Sunlord (2 page)

"I saw my wife the night before she was killed,"
Shata spoke softly. "The physicians couldn't do a thing, said she
was beyond help. Her flesh was cold by sun-up. The stress builds up
in you as time goes on, all the death stacking heavily in my mind,
weighing it down. I recall speaking to a fellow farmer the day
before his farm was captured and destroyed." Shata spoke as if his
hide was leather, such was the impassion his tone conveyed. But the
cold glint in his eyes betrayed his true emotions.

"The space creatures killed his family, and then took
everything," he finished harshly.

K'iop was silent, his depthless eyes brooding. "They
have the power to destroy us all."

"You sound afraid. Surely you're not going to let
them walk all over us?" Shata's eyes showed disbelief.

"No, boy. I have fought before and I will fight
again. But something tells me that our battle will be difficult
indeed. Ambushing the Star creatures vehicle was probably not the
wisest thing to do, but it is necessary if we are to use their own
weapons against them. When we figure out how to operate this
equipment many Star creatures will fall before us." K'iop turned
slightly to bring himself face to face with Shata. "But it is a
grim task. Death will come to us all, but we shall go
fighting."

Shata's mind wandered over the morning's events, and
how quickly everything had changed. Before they had been a band of
roving farmers, but now they were wanted by the most powerful race
in the galaxy.

"How long do you think until they find us?"

K'iop shook his head. "I can't be sure. I laid a
score of false trails, but I doubt it will confuse the Star
creatures for very long. At best we have a five, maybe six hour
start."

"That doesn't leave us much time. Are you sure you
can shake them off our trail at the falls?"

"I know many tributaries and stream beds that would
be sure to upset even the best tracker."

"That is well." Shata's eyes came back into focus as
he drew his mind back to present. "We must be ready to move out
soon," he said. "We can rest when we reach the safety of the Falls,
but until then we must press on. I think the men are rested enough
by now."

K'iop nodded grimly. His voice raised to address the
company of fighters. "Okay, lets get moving again."

The ragged Currach struggled to their feet, full of
groans and muffled curses as heavy packs were hauled once more upon
aching backs.

K'iop plunged into the thick jungle, leading the way
for Shata and his band of fighters to follow. Then suddenly Shata
heard a sound unlike anything natural crashing through the jungle,
growing louder all-too-quickly.

Incomprehension was reflected on multiple stunned
faces until Hoplor shouted a warning.

"Run!"

The moment of stillness was shattered. The rebels
stumbled over themselves in their haste to get away and into the
cover of the trees.

The next instant flame erupted from the foliage. As
if in slow motion Shata saw Hoplor fall to the ground, blood flying
from an open wound. There was a sharp rattling and the dirt at his
feet billowed.

They were being attacked!

Shata-Bera and his companions leapt for the treeline.
Shata's vision narrowed, almost tunnel-like, as his mind
concentrated on only one thing - reaching the trees alive.

He has cast off the backpack almost unconsciously and
ran with only his rifle, one of the devices stolen from the
Star-creatures earlier that morning. He leapt and rolled, his heart
beating loud and fast in his ears. He scrambled into the cover of
thick bushes, heedless of scratches endured.

Shata-Bera fumbled with his new-found weapon as he
attempted to line the sights upon their hidden enemy.

A split second later white-hot fire erupted around
him, he saw sudden flame and instantly his flesh was alight. Wild
screams emerged from his throat as he fell backwards, the hair upon
his head licking with angry flame.

The rebels' eyes were wide with fear. They saw their
leader's form on fire as he stumbled about in pain inflamed panic.
Bullets and laser bolts ricocheted about the trees creating
unearthly chaos.

K'iop's voice stood out from the confusion like a
beacon of solidity and firmness.

"To me men! We fight!"

The old man's laser rifle lanced into the jungle,
swathing a path through the leaves. His eyes narrowed in cold fury,
the stabbing of the laser random as the enemy still did not show
itself.

