Three Against the Stars (12 page)

“I thought you said she died in a labor camp?”

“That is what this one was told. Father was executed by Khandra for fighting in resistance against them. Mother taken away with other prisoners. Never saw her again.”

“But how did she manage to get off Rhajnara?”

Makki shook his head and wiped his eyes again.

“Oh, Makki, I’m so, so sorry,” Akira said, draping an arm across his shoulders.

“This one cannot forget what Khandra did to family and friends. If not for Omegans and Marines, this mewling’s world would still be under iron heel of Khandra.”

Akira nodded with understanding. When the fascist Khandra Regime had taken control of Rhajnara, they enslaved half the population and consigned millions of innocent Felisians to death camps. The Khandra nearly wiped out an entire race in a devastating, genocidal war. Makki had been about twenty or so Earth Standard Years at the time. Everything that had happened to him under the Regime’s dictatorship, and during the Uprising and Great War that followed, had taught him how to survive. After the war, he enlisted in the Rhajni army but was later reassigned to the Marine Corps for special training as a battlefield medic.

“You think those are Khandra down there?” she asked.

Makki nodded. “This one recognizes their uniforms.”

Cortez and O’Hara duck-walked over to them, keeping their heads as far below the top of the parapet as they possibly could.

O’Hara smiled at Makki. “Look, lad. I know that was your mum back there, God rest her soul. I’m truly sorry. If there’s anything—”

“We have company,” Cortez interrupted, peering over the top of the parapet.

Akira took a quick look. “Here they come, jarheads!”

Far below on the main street, the Khandra rushed the complex, their weapons blazing as they blew the doors into a galaxy of tiny metal stars.

O’Hara pressed the timer button on one of the Whistler Bombs. The glass lens on one end of the device glowed with red light.

“You know, Seamus, a Whistler Bomb is a mining tool used for excavation and blasting tunnels into the sides of mountains,” Akira said.

O’Hara flashed a charming grin. “I know, lass. And those buggers down there are gonna be soilin’ their skivvies when this thing pops.”

“Fire in the hole!” Cortez yelled as he plugged his ears with his fingers.

O’Hara winked at Akira and tossed the bomb over his shoulder.

Akira took another peek over the top of the parapet.

In the street below, the enemy converged on the entrance to the main complex as the Whistler Bomb landed in their midst. The first explosion was like a lethal fireworks display as countless shells burst overhead with loud, whistling sounds. Then the second stage of the bomb detonated a moment later. A rush of wind sent flames and smoke and debris hurtling into the sky. Khandra bodies sailed through the air in various stages of dismemberment.

Cortez nudged Akira and pointed at the cobalt sky.

“Here is our ride home,” he said.

Comanche Two appeared on the horizon, heading like a comet toward the complex.

“It’s about bloody time,” O’Hara said. He tossed the other two Whistler Bombs to Makki. “Be my guest—just make sure you don’t blow us all into an alternate timeline.”

Makki showed his teeth in a sharp grin, pressed the button on one bomb, and threw it from the roof. He stuffed the remaining bomb inside his medikit. Cortez plugged his ears again.

The Whistler exploded, incinerating another squad of Khandra troops that was trying to hurdle the bodies and wreckage in front of the complex in order to force their way inside.

Comanche Two streaked toward the Khandra advancing down the main street, laser cannon blazing with crimson light, wing-guns spitting electric bullets. Then the vessel fired a pair of photon missiles. Two buildings across the street from the complex erupted in blinding white light, followed by flaming clouds and funnels of black smoke.

Caught in the explosions, scores of screaming Khandra warriors were instantly cremated—blasted into fiery molecules. Even more Khandra soldiers wailed and died when Comanche Two’s laser blasts and machine gun fire mowed them down like so many rows of corn. The AEV then veered to starboard, swung around, and headed for the main complex. The ship hovered low over the roof of the complex like an ancient helicopter. A hatch opened in her belly, and a ramp of metal steps slid forward.

Akira, O’Hara and Cortez yelled for their troops to start boarding. The platoon rushed to board Comanche Two in eager but orderly fashion. Fatty Russo, Tommy Barnes and a few others helped the corpsmen carry the dead and wounded onboard.

“Come on—move your lazy backsides!” Sergeant Ransford shouted.

