a smooth movement.
And then the central pit exploded.
* * *
Lethal shards of rock sing through the air. He turns, narrowly avoiding decapitation and pulling the Borukk round in front of him at the same time. The creature screams in agony, forehead cleaved open and chin smashed. Smaller fragments continue to ricochet around the cavern, the Taurean, Whyde, crying out as he is caught in the leg.
Voraann moves to help the Taurean, the Borukks clustering in confusion. Smoke billows. There is no longer a pit, rather a ragged slope down to an exposed lower level.
The girl opens fire, a twin gunned assault.
Adrenalin pumps fast. This is what he knows. What he has been waiting for.
“Kill them! Kill them all!” Narr. Pointing a crooked finger, black eyes fringed red in the stinging smoke. The Borukk is coming for him, hands flexing, preparing to take him apart.
Not an option. Ducking a random energy bolt he scoops a broken bar, part of the cage from the floor. Pulls, levers, taking the creature’s weight and shoving the twisted metal upward through sinew and bone. Narr sails over his shoulder, landing with an obscene crack, his shoulder impaled.
He pauses, looks about. No sign of Kraatoor or the burrower in the blasted pit although the floor seems to shift and stir ominously.
“Father! Come on!” Voraann, heading upwards and out, following the girl and Whyde.
He follows, stumbling as he nears his son.
* * *
“This way!” Alf called back over her shoulder.
In the aftermath of the explosion, the ape-like creatures were scattered and stunned. The three captives weren’t much better, but at least the bars of their pen had been dislodged from the cavern floor.
The other Draconian grabs Vorkuuthh by the shoulder, and starts to drag him forward. The admiral quickly recovers, and the three follow Alf up the sloping path to the exit. The Taurean limps, his leg injured in the explosion.
The three seemed willing to follow her, until they were out on the open plain.
“Pilot Alf!” Vorkuuthh didn’t sound particularly happy, so no change there then. “Are you actually operating to a plan or do you expect that we will be running around at random?”
Nothing like a bit of gratitude! “A bit of a plan and a bit of winging it, Admiral.” Alf smiled. “I’ve spotted what looks like a partially buried spaceship some way off, possibly one of those expedition ships you mentioned to me. If it is, and they landed, we may be able to use it to fly off this shit hole. If not, it’s got to be more defensible than where we are at the moment!”
“You have done well, pilot. Lead on.”
As she continued in the direction of the wreck, Alf reflected briefly on the change in Vorkuuthh. He had been distracted and quick to anger when they’d met on the ‘Imperium’, but now he seemed focussed and perhaps even happier, even though their situation was certainly not something to smile at. A man of action caught up in the bureaucracy of his position, perhaps?
Glancing back, she saw the granite face of one of the simian creatures appear in the entrance to their craggy lair. It gave a cry and clambered forward, followed by many more of its kind.
The explosion had bought them time, but not enough.
* * *
He narrows his eyes, looks closer. Half a dozen of the creatures at most, no sign of the leader. This could be to their advantage.
“What do we do? I don’t want to die!” Whyde is beyond hysteria, turning in a half circle then collapsing on his wounded leg with a shriek of agony.
“Dying is easy.” He spares the Taurean a dispassionate glance.
Whyde retches, choking for breath. “Dying is not easy and I do not wish to do it you militaristic moron!”
“Do not speak of my father in such a manner!” Voraann is staring, almost embarrassed that he has spoken.
He ignores them both as the girl steps towards him, crude crossbow bolts now falling just short of them.
“Sorry about this but it looks like we’re shafted.”
He bows his head. “I know your meaning, Pilot Alf, but I disagree.” He extends a hand for one of the energy weapons. She hands it over almost subconsciously. “The black stone they wear… I think it is the key to how they move so fast in this satellite’s gravity.” Another bolt falls, dangerously close. He raises the weapon, aims. Blows one of the creatures’ head clean from its shoulders. They will have to move as fast as they are able now. He starts forward, loping, uncontrolled. The girl is with him, equally haphazard.
She fires, dropping another of the creatures. The remainder falter, uncertain.
It’s now or never. Flicking the setting to maximum he fires at the ground just in front of the remaining group. The girl is with him, firing likewise. The combined pressure causes a small explosion directly before the creatures. The rest is over quickly. They advance in an absurd charge finishing off the stunned survivors. Without pause he is at work, tearing the black stone bands from belt and boots, tying them about his own.
The girl follows suit, Voraann jogging unsteadily to join them.
