The Seryys Chronicles: Of Nightmares Read online

  “Hard to say, comas are so unpredictable. He could come out of it tomorrow, or never. You just can’t tell.” Dah nodded solemnly. “What do we do?” Kay asked.

  “We grab him on our way out,” Dah answered definitively. “In the meantime, we need to find Khai. That is our primary mission.” They left the room as pools of blood gathered around the dead bodies and they closed the door on the way out.

  Encountering only six guards total, they finally found Khai. He was shackled to a gurney, put into a medically-induced coma and fed with an IV. Dah’s expression must have given away his revulsion, because Kay said, “This is how they keep dangerous political prisoners. They can’t cause any problems if they’re unconscious.”

  “How long will they keep people like this?”

  “Sometimes,” she answered sadly, “decades.”

  “Let’s get him out of there.”

  They followed Dah’s lead and started unbuckling the shackles as Kay removed the IV pumping sedative into his system. Dah and Brix each took an arm and started carrying him out of the room and toward the subterranean hangar. About halfway there, Khai started to come around.

  “Wha…” he started sluggishly. “What’s… going on?”

  “Relax, buddy.” Dah soothed. “You’re in good hands.”

  “Dack!” Khai gasped. “How’d you find me?”

  “We had some inside information,” Puar answered with a grin.

  “There’s something else you should know,” Dah added.

  “What’s… that?”

  “Sibrex is here and alive. We’re going to get him right now.”

  “I didn’t kill him?” Khai asked.

  “No,” Dah said. “Are you saying you tried?”

  “Well… no… I just… I didn’t do it.”

  “We know, Khai,” Brix said. “Just bustin’ your chops is all.”

  They made it to the room where Sibrex was being held and unhooked him from the machines. Puar and Kay carried the aged, but still dangerous Vyysarri behind Brix, Dah and Khai. They got to the hangar where it was pitch black. Dah’s gut was screaming, TRAP! But at this point there wasn’t a single thing he could do about it. As soon as they entered the hangar, the sounds of cocking guns filled the room. The lights came on and, to their dismay, they were surrounded by an entire battalion of troops armed to the teeth with weapons. The young Captain was standing front and center next to a masked figure wearing heavy robes.

  “Well, well, well,” the young Captain said. “Look at what we have here!”

  “It would appear we have ourselves a little prison break,” the masked man said in a voice too deep to be real… unless he was Vyysarri.

  “Warthol, I presume,” Khai growled. “I knew someone was holding this guy’s leash.”

  The Captain made no outside reaction to the dig, but Khai had hoped that he was doing rage-fueled handsprings inside.

  “It was only a matter of time before you came after your comrade. My sources have been tracking you for a while.”

  “So you sent that Vyysarri after us, then!” Brix seethed.

  “I beg your pardon,” Warthol said angrily. “I do not work with Vyysarri scum!”

  “Yet you keep them alive,” Dah shot back.

  “Sibrex here still holds value to me. He’s a ranking member of the Vyysarri Military and if he ever comes out of his coma, I’ll get whatever information I require.”

  “He won’t crack,” Khai insisted. “He’s stronger than any of you could ever possibly imagine.”

  “Well,” Warthol said cordially, crossing his hands behind his back and taking a few steps forward toward Khai. “A week without blood, and we will see what he’s willing to divulge. Perhaps I will make him go longer without blood and put a child in there with him. There are other means of torture that involve no physical harm at all.” Still being held up by Brix and Dah, Khai tried to make a move toward the War Lord which prompted over a dozen guns being snapped into firing position. “Now, now, General. You are in no condition to be making threats, verbal or otherwise.”

  Warthol walked back to the Captain. “What are your orders, my lord?”

  “I have none at the moment, but I do have a question for Captain Dah.”

  “Yeah!” Dah laughed. “Like I’m gonna answer you!”

  “Oh I think you will, Captain Dah. Because if you don’t, I have ways of making those you care about suffer greatly.” Instantly, Dah’s thoughts went to Bri, his wife. “I have someone watching Bria’Nah right now. Answer my question, and she’ll live.”