“You heard the sergeant,” Corporal Baim said. “Move it!”

O’Hara and Cortez stood with their backs to the stairwell hatch leading down inside the building while Akira and Makki helped with the wounded.

Five panthermen suddenly emerged from the stairwell.

Akira caught sight of the Khandra.

“O’Hara! Cortez—heads up!” she shouted.

The sergeants spun around. Cortez blasted two panthermen with sizzling laser fire. But O’Hara’s Primo-2000 jammed up on him.

“Bloody hell!” he groaned.

The three remaining panthermen opened fire with their zapguns.

O’Hara and Cortez dropped to their knees as zapper bolts zinged over their heads.

Ransford took one in the shoulder that spun her around. She fell to her knees, cursing and grimacing in pain. Makki and Baim dragged her aboard the AEV with the other wounded. A blast from Akira’s machine gun nailed the fourth pantherman.

But the fifth Khandra warrior leapt into the air and landed on Cortez. Akira fired, but she missed. Cortez and the pantherman went down fighting in a tangle of arms and legs.

“What a day!” O’Hara said.

With a flick of the wrist of his prosthetic arm, the concealed dagger slid into his hand, and he raced in to help his buddy. Grabbing the pantherman from behind, O’Hara cut the warrior’s throat. Cortez jumped to his feet, dusted himself off, and bowed to O’Hara.

“I think it is time to space out, my friend,” he said.

“I’m thinking you’re right—for once in your miserable life!” O’Hara said.

They raced toward Comanche Two, the last to board.

444

The Lavarian freighter
Volkana
waited at the edge of the Cholo Sector of the Kamali System, far from the planet Acheron.

On the bridge of the freighter, Vash stood at the crystalline viewport, staring at the vast starscape of space. As still and silent as a robot sentinel, he watched the shuttle come alongside the
Volkana
and enter the cargo bay beneath the prow of the vessel.

Activity buzzed all around him, But Vash was oblivious to it all. Things had not gone as planned on Acheron. Someone had to answer for that fiasco . . . and for other things, as well.

His thoughts were interrupted by the approach of Mister Snark.

“Have you read the report?” the Drakonian asked.

Vash nodded. “I will deal with this in my own fashion. I promise you.”

Moments later, the main hatch slid open with a soft gasp of air
.
Vash turned as Kriff, ragged and bloody, entered the bridge. Snark scratched his wattles and kept his eyes on him.

“My lord brother,” Kriff said, saluting Vash.

“Do you have any idea what this blunder has cost us?” Vash asked his brother.

“I was only following the Warclaw’s orders,” Kriff explained.

“His orders were to destroy the mining camp and steal enough polarite to make it look like a raid by pirates,” Snark said to Kriff. “We knew the Marines would come. We were even warned. And yet you chose to stay. You
defied
your Warclaw. Doing so cost him his life.”

“The Warclaw threw his own life away,” Kriff argued. “Tikrow ordered me—he ordered
us
to remain on Acheron after we learned that one of the miners had sent a distress call. He knew very well what he was doing. ”

Vash stared at Kriff as if reading his mind, then shook his head. “Tikrow was fully aware that we’re not ready to let our foes know that the Khandra have risen again.”

“The Warclaw believed otherwise,” Kriff persisted. “He was looking to start a war.
He
wanted to stay and fight the Marines.
He
was in command, not I!”

“Insolent mewling!” Vash ground his teeth, his temper starting to burn. “Curb your tongue if you don’t wish to have it torn from your jaws.”

“But he sent you a subspace message, informing you of his decision!” Kriff said.

“The message we received regarding the change in orders was
not
sent in the code your brother and I devised with the Warclaw,” Snark told him. His snout curled in a wicked grin. “We also know who really sent that distress call to Camp Corregidor.”

“Did you think I would never find out that it was
you
who betrayed me, Kriff?” Vash asked. “That it was
you
who plotted to have me abducted and taken to Zatura—all so you could disgrace me and further your own ambitions?”

Kriff glared defiantly at Vash and Snark. But fear and the realization that his plan had failed were dark shadows swimming in his eyes.

“Give it up, Kriff,” Snark said.

“Father was right,” said Vash. “You’re nothing but a weak, useless and stupid mewling.”