The rebels aroused themselves from their stupor and
pulled weapons from their packs. Four Currach had fallen to the
attack. They convulsed as their bodies were horribly mutilated with
the tearing of projectiles. The seven remaining Currach knew enough
to try and get to the shelter of the trees. They ran heavily and
blindly. They did not see that the attackers had surrounded them,
and they were running straight into their grasp. They fell like
flies before the crossfire from the trees.

The few remaining Currach returned blasts, but were
ill aimed and futile. In seconds all were flung backwards as bolts
tore them apart.

K'iop was at Shata's side, standing over the Currach
giving him cover from the aliens with almost continuous blasts of
his rifle.

Shata moaned in agony. Rolling in the long damp grass
had extinguished the fire, leaving rippled and scarred flesh and a
bald blackened skull.

"We've got to get out of here," breathed K'iop. One
hand still upon the trigger of the rifle he reached down and
grabbed Shata about the waist. The old man's strength was
surprising as he lifted Shata up and over his shoulder.

Shata groaned in intense agony, muscles spasming and
aching, knowing nothing but the pain.

K'iop stepped backwards, never relenting his
blasting. Tree limbs fell and burnt as he struggled to shake off
the attacking shots. Moving quickly he reached the cover of the
trees and ran as best as he was able, the burden of the man on his
shoulder made his footing clumsy and stumbling. The heavy throbbing
of his heart beat a hasty tattoo in his ear, fear pushing his body
on beyond exhaustion.

The old man did not stop until all sounds of fighting
died into the distance behind them.

The android lowered its weapon. One hundred percent
accuracy - every bullet had found its mark. The skirmish had lasted
no more than thirty seconds, leaving all the native rebels splayed
on the ground. The android turned and quickly assessed the men,
satisfied that none had been hit.

Wisps of smoke rose from the scarred ground like the
spirits of the dead Currach taking flight. Blood seeped slowly into
the humus and pooled about stiffening bodies.

For long seconds nothing moved in the small grassy
clearing.

"Group Alpha, move in and investigate."

Instantly half of the troops rose to their feet,
brushing leaves from their forms. Guns held at the ready they
advanced. A troop grunted as he saw the extent of the damage. He
idly kicked a mangled body with the tip of his heavy boot.

"That'll teach the ugly thorts," he muttered to his
companion.

The latter smirked behind his face plate. His native
language was harsh and grunting. "They will think twice about
taking out a scout car again. Look at that, they've got weapons. I
thought this race was passive."

The strike commander intercepted their conversation.
"That's what the computer said. Enough chatter, we have to collect
these weapons. I want this site scouted immediately."

The troops fell silent and made about their tasks.
The first few flies had begun to buzz about the rebels mutilated
forms. Stooping, they prised the rebels' blood coated fingers from
alloy gun barrels.

The sun beat down upon the small forest clearing, a
light breeze rattling the leaves overhead, the silent forest an
impassive witness to the massacre.

* * *

The Vizier looked sharply up from his work as a
hesitant knocking sounded at the door. The Vizier lay down his
feathered quill and beckoned his visitor in with a quick motion of
his four fingered hand.

The messenger stepped forward upon the Vizier's
command, his soft leather boots making little noise as he advanced
along the polished marble floor of the Council Chambers. Large wide
windows let the full glory of the afternoon sun through, bathing
the religious shrines and tapestries that hung upon the wall in a
deep yellow light. The ceiling of the impressive building was so
high the beams were shrouded in shadow, the upper windows seeming
small and distant. A large ornate fireplace crackled with life
directly behind the Vizier, its warmth driving away the chill in
the air.

The Vizier sat behind a long desk cluttered with
books and parchments. As Vizier it was his duty to oversee the
paperwork of the land holdings of the surrounding farmlands. He had
been working constantly for the past few days, his job chaotic as
the creatures from the Star's invaded farmer's homes. Many a farmer
had protested, demanded in half-fear and half-anger that the Vizier
do something about the theft. The star creatures were a strange
race, and nobody quite knew how to handle the situation.