  “Not telling you shit,” Dah said defiantly. What Warthol didn’t know, was that Bri was safe and sound at Joon’s safe house on Seryys IV and that he had taken her there himself telling no one except Joon before assembling the team to get Khai. Joon was a friend of Khai’s who had known Khai since he was a child. She was the widow of a gun runner who had more connections than the Prime Minister. She could disappear and never be seen again if she so chose.

  “How did you know where Khai was?” Warthol asked.

  Dah said nothing. Neither did the others.

  Warthol pulled his pistol and pointed it at Dah.

  “Who told you where to find Khai?” he asked again.

  Warthol suddenly pointed that gun at Brix and shot him in the stomach. He dropped Khai and fell to his knees clutching the wound.

  “I won’t ask again, Captain,” Warthol threatened.

  After another round of stonewalling, Warthol arbitrarily shot Kay in the leg. She and Sibrex both fell to the floor. Warthol pointed the gun at Puar. “Shoot me, you fucking coward!” Dah screamed. Warthol refused and was about to the pull the trigger when Dah interrupted. “It was a Senator’s aide-de-camp, a low level Senator from an outlying colony in the Barmar Sector. We never used names, but he’s onto you and your operation.”

  “There, Captain. See? They can be reasonable,” Warthol said. “Guard, take their gear and store it. Then take them to a holding cell.” He pointed at another. “You take Sibrex back to his room and hook him back up.”

  “What about my wounded?” Dah demanded. “Are you gonna patch them up?”

  “No,” the masked man said plainly. “They may die. Then again, they may not. If they do, their deaths are on your hands, Captain Dah. I am not a man with whom to be trifled. Let this be a lesson to you.”

  “You bastard!” Dah growled, lunging at the man. Before he could get to Warthol, a guard bashed him in the back of the head with the butt of his rifle and after that it was lights out.

  The guard came in dragging Sibrex and nearly slipped on the blood that had accumulated on the floor. Sibrex was placed back onto his gurney and the doctor there placed the feeding tube and other IVs back in and made sure that the heart monitor was functional.

  “Clean this mess up!” he snapped at the guard.

  The guard gave him a mocking look and grabbed a mop.

  Blood! He could smell it like it was right under his nose! For several minutes, only his sense of smell worked. But eventually, his hearing came back and all he heard was a rhythmic beep that mimicked the beat of his heart. The smell of blood became stronger as his ears started detecting other sounds like mumbling and swishing.

  Slowly, he became more aware of his surroundings. His heart monitor started beeping faster and the mumbling and swishing about stopped. By this point, he had the presence of mind to force himself to relax and bring his heart rate down. He heard heavy footsteps coming up next to him. He could smell the man’s breath as he leaned over to examine him. It took everything he had not to sink his fangs into the man’s throat with it that exposed. But, he knew, his time would come soon enough.

  His first order of business would be to figure out where he was. Though, for reasons he couldn’t explain, he had a gut feeling that Khai and Captain Dah were near…

  Chapter Twenty-One

  The assassin, Orr’Lyyn Orrar, sat in a cramped shipping crate aboard a vessel transporting a supply of blood donated
by those who embraced the Vyysarri/Seryysan reintegration movement. The ship’s destination was Colony One, the Vyysarri Capital where Prefect Chuumdar, leader of the Vyysarri People, resided and ruled. It was a massive drifting colony comprised of roughly four billion Vyysarri and housed the bulk of their military.

  Orr’Lyyn’s mission, assigned to him by Warthol himself, in person, face-to-mask, was to assassinate Prefect Chuumdar. The power vacuum, Warthol hoped, would create disarray and send the whole Vyysarri government and military into a downward spiral, which would leave them open for eradication. However, what Orr’Lyyn didn’t know was that while he sat there, someone in military intelligence was altering his identity. The person, an ambitious, fresh-out-of-the-academy lieutenant had manipulated into falsifying records giving Orr’Lyyn a military outfit, rank and standing orders, signed by Prime Minister Pual’Kin Puar himself, to assassinate the Prefect at all costs, even if it was at the expense of his own life. The information was made available to find easily, but not so easily that it looked obvious it was meant to be found.

