Sunlord (60 page)

"Then the Federation owes them thanks; although I
managed to disconnect Avatar's fire control and warning systems I
couldn't get close enough for a direct hit." Agent Tracer leant
forward over the table. "Where are the natives now?"

Shaun lowered his gaze. "I've lost them."

"With all the reptiles and predators in this swamp it
is impossible to identify them with this ship's equipment. They
must have taken naturally back into their home environment." Tracer
shook his head in a Hartrias manner, and Shaun noticed that the man
must have unconsciously taken up their habits. No, Shaun corrected
himself, the habits were probably drilled upon Tracer for years so
that nothing gave away his identity.

Tracer relaxed back into the padding of the wide
couch. "Weird looking things - like stick insects in a way."

"They were my friends," Shaun said defiantly,
detecting a note of scorn in Tracer's voice.

Tracer shook his head. "They fit under the code of
primitive inhabitants and until such a time as they are determined
a potential ally will remain so."

Picking up his fork again Shaun took another bite,
knowing it would be folly to argue. He turned his thoughts to the
War. "Has the battle been joined by the Federation? In my time
aboard the Urisa I was able to send out a communication relaying
for help."

"Then you were successful," complimented Agent
Tracer. "Again, you succeeded were I was not able to. My access was
limited aboard the Urisa and with the jumptunnels strictly
monitored the task was impossible without revealing myself."

"Then the Federation is here?"

Tracer nodded. "You have done good work, Flight
Lieutenant. Going from the last reports I received the Urisa,
disabled by our combined efforts, is now nothing more than a husk
of fire-eaten metal."

Within his heart Shaun allowed himself a moment of
congratulation, for in his cryptic manner Tracer had admitted that
the native's work had aided the Federation immeasurably, which
would without doubt place them in good stead.

Agent Tracer stood and indicated to the rear of the
craft. "There are wash facilities and clothing in there - clean
yourself up and strap yourself in, it's time we left."

"My friends?"

Tracer grunted negative. "They will have to remain. I
cannot stay and search for them."

"No - we can't leave without them!" cried Shaun
without thought.

"What?" Agent Tracer stood, knuckles pressed down on
the table. "I have to rendezvous with the Federation, Lieutenant,
and the lives of a few natives does not press upon my mind. For
Zok's sake, I've wasted enough time as it is!"

The curse was Hartrias. Shaun closed his eyes and saw
dancing spots. He knew it would be folly to argue with Tracer.
"Very well," he breathed, thinking of Ashian, Capac and Myshia; he
could only pray that they would survive for there was nothing he
could do to aid them. "We will leave, but I shall return for them.
I owe them that much."

* * *

Explosions rippled through the decks of the Urisa as
twenty megaton torpedoes drove home. Metal buckled and sheared as
unimaginable quantities of destructive energy swept through
corridors, devouring all in its path. Consoles, machinery, the
steel of the superstructure, the Hartrias crew - all swallowed and
reduced to basic molecules within seconds.

Those further from the blast had only time to dive to
the floor before flame and noise assaulted their forms. Some
scrambled madly from pressure-suits and escape pods but their
efforts were futile against the deadly Federation missile; there
was nothing that could stop the great spherical mushroom cloud
billowing from the stricken ship.

"Pull them back!" cried Force Master Loakar. "Release
the Urisa now!"

The grapples disengaged and pipes fell away as the
battleship fought to free herself from the destroyed carcass. Those
aboard Rplore tensed as the forces ripping apart the Urisa also
pushed their own ship away...but unlike the Urisa she had
shields.

"Our status?" Loakar discovered he was standing.

"Shields holding," came the report. "Damage
minimal."

"Damn it!" Loakar pounded the arm of the chair with
his fist. "We've lost the Urisa!"

"Yes sir. She's taken a direct hit - without Avatar
there was no chance of damage control."

The Force Master slammed his fist down once more.
"Damn them to hell! Weaponsmaster Treah, what's the status of those
Federation fighters?"