“I knew I should have killed you, instead of leaving you stranded on Zatura,” Kriff said. “But you
are
my brother, after all is said and done. I didn’t want your blood on my claws.”

He reached for his zapgun.

“Don’t even try it,” Snark hissed, quickly disarming Kriff.

“One thing I hate more than a liar is a traitor, Tuleej,” Vash said, calling his brother by his real name. “But even a brother’s blood can be washed away with enough soap and water.”

Vash drew his zapgun and—

“Vash—no!” Kriff screamed.

—fired three sizzling blue bolts into Kriff’s chest.

Snark hissed with pleasure when Kriff’s lifeless body dropped to the deck.

Vash holstered his weapon and turned to Snark. “Set the
Volkana
on a course for Rhajnara. It’s time I returned home. It’s time I was reunited with my father.”

Chapter Twelve

The Shadow of the Khandra

C
ooper Preston, Major Helm and Lord Taluro Chanori relaxed in Colonel Dakota’s office. Corporal Flix served tea and coffee to her guests.

“So you see, Mister Preston,” Dakota said, “for over four years now the Rhajni have been recovering from the Great War against the Khandra Regime.”

“My people have made great strides in the advancement of our civilization, Cooper Preston,” Chanori said. “We strive for the betterment of Grimalkin and Felisian alike.”

Setting his coffee on a side table, Preston studied the proto-feline. Chanori’s fierce, violet eyes and his resemblance to a white tiger intrigued him. As a journalist, Preston was more than a little familiar with the history of Rhajnara.

In the Earth Standard Year of 2129, after centuries of war between the Grimalkins and the Felisians, a truce was finally established between the two races. Together they ushered in an era of peace and prosperity, an era where both races had the freedom to worship as they pleased, and to share in the governing of Rhajnara.  A few years later, the Omegans made first contact with the Rhajni and established friendly relations with their new government.

By 2157 a militant faction of the Grimalkins, called the Khandra, had become a strong force in Rhajni politics, as well as in the military-industrial complex. Then, one night, they launched their attack and staged a coup, and within a week the Khandra had overthrown the government and established a new world order. A Grimalkin named Balik Jhaza took command of the Khandra Regime and ordered the construction of concentration camps. So began the Grimalkins’ pogrom against the Felisians, and the racial genocide that was soon to follow.

“But what no Rhajni was aware of, not even the Khandra, was that before departing Rhajnara, the Omegans left a robotic monitoring outpost high in the mountains on the southern rim of the Vanalooj supercontinent,” Major Helm said.

Preston nodded. “So I’ve been told.”

For seven long years the Khandra Regime ruled Rhajnara with an iron fist. Their tyranny and racial cleansing burned across the face of Vanalooj like a nuclear holocaust. 

Then a Felisian Resistance grew and soon became a world-wide force that challenged the Khandra fascists, and over the course of the next four years Rhajnara was once again engulfed in the flames of war. But the Felisians were up against superior forces, and were considering surrender when the Omegans returned with their new allies, the Terran Empire.

In 2168, the Khandra were finally defeated, and the Rhajni Republic was born. Having no more need of their outpost, the Omegans shut it down. The next few years were an era of reconstruction and growth. By the time the Drakonians made first contact with the Rhajni in 2171, Rhajnara was at peace, and the Omegans had already left the planet.

“So are you here to write a story about my people or about the Marines stationed on my planet, Mister Preston?” Chanori asked.

“Actually, I would like to do both, Lord Chanori,” Preston told him.

Chanori stared at Preston. The journalist felt like squirming in his chair.

“Then perhaps I can help,” said the elegantly-dressed Minister of Defense. “I will do my best to answer any of your questions.”

“I understand that no atomic weapons were used in the Great War,” Preston said.

“You are correct, young man,” Chanori said. “Although we were close to attaining that level of technology, not even the Khandra would have used such weapons. Our planet is held sacred and inviolate by all Rhajni. To unleash such devastation would damn our souls to Hell.”

“And General Ginjua, a Grimalkin, became the first chancellor of the Rhajni Republic?”

“Yes, Cooper Preston. He was elected by the Grimalkin-Felisian
juru
, what you would call a parliament. They also voted to have Marines stationed here to help rebuild and defend our planet until we Rhajni could stand on our own again.”