  The ship shook a little as it left the black hole. Orr’Lyyn readied himself for a fight. He had no idea what kind of opposition he was going encounter once the ship docked. There could be four or forty people to get by—or through. He hoped that his box would be taken to a warehouse for processing. After all, that’s what a civilized race would do, not these animals masquerading as people.

  After a short ride, the ship came to rest on its landing skids. Moments later, his shipping crate was lifted and placed on a hoversled or hovercar and taken away. So far, his plan was working out. After a lengthy ride and several stops at checkpoints, he was unloaded onto a wagon of sorts. He was carted off for quite a distance until placed atop another set of crates. With any luck, the crate was placed into a pile of other crates that are destined for the Prefect’s office at the Colony Center. His box was labeled as a particular blood type that the Prefect found quite palatable.

  “Scan them,” a deep voice said.

  Crap! Orr’Lyyn thought. When they found that there wasn’t any blood in his crate, he would have to fight his way out and find his own way to the Colony Center.

  A device was pointed at each box, and it detected foreign objects and displayed what the object was on a screen. As quietly as possible, Orr’Lyyn pulled out a small sensor device that detected life signs within a twenty yard radius. His device picked up on three Vyysarri in the immediate area. All three were standing together. When their device was pointed at his box, it started beeping frantically. No words were spoken, but two of the three approach the box, presumably with guns drawn.

  Orr’Lyyn knew he had to be fast and quiet so he readied himself. The unfortunate ones pried the top of the crate off. Instantly, Orr’Lyyn popped up out of the box swiping his blade, decapitating them. As the third unfortunate soul dropped the scanner and pulled his gun fixing to yell to the others that there was an intruder, Orr’Lyyn threw and buried a small knife deep in his throat. With his vocal cords cut, he couldn’t yell for help. All he can do was gurgle a raspy breath as black-red blood flowed from the wound.

  Orr’Lyyn casually walked up to the choking Vyysarri and drove his sword up into his stomach, finishing him off.

  Orr’Lyyn disappeared into the shadows of the drifting city as he made his way to his target. Staying in alleys and wearing a cloak with a hood to make him unremarkable, he weaved his way through a crowded city. Finally, after several painstaking hours of skulking about, he reached Colony Center and made his way to the building marked on his map from the briefing.

  According to the plans provided to him by one of Warthol’s informants, there was an exhaust port around back on the second of four levels for the climate control system. Moving stealthily through a throng of people and slipping around the back, he shed his cloak and removed his grappling hook. The exhaust port was blocked by a giant metal box filled with industrial fans and covered with vents. He fired the grappling hook up to the roof and rode it up. Once on top, he secured two riggings—one for him and one for the fan box—complete with pulleys and motors.

  He rappelled down, attached the rigging to the box and started removing the rivets. There was undoubtedly a security system in place to warn the occupants of an intruder. Making quick work of the rivets that held the fans in place, he quickly and quietly lowered it to the street below. He blew a fine powder into the ventilation shaft and found a very rudimentary security system at work. He almost had to laugh. Obviously, their money went elsewhere and security wasn’t a top priority.

  He spent the next four hours wiggling through the network of ducts dodging laser tripwires, and eventually found his way to the inner offices where the Prefect should be found. He removed a vent and dropped to the floor of a corridor. According to his micro-comp, he had come out in the central corridor that led directly to Prefect Chuumdar’s office.

  He made his way.

  At the end of the corridor there was a “T” intersection. He could hear two guards talking off to the right, most likely protecting the Prefect, for his office was less than twenty feet from the intersection. Now came the time for him to put his years of training to the test. The only way was a full frontal assault. He would have to be quick and accurate. He pulled out his high-caliber, silenced pistol filled with rubber bullets. Though he wasn’t necessarily going for non-lethal, regular bullets made a mess and made noise.