The voice of the Weasponsmaster came over the
speakers of the command room. "The four craft penetrating the
Urisa's defences are already destroyed. Nothing could have survived
that nuclear blast."

Loakar punched the deactivate button and Treah's
voice silenced. "Patch a communication to the Warmarshal."

Force Master Loakar's heavy brows furrowed and he
drew a large clawed hand back along the edge of his chair as he
rallied with his thoughts. He knew there was nothing to do but to
report his failure to his superior officers.

He was snapped from his thoughts as the full-height
holographic image of the Warmarshal blinked into existence. The
later wore a short cape and an imperious insignia of office upon
his bullish form, narrow eyes displaying carnivorous intelligence
losing none of their definition through the flickering of the
holo-image.

Dropping to one knee, eyes downcast, Loakar bade his
superior greeting. "Warmarshal, sir."

"Stand, Force Master."

Loakar obeyed and forced his jaw to remain tight.
"The Urisa has been lost beyond salvage."

There were a few seconds delay as the communication
covered the millions of kilometres separating the two ships. Even
though light travelled quickly it still involved an appreciable
time before the Warmarshal responded.

"And the planet's defences? Have they been
compromised?"

"No sir. The Federation battleships are retreating to
your vector."

"Acknowledged, Force Master. I want your ship to seal
vector twenty-five."

Loakar bowed. He knew the Warmarshal's objective was
to seal the fate of the Berana and the Ki, and was no longer
concerned about the Urisa. It was a loss that would be recovered
threefold upon the Federation starships.

"Shifting course now sir," snapped Loakar.

"We can hope for nothing but a glorious death."

General McMillan looked across the large control deck
and spied the speaker. A mischievous glint shone in his eyes as the
seasoned leader smirked a negative. "Dae'd yea think I'd sink us
into the shit without a lifeline?" He snapped his fingers together.
"Get yae arses into gear, or yae'll find yaeself as a dockworker
quicker than yae can think! Now get me a radar update on the screen
and set ae course five oh five."

The Berana had suffered great damage at the hands of
the Sova-1 fighters, although systems were still marginally above
the red. It was at this time when the fighting lulled that the
General knew his crew would begin to lose all hope. It was hard to
keep one's mind focused when all aboard knew that the Ki, which had
remained as a rear-guard, had been caught by the armada of Hartrias
ships appearing from jumpspace behind. Reports were coming silently
in - lines of text across infonet screens, but the Berana could not
possible give any cover fire. She was simply too far away and the
enemy's fire-power too heavy.

And the Lanceman. That too had been lost in the first
ten minutes of battle along with the lives of thirteen thousand
crewmen and pilots.

The General's aide glanced to his leader. "Your plot
will put us in the centre." His statement was half a question.

McMillan nodded gruffly. "Got tae draw all the
Hartrias apart. On my mark double to bearing four-four-six."

"They will converge upon us," prompted the aide.
"They will make sure we cannot escape."

"That's exactly what I want," nodded the General, his
eyes not leaving the on-screen radar.

The aide dared not question McMillan further. He,
along with the rest of the crew, could only wonder what the aged
General had in store for them. It would take nothing short of a
miracle to save their hides from the trap.

"Multiple radar pinpoints have appeared in sector
kappa forty!" cried the radarman, breaking the silence with his
almost joyous shout. "ID reports on-screen now - Federation
Deepspace Cruiser Roland as flagship."

"They appeared to the rear of the Hartrias armada,"
muttered the General's aide in sudden dawning of understanding.
"The rest of the Federation fleet that lay in wait in the docks at
Krake waited for the right moment."

General McMillan nodded and muttered half to himself;
"It was obvious tae Hartrias would send in their armada, and if oor
fleet were caught between them and that planet's skycannon facility
we would'nah lasted longer than ae ice-cube in hell."

The main radar image disappeared for a second as
static rode across the screen. A moment later the visage of the FDC
Roland's captain appeared. General McMillan saluted to the officer
dressed in a uniform adorned with a multitude of shinning medals
and embellishments.

"Good tae see you, sir."

The Roland's captain returned to salute. "Prepare to
engage the Hartrias fleet, General. I want none to escape."