“I’ve heard rumors of a neo-Khandra movement plotting to take over the government again,” Preston said. “Any truth in that?”

“Fears of a fascist overthrow and the rise of a second Khandra Regime have long been grist for the rumor mill,” Colonel Dakota answered.

Corporal Flix scratched his half-ear and exchanged glances with Chanori.

“What would happen in the event of an interstellar threat to Rhajnara?” Preston asked.

“With one old spaceship, some rather obsolete technology and eleven hundred men and women under my command, I’d be unable to defend this planet,” Dakota replied.

“What would it take to defend Rhajnara against an attack from space?” Preston asked.

“Give me seven thousand Marines and a pair of new starships, and not only will I defend this planet against hostile forces, I will secure this entire sector of space,” Dakota replied.

“There’s your story, Mister Preston,” Major Helms said.

444

An early morning fog drifted lazily across the Camp Corregidor airfield as the last of the battered Marines from Acheron limped from the belly of Comanche Two. Makki and the other corpsmen were met by a medical team who used motorized gurneys to transport the wounded to the camp’s infirmary. Tired Marines helped carry the dead to the morgue.

Later that morning, Colonel Dakota paced behind her desk as Akira, Cortez and O’Hara finished their report. With the loss of Captain Branch and Lieutenant Levine, and with Sergeant Ransford in the infirmary, it was left to them to brief the colonel and Major Helm.

“That’s about it, Colonel,” O’Hara said. “We were ambushed, plain and simple.”

“The enemy must have known about the camp’s distress call,” Cortez said. “But I do not comprehend why they did not leave.”

“Good point, Sergeant Cortez,” Major Helm said. “The theft of polarite is one thing. But murdering all those innocents and then laying a trap?” He shook his head.

Akira thought about the mining personnel and the women and children who were so viciously slaughtered. But the one image she’d never get out of her head was of Makki finding his long-lost mother lying dead on that infernal planet. She couldn’t even begin to imagine how terrible that must have been for him.

“What were our casualties?” Dakota asked.

“Eight wounded and nineteen dead, Colonel. Including Captain Branch and Lieutenant Levine,” Cortez replied.

“I was told that Makki’s mother was among the dead,” Dakota said.

Akira closed her eyes and nodded. “I’m afraid so, Colonel.”

With a heavy sigh, Dakota sat in the chair behind her desk.

“Those murderin’ butchers were after something other than polarite,” O’Hara said.

“But what? Or who?” Akira asked.

“That’s something we need to find out,” Dakota replied. “But what really troubles me is the fact that these Rhajni terrorists were armed with Drakonian weapons.”

“And that ambush was sure a quick way to start a war,” Akira said.

“All too true, Sergeant,” said Major Helm.

“Then there is obviously a connection between these terrorists and the Drakonian gun runners we have been chasing all over known space,” Cortez said.

“Without a doubt,” Dakota said. “I intend to have a talk with the Drakonian ambassador in Tantrapur. But I’m sure he’ll deny any knowledge of smugglers in this sector.”

“Makki told me that the Rhajni who attacked us were Khandra,” Akira said. “He said he recognized their uniforms.”

“He would know,” said the colonel. “Major, what do you think?”

Everyone in the room turned their eyes on Helm.

“The Khandra,” he said. “We can’t ignore the rumors any longer.”

“That’s what I’m thinking,” Dakota agreed.

“What about Makki’s mother, Colonel?” Akira asked. “He’d been told that she had died in a labor camp. Yet we found her body on Acheron. How could that be possible?”

“Families have been separated and lost from each other ever since every species in the known universe learned how to wage war.” Dakota shook her head. “Unfortunately, the Khandra destroyed most of their files before they surrendered, so we have no real documentation on the millions of Felisians who were sent to the death camps.”

The colonel went on to explain that after the Omegan-Terran Alliance arrived on Rhajnara and helped end the war, they liberated thousands of Felisians from the concentration camps; Makki’s mother had obviously been one of them. But millions of Felisians had been executed beyond identification and then buried in mass graves before the war ended. Somehow, Makki had managed to escape and hide out until the Marines found him.