There is a plaintive cry from Whyde. “Hey! Don’t forget…”
Something very immense and very ancient erupts from the satellite, consuming the Taurean in an instant. The creature bears down on them, a leviathan worm of twisted flesh. Blind, it hits the surface some metres before them and to the left of Voraann who is temporarily bowled skywards, drifting slowly down as the ground settles.
The girl hands him some black stone.
Voraann rests his hands on his knees, drawing ragged breaths. “That was the creature from the cavern?”
The girl is shaking her head. “Voraann, I don’t care if it’s the creature’s Auntie Mabel, it’s bloody big and it’s bloody dangerous!”
“Which way to the craft?” he interjects, curt.
The girl sighs. “There’s just no let up with you is there, Vorkuuthh? What are you? Super Drac?”
“No.” A forced smile from Voraann. “He is a warrior. Aren’t you, father?”
“Oh for Pete’s sake!” The girl turns, jogging away at a natural pace, his theory proving right.
They follow.
* * *
As she reached the top of a rise, Alf paused to look back. There was a line of humanoids behind her - first Vorkuuthh, then Voraann and, after a gap that wasn’t as large as she’d have liked, the Borukks.
“Come on, Admiral,” she called encouragingly, “the ship is just up the next rise!”
As Vorkuuthh struggled his way up the twisting slope, Alf took the opportunity to fire a few blaster bolts at their pursuers. This caused a bit of panic in the Borukk ranks, but none of them appeared to be actually hit.
She reached her arm out, and caught the Admiral’s hand, pulling up to join her on the high ground. “What now?” she asked. “Wait for Voraann here and give covering fire?”
Vorkuuthh shook his head. “We have no shelter here. If the Borukks send any of their number around the side to get behind us, we will be as good as dead. One last push to this…” He paused, sizing up the partially buried ship. “Hmm. Explorer class shuttle. A fairly decent ship for its time. If we can’t fly it out of here, it is a much better place for a final stand.”
As they started down the other side of the rise, Alf noticed that Vorkuuthh looked back at the younger Draconian. Maybe this was the son he’d mentioned earlier?
***
Descent was easier than ascent, once you got close enough to see the ground through the swirling sand. Pick a clear patch and jump. As the two of them approached the open airlock to the shuttle, they looked back to see the other Draconian make a jump to the ground and start to run towards them.
The cries of the pursuing Borukks burst out from beyond the rise and echoed around them.
* * *
Thankfully the burrower does not reappear. It takes them a good half segment to find the craft during which time surface conditions grow notably worse. The storm presses closer from outside as they explore the confines of the Explorer class shuttle. The Borukks must have stripped out anything of value or moveable long ago. There is a strange silence in the dead craft.
“Father, are you there?”
“Yes, I am here.” He cannot hide the irritation in his voice.
“The girl, Alf, wants to talk to you.”
“There is nothing to say. We are dead.” He feels anger start up in himself at the quickness of his answer. He waits, letting himself become calm again. “What does she want?”
“She wants you to pull your finger out mate!” Alf, tired but still defiant, pulling herself into the cramped crew space at the back of the Explorer. “This thing’s still flyable. I can fly it.”
For a moment he doesn’t reply. What is she asking of him?
“She needs the access codes, father.” Voraann from behind him.
Access codes! Of course. Stupid of him. He pushes forward to the small flight deck, stabs at the controls. There is an immediate response, the low hum of power spreading through the circuitry.
“Now we’re talking!” The girl settles into the pilot’s chair, frowns. “This is not good though.”
“What is not good?”
“Two things. One, the power’s gonna take forever to get to flight capacity. Two…” She stares through the forward view screen.
Borukks, a small army of them, drawing rapidly closer. The leader, Narr, screaming an insane war cry into the oncoming winds.
* * *
Alf stood by the airlock with the two Draconians. “Okay, I’m back to the bridge. You two need to hold the Borukks off until the energy levels are to lift-off levels.” She handed over her other blaster and paused. “Last call for scathingly brilliant ideas,” she said hopefully.
Unexpectedly, Voraann spoke up. “There may be a way to increase the energy build rate…” Catching the look from his father, he added “Don’t look so surprised. Every Peace Timer has to pull his own weight in several ways. One of mine is maintaining energy generators. Federation standard has a power build limiter restricting it, much the way Federation laws restrict their citizens.”
“I’m pleased to see your time hasn’t been entirely wasted! And the limiters are installed because dissidents have previously caused the generators to overload and explode. All right, the two of you to your own tasks. I can hold the animals off.”