McMillan dropped his hand. "Yes, sir." And he knew
that now the hunters had suddenly become the hunted.

* * *

The barefooted feet slapped through the thick leaves,
moving through piles of wildly coloured vegetation of blues,
yellows and greens. As he ran the small boy hummed to himself a
tune, lost in his own world of thoughts. The forest was thick in
this part of the land and his tribe had survived to date without
any contact with the menace from the stars, although on many nights
they had gathered upon seeing strange lights in the night skies.
Sometimes, when the forest was silent and wind still, strange
distant noises found the ears of those in the village and many
worried about the reports they had heard from other villages
allegedly overrun by the Sunlords.

But these rumours were far from Elio's mind as he
ventured through that part of the woods nearest the swamp where
prey was easy to find. The young eloprin had often been warned by
his clan-mother that to dare so close to the swamp was to invite an
accident, for all knew that pyrons lived there and the large
reptiles did not take well with company. Despite this Elio knew, in
the surety of youth, that he would have no such troubles if he just
kept his senses about him.

Elio leapt a log that had fallen across the narrow
animal trail he was following and paused on the other side to
regain his breath. In his belt was a flask of water but he did not
need to use it yet. He knew that he would need it later, for the
day was just beginning. Exhaling, the eloprin once again picked up
his pace through the heavy undergrowth.

He walked without deliberate thought to his direction
although his subconscious mind kept track of the twisting of the
trail and the position of the sun overhead, as well as the
instinctive side-to-side glancing to make sure he did fall prey to
any lurking predators. Elio let his mind wander as he walked, for
that was what he liked about his regular hunting journeys to the
borders of the swamp-lands. He could be satisfied with his thoughts
and such was his nature that he would often spend weeks at a time
on long journeys alone, simply for the freedom he felt. Armed with
his short bow, knife and knowledge of the land he would explore and
sometimes map where no other eloprin had been before.

Glancing skywards Elio noted the sun was nearing its
zenith and he decided to look for a stream where he could drink
without depleting his supplies unnecessarily. Veering off from the
narrow trail he followed Elio headed down the slope and through
ground that grew increasingly soggier underfoot. The gurgling of
the small stream over the rocks drew his attention and he headed
forward, unaware of the presence he was about to stumble into
contact with. Later he would curse himself for allowing his hearing
to lapse, but at the time his thoughts were far from caution as he
scooped a handful of the stream water to his mouth.

The snap of a twig made the eloprin boy whirl in time
to see a shadow emerge from the brush. Elio leapt backwards, his
feet caught beneath him, and he fell. With a splash and flurry of
activity he landed in the shallow stream, unable to take his eyes
from the mud-encrusted figure.

"Easy there, youngster," laughed the newcomer in the
language of the eloprin. As Elio watched he saw his eyes had
deceived him. The figure moved forward into the sunlight and Elio
saw it was an eloprin, dirty and ragged but eloprin
none-the-less.

"Here, let me help you up." The newcomer leant
forward and aided the small boy to his feet, his back dripping with
water. "Sorry I gave you such a fright, youngster. My name is Capac
Fletfod."

"My name is Elio, of the Great Water clan." Still
nervous, the boy took a surreptitious step backwards from the
battered and strangely menacing stranger. To meet with another this
far from the village was the last thing Elio had expected.

"Capac?"

Elio spun as another voice came from the trees and
two more eloprin entered the gravel clearing. No, they both weren't
eloprin - and although dressed in the same ragged manner the other
was somehow different. Gathering together his courage, and praying
that no more strange people would step from the trees, he asked;
"Who are you?"

Ashian spied Elio standing ankle deep in the stream.
"Capac - who is this?"

"This is...er..."

"Elio," prompted Elio.

Capac nodded. "That's it."

Ashian stepped forward and placed his palm against
the shoulder of the young eloprin before he could think twice.
"Greetings, Elio," said Ashian in the formal eloprin manner of
greeting. Elio could not help but instinctively return the greeting
by in turn placing his hand upon the currach's shoulder.