“After the war, many Rhajni had the opportunity to emigrate and start new lives on other planets,” Dakota said. “Hundreds of Felisians, and even a handful of Grimalkin sympathizers who’d lost everything in the war, chose to leave Rhajnara. It would appear that Makki’s mother had applied for work with the mining company. No doubt she thought her son was dead.”

“All this time . . . and neither of them knew that the other was alive,” Akira said

“And that’s the sad, ironic tragedy of it all,” said the colonel. “Like so many others, she may have changed her name when she signed on to emigrate to Acheron.”

“Beggin’ your pardon, Ma’am,” O’Hara said. “But we can’t just leave all them dead civilians on Acheron, unburied like that.”

“I will attend to that matter in due course, O’Hara.” Dakota studied her sergeants like a school principle trying to figure out how to reward some gifted but unruly students. “You may consider yourselves off duty until further notice,” she said. “Sergeant Cortez, see to it that Makki gets whatever he needs. Let him know the Corps takes care of its own.”

Cortez bowed with a theatrical flourish.
“A sus ordenes, mi Coronel.”

“As for you, Sergeant Akira . . . Major Helm, if you please.”

The major opened the door to Dakota’s private quarters.

Cooper Preston rushed into the office, grinning.

“Coop!” a surprised Akira cried out. She felt like a silly schoolgirl, but didn’t care.

“Claudia!” Preston shouted.

They rushed into each other’s arms and shared a long kiss.

While Major Helms and Colonel Dakota looked away to give the reunited lovers a moment of privacy, O’Hara and Cortez stood and stared like a pair of marks taken in by a carnival huckster. Had their jaws hung any lower, they could have dug foxholes with their bottom lips. O’Hara’s face wrinkled in disgust, and he wiped his mouth with the back of one hand. Cortez stood there, impatiently tapping his foot.

After what seemed like an eternity, Akira and Preston ended the kiss—much to the obvious relief of everyone else in the room.

“What a wonderful surprise, Coop,” Akira said. “But why are you here so soon?”

“I got reassigned to do a new story,” he explained.

Akira turned to O’Hara and Cortez. She took a deep breath.
Here goes,
she thought.
It’s now or never.
“Boys, I’d like you to meet Cooper Preston. My fiancé.”

444

Makki and Sheel took a leisurely trip in a gondola down one of the canals leading from the heart of Tantrapur. They were heading for a Felisian temple at the far edge of Tantrapur. Although it had been restored since the war, and there were larger and newer temples in the city, this one was still the center of worship for many Felisians of the Luzsaran faith.

The temple was enormous, but very modest in design and decoration. Built of marble, granite and adamantine steel, the building boasted a massive dome as its centerpiece, with a small minaret on either side where the curved walls surrounding the temple joined with the main structure.  A long flight of stairs and an arched gateway led to a courtyard where a simple fountain and a gorgeous garden filled with exotic birds and flowers set a tone of peace and tranquility. The hot sun sparkled on the white and gold building.

Inside, the temple was spacious, with rugs, plush chairs and couches where worshipers could pray and relax. A tall, marble statue stood at the far end the temple, surrounded by an altar. The statue had no facial features, no distinguishing marks of gender; it was merely a statue in the form and shape of a Rhajni wearing a long robe.

Makki and Sheel knelt before the statue and prayed. There were only a handful of worshipers in attendance, and those soon departed, leaving Makki and Sheel alone. After a while, they retired to the back of the temple so they could relax on a small divan and take in the serenity and harmony of the holy place. 

“What did you pray for, Makki?” Sheel asked in their native language.

“For the souls of this one’s mother and father,” Makki replied. “And for the souls of all the Felisians who now rest in the arms of Azra.”

“But what about
you,
Makki? Did you ask Azra to give you strength? Did you ask the Sybil to light the way for you, to help you choose which path to follow?”

“Yes, Sheel. That’s all one should ask for—divine guidance. Sometimes the Maker wants us to accomplish things without his intervention, though he’s there to help when needed.”

Sheel bowed her head. “The Maker will provide what we need, if we have faith.”

“And the Light of Luzsara will guide our destinies,” Makki said.

“Perhaps
your
destiny is to become a doctor?”

Makki was stubborn and headstrong on this subject. “But this one wants to be a Marine.” He crossed his arms and bowed his head; Sheel knew there was to be no more discussion on the subject.