  He took a deep breath, calmed his nerves and rounded the corner firing rubber bullets. He took aim, fired, and the bullets found their marks. He hit the guard on the left in the stomach forcing him to double over, and hit the other one in the throat. Before they could even register what had happened, Orr’Lyyn charged in and engaged them hand-to-hand.

  The doubled-over guard was easy pickings as Orr’Lyyn grabbed the Vyysarri by his hair and jerked up, breaking his neck. The other was still in the fight, though gasping for air. He futilely tried to fight Orr’Lyyn but his injury was a debilitating one. Another lightning fast strike to the throat finished the fight quickly and decisively.

  Once his enemies were out of the way, Orr’Lyyn went for his target. Opening the giant double doors to the office, Orr’Lyyn found a man, a Vyysarri, standing defiantly and without fear, ready for a fight. Orr’Lyyn could appreciate and respect that, however, he still needed to kill his target. The double doors close and the fight began. It was an epic fight, one that raged to all corners of the gigantic office, knocking over furniture and artwork. The crashes and thuds, grunts and growls could be heard two floors down.

  At the end, a clear victor emerged from the office. He was covered in blood, his enemy’s blood. He licked his chops and threw Orr’Lyyn’s dead, bloody body at the feet of a security team.

  “Run his identity. I want to know who’s responsible for this!”

  “At once!” one of the guards said as he ran up to collect the dead body.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Fleet Admiral Tak’Kay Tarr, rubbed his temples as he looked over the fleet deployments throughout several sectors. His job had gotten a whole lot easier and harder since the ceasefire: easier because he wasn’t looking over battle deployments, but exploration deployments, and he hadn’t sent a letter to a parent explaining that his or her child had died in the line of duty in months; harder because he was bored out of his skull! With no invasion fleets encroaching upon Seryys Space, or hit and run attacks on border colonies, or all out attacks on Seryys herself, he had very little to do.

  The only excitement in his life was finding out what the special in mess hall was going to be that day and the occasional derjik tournaments, four of which he had won in a row. His derjik face was second to none, and he could bluff with the best of them. So when a call came in from Captain Bran’Don Brandarr, his second in command, on the bridge saying there was something requiring his urgent attention, butterflies whirled up in his stomach.

  “I’m on my way!” he said.

  His old bones creaked as he hefted hims
elf out of his chair. Being a less-than-imposing ninety-seven year old man of just over five feet in height and less than a hundred and twenty pounds, he was still respected, feared and revered as one of the most brilliant tactical minds in the last hundred years of Seryys history. His position as leader of the entire Seryys Navy had kept him young, yet he seemed to have aged decades in just the last four years. But now, his old body moved with new purpose.

  He exited the lift and stormed onto the bridge.

  “Report!”

  “Vyysarri ships in our mixed armadas are attacking our ships, sir!”

  “What the hell for?” Tarr snapped.

  “I-I don’t know,” Brandarr stammered. “By the Founders! One of our armadas is gone, sir!”

  “Get the Prime Minister on the line! I need instructions! Helm, prime the Eve’Zon Drive and plot a course to the nearest armada under attack!”

  “Sir!” The helmsman saluted, spun in his seat and started working his console.

  “Admiral,” Brandarr called out. “I have the Prime Minister on the line for you.”

  The forward screen blinked to the Prime Minister’s sleepy face. “What’s the problem, Admiral?” he asked, rubbing his eyes.

  “It appears we’ve been betrayed, Sir.”

  “Explain.”

  “The Vyysarri ships paired with our ships in the mixed fleet are attacking! We’ve already lost one armada!”

  “What?” The sleepiness was completely gone and it was all business from that moment on. “Give me five minutes.” The screen went blank.

  “What was that about?” the aged Admiral asked his first officer.

  “I don’t know,” the young captain said.

  Five minutes later, the call came from the Honorifical Office. “That was fast,” the admiral murmured.

  “Admiral,” Prime Minister Puar said. “I want you to three-way Prefect Chuumdar.”

  “Right away, Prime Minister.” He nodded to his communications officer who complied.