“‘Animals’ is a relative term, father. These creatures wouldn’t be after us at all had the Federation been a more peaceful civilisation.”
“And we’d all be Cybermen by now!” snapped Vorkuuthh. “Away to your duties!”
* * *
From the bridge, Alf watched as blaster bolts struck amongst the approaching Borukks. For a senior officer used to commanding the Draconian fleet, he wasn’t a bad shot! But there was just too many of them.
She kept her eye on the power reading. It was almost there…
“Admiral? Close the airlock now! I’m about to start the engines…”
***
He hears the girl, tinny over the airlock intercom. With one final burst of fire he draws back, reaching for the outer door control. A shadow of movement, then Narr is with him, twisting savagely at his gun hand. At the same time the small craft lurches and heads unsteadily upwards.
They fall heavily, the outer door still open as the satellite surface recedes below them. He reaches the rim of the inner door with his inner hand and holds on for his life.
Static and confusion from the intercom.
The Borukk is screaming, an insane, repeated war cry. “You die! You die!”
He sees the boy’s face and knows with strange certainty that he is not going to die today.
Kicking with all his strength he sees the Borukk leader tumble away from him as the craft veers upwards at a new angle. Incredibly the creature still hangs on outside as he stabs at the outer door controls. The door slams shut and there is an immediate, pressured silence. The creature hangs there for a second as the craft climbs ever upwards. It must have phenomenal strength.
A true killing machine. Gods, what have they done! No, he cannot afford these thoughts!
But no strength can defeat the satellite’s harsh atmosphere. The Borukk is luminescent orange, charcoal then vapour inside a nanosecond.
The craft turns on to its belly, levelling its course outside the Settii satellite’s thin atmosphere. He rises unsteadily to his feet.
“Father?” Voraann, clear now over the intercom.
“Yes?”
“We thought we’d lost you!”
“Get on with it!”
A beat.
The girl comes on line. “Listen mate, we’ve got bugger all oxygen, two segments at most. Voraann had to reroute most of the power to get us off that rock. If you’ve got something like a personalised transponder code, now might be the time to transmit it!”
“Yes.” He thinks out loud, opening the inner door and heading for the flight deck. “The fleet will have sent out scout craft. If any remain in range, they’ll find us.”
* * *
He stares at his remaining son and the girl in the Explorer’s dying light. Profiles caught in shadow, breathing shallow and steady. He feels a smile forming, checks it. Thinks of his wife, Harkothh, the Doctor… So many dead, lost, unknown… The fleet out there ahead of them. Too far ahead now… He turns, sensing movement…
The girl, holding out a hand. He remembers the gesture from the Doctor… Unfamiliar but he takes it none the less. Voraann is holding her other hand, head slumping forward as the oxygen dies.
Her voice is a whisper. “Never say die, eh?”
He smiles, realises he is crying like her, eyes hidden in the dark.
“No surrender.”
* * *
He stands on the observation deck of the ‘Imperium’, watching the ceaseless activity of the crew below him. The cruiser found them only just in time. Makaara has updated him on the news from the front. None of it particularly good. But the crew have been heartened at his return. Now is the time to act. The ‘Draconia’ and the main body of the fleet are in close range now.
A lift hums open behind him. The girl and Voraann, a political prisoner now, Securicomp drone hovering ever present at his shoulder.
“Not long now, eh?” The girl.
“No, not long now.” He smiles and she smiles back.
Voraann smiles but his eyes are sad. “Mother is expecting me on Draconia, father. I will pay Harkothh your respects.”
He finds himself taking his son’s hand in the unfamiliar gesture of the girl. “Do that, Voraann.” He squeezes hard. “I do not know what the future holds for you but do not be afraid to face it.”
“I will not.” A look of surprise. “That is the first time I can recall you using my name in years, father…”
They stare at one another as automated systems announce the ‘Imperium’s’ arrival on the outskirts of the Nova Mondas system, security levels rising and activity increasing.
“You are my son after all, Voraann.”
The girl is frowning, an unreadable look on her face.
As one they look towards the approaching darkness on the forward viewing screens.
Nova Mondas.
The future.
Coming fast.
Next Episode:
Unforeseen
CAST
Sophie Aldred as Alf
Wil Wheaton as First Ensign Rukaar
Bernard Horsfall as Supreme Admiral Vorkuuthh
James Beamish as Voraann
Richard O’Brien as Whyde Farren
Charles Hawtrey as Altaeses
Bernard Bresslaw as Narr, Lord of the Borukks
John Tams as Honour Sergeant Kraatoor
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