The Vizier watched as the green cloaked messenger
stepped forward.

"Yes?"

The messenger knelt to one knee, his eyes studying
the Vizier in awe. He was dressed in a flowing white robe of simple
but graceful cut drawn about the waist by a length of decorative
leather. His large Currach eyes reflected intelligence and
alertness that studied his with intentness. It was not an
aggressive stare - it just seemed that the Vizier's gaze picked up
and absorbed every detail and could read every motion.

The messenger stuttered a little in the presence of
the powerful figure of authority.

"Vizier, I have come from Partoeon. Lord Drysor has
prepared this message he received from one of the Star creatures."
The messenger placed a rolled parchment on the desk before the
Vizier.

The Vizier's insect-like eyes shone with quickening
interest. He accepted the parchment and slipped the seal with a
dexterous motion.

"The Star creatures wish to arrange a meeting," he
stated, his eyes scanning over the vertical columns of writing.

The messenger nodded. "Lord Drysor believes you would
make the best diplomat."

"He is a wise to bring this to me, for I have been
awaiting a chance to see the star creatures face to face. Too many
farms have been taken already, and the death continues. We must
reach some sort of treaty."

"I'm afraid the star creatures are not in the mood
for pleasantries. Lord Drysor mentioned something about one of
their scouts vehicles being destroyed, by rebels, it seems."

"Rebels?" The Vizier's palms pressed on the parchment
strewn table as he leant forward. "Tell me everything," he
demanded.

The messenger shrugged nervously. "They tried to
fight back against the star creatures. The...they attacked a scout
cart. They also took the weapons." The messenger lowered his eyes
uncertainly. "Lord Drysor's footmen report that they were killed in
the attempt," he finished lamely.

The Vizier became shocked with messenger's words.
"Such violence, surely these rebels cannot be Currach. Have they no
respect for life?"

"From what I have heard the Starmen on board were hit
with an axe and... decapitated..." The messenger swallowed this
last word as if it tasted sour.

"We must do something. How did the king of the
Starmen take this news?"

"I do not know. All I have been told is to inform you
that a summit shall be had immediately. You are to be taken aboard
their ship."

"The ship that sits aside the moons? I pray that the
Starmen are not angry. We must leave as soon as possible."

The messenger bowed and backed out of the room.

Admiral Karthorn paced the control room of the
battleship Urisa. He made an impressive figure; the flowing cape
worn over his broad shouldered helicasuit billowing out gently
behind him.

He was a burly two and a half metre tall creature,
barrelled chest and a thick neck. He was what the small Currach had
dubbed the Starmen. The Admiral's black eyes gleamed from deep set
slightly sunken brows, his nose almost ursine. A short crop of dark
hair topped his squat head and ran partially down the back of his
thick neck like a mane. The jutting, wide skull allowed for a large
forebrain, the result of millions of years of evolution bestowing
the race with quick wits and powerful bodies. A recessed claw
projected from the back of each of his six fingered hands that
would extend if a fist was formed. The Starmen's knuckles and bone
structure were complex yet powerful; the hands that could crush the
life out of an enemy could also construct delicate microchips.

They were an ancient race and their technology far
superior to any other. The race had been in space for many hundreds
of years and had been the dominant force in the galaxy.

That was until the humans had challenged them. The
Admiral was in command of a scarred battleship that had fought and
won against the humans many times over. Now Urisa hung in orbit
about a planet named systematically by Avatar as L/Cn-41a. The
Urisa was preparing to accept a native from this world below.

Admiral Karthorn growled low in his throat. He would
have no more rebellious activity from the Currach, for his patience
was running short. A war was in process on the other side of the
galaxy, and the battle ship under his command needed time to
recuperate. The small planet beneath them was lush and plentiful.
After using the water supplies to fill the ship's tanks they could
mine the planet for it was rich in much needed uranium. It was a
vital stepping stone for his ship, and he wouldn't have some rebels
killings his scouts.