The Seryys Chronicles: Of Nightmares Page 16

  The communications console lit up indicating a transmission was incoming. When Khai answered the hail, it was Admiral Tarr.

  “Admiral,” Khai said with respect and a quick salute. “We have just broken orbit and are heading for you now.”

  “No need, General.” Tarr said, confidence returning to his gaze. “Captain Brandarr has surrendered and is being taken into custody as we speak.”

  “Admiral, with all due respect, I don’t think you realize the severity of what is happening on your ship,” Khai insisted. “Let us come aboard and at least help keep the peace. There may be more saboteurs on board. There were several on my ship and probably just as many on Sibrex’s. Please, let us help.”

  The older man’s face softened a little. “Very well, General. I am prepping the hangar for your arrival.”

  “Thank you, Admiral…for everything.”

  “It was my pleasure, Khai,” Tarr said with a warm smile.

  As they got closer, the hangar control called. “Star Splitter, this is the Courage. Power down your vessel and prepare to be brought in by a hauling beam.”

  “Roger that, Courage. Powering down now.”

  “Admiral Tarr has requested your presence on the bridge as soon as you are able.”

  “Will do, control. Thanks for the heads up.”

  The ship bucked ever so slightly as the hauling beam grabbed them.

  “We have you, pulling you in now. Welcome to the-” The man’s sentence was interrupted by static. Then, to the entire crew of the Star Splitter’s shock and horror, the ship exploded in a conflagration of flame, debris and a single shockwave that rocked the Star Splitter and all inside.

  “What the…” Dah gasped.

  Not again…Khai thought dreadfully.

  “Now what do we do?” Puar asked.

  “What can we do?” Khai asked ruefully. “We turn around and go home, regroup and come up with something else.”

  Khai turned the ship around and headed back to Seryys and a city under siege.

  Captain Brandarr was sitting in his quarters enjoying some downtime away from the failing investigation. It was a second full-time job keeping the people working under him running in circles. He was just about to sip on some froog vine brandy when the door to his quarters chimed.

  “It’s open!” he called out, not hiding the annoyance in his voice. The door slid open and three armed security guards entered in full armor. “What is the meaning of this?” he demanded.

  “We have orders from Admiral Tarr to escort you to the bridge,” the security guard was obviously uncomfortable about this.

  “For what purpose?” Brandarr pushed, though he already knew the answer to that question.

  “The Admiral didn’t say,” he admitted. “But he was adamant that we escort you.”

  “Very well,” he stood and moved toward his dresser. Inside was a tunic woven with explosive material. This explosive material wasn’t powerful enough to destroy the whole ship, but if it were to be detonated near – say, an engine core, it would do enough damage to get the job done.

  “I’m sorry, sir,” he said to his captain. “He insisted you come as you are.”

  “But I’m in my pajamas!” he scoffed.

  “Sorry, sir. Those are our orders.”

  “Fine. Lead the way.”

  The guard who did all the talking led the way while the other two kept an eye on him.

  Brandarr had very clear orders on what to do if he was ever compromised. He was to find a way to destroy the ship by whatever means necessary. Warthol had the same orders for the saboteurs on both the Hell Fire and Vyysarri. However, their primary mission was to disable the Vyysarri long enough for him to dispatch the Hell Fire and then make it look as though Khai and Sibrex turned on each other. But when Khai, Sibrex and Puar escaped, they had to destroy both ships to erase any evidence. Though Captain Bran’Don Brandarr hated taking Seryysan lives in mass, he hated the thought of those animalistic Vyysarri coexisting with the Seryysans even more. The thought of a Vyysarri/Seryysan hybrid was enough to bring bile up to the back of his throat.

  They were halfway to the lift that would take them to the bridge when Brandarr made his move. In what seemed like one fluid motion, he quickly kicked the leader in the back of the of knee while, with his right hand, pulling the guard’s gun from its holster, and with his left hand, jerking back on the man’s chin, breaking his neck. The other two pulled their guns and fired. Their bullets hit nothing as Brandarr dropped to his back under their aim and popped off two shots that killed both men where they stood.

  He got to his feet and ran for his quarters. Moments later, the intruder alarm went off and that senile old man’s voice came over the ship-wide com channel. “General quarters now in effect. All nonessential personnel are to report to quarters until further notice. We have a level one security breach. I repeat. We have a level one security breach. Security, the threat is Captain Brandarr. Take him down at all costs.”

  Brandarr made it to his room and donned the explosive tunic. When he came out, he had to dive under a barrage of gunfire as two soldiers equipped with machine guns attacked the minute they saw him. Brandarr knew he was no match for them, especially with a pistol as a weapon. From his prone position, he popped off two shots. One found its mark and shattered the knee of the soldier on the left but his second shot missed to the right, lodging into the bulkhead.

  Both soldiers were still in the fight. Brandarr knew his only chance of survival was to go hand-to-hand with them. It was a risk, but a calculated one. He knew that being trained on Gorn Planet they were physically superior, but he had a card up his sleeve. He pulled out a syringe full of a steroid derived from the testosterone and adrenaline of a Rush Shark. The effect was a supercharged fight or flight response with the adrenaline of the shark mixing with that of his own. The result was superhuman strength, speed and agility. The side effect was a severe crash afterward.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  It was time. Seryyk had failed again and the repercussions were going be swift and harsh. He stood in the hall of the ship, waiting, knowing that he would be punished for his inability to kill his target. However, he had a defense. His intel was insufficient and he was unprepared to handle Dah, Brix, Puar and Kay alone. Had he known, he would have brought help. Stiprox would have to understand and grant him another chance to repay his debt.

  “Seryyk,” an assassin guard called out. “Stiprox will see you now.”

  Seryyk, still healing from his many injuries, straightened his tunic and marched—with a slight limp—in with his head held high. He was Seryyk, a Vyysarri Warrior with more Seryysan kills on his military record than any ten of his peers. That was why he worked for Stiprox—because he was the best, indispensable, priceless, needed. The great reception hall was empty save for the same four assassins. A door to the right opened; two more assassins entered flanking the legendary, mysterious Stiprox. Seryyk, to honor his master, dropped to one knee and lowered his head. The elderly Vyysarri required help getting up the steps to his throne. Seryyk wondered how many Seryysan soldiers died by this man’s hands, that he must have earned his status through his actions, and that he had lived as long as he has because he was good at what he did.

  However, now, he was a frail old man, disgraced to die in a soft bed feeble and decrepit. Not a warrior’s death, he thought as the old man sat slowly on his throne. But still, in his diminished state, he was able to orchestrate a movement of noble intentions that, so far, had successfully thwarted the Seryysan/Vyysarri Reunification effort.

  Seryyk quieted his mind when his master spoke. “Seryyk. I am extremely disappointed in you,” he started. “You had but one task: stop Captain Dah at all costs, even if it was at the cost of your own life. This is the second time you have failed me.”

  “My lord,” Seryyk pleaded. “I beg your forgiveness. You know I would have gladly given my life for the cause. They left me for dead, but I survived.”

  “Hmm,” Stiprox
hummed, clearly not impressed. “A pity. Maybe you would have died with some honor.”

  “There was no honor in dying facing impossible odds,” Seryyk said, trying to keep his rage under control. “I was ill prepared for my encounter.”

  “And why, may I ask, were you ‘ill prepared’ for this fight?”

  “My intel said nothing of Dah running with companions,” Seryyk defended himself.

  “And? What of it? Can you not handle four people?”

  “Under normal circumstances, yes,” Seryyk continued. “But these were not just any people. They were Dah’s officers from SCATT: Pual’Brenan Puar and Brix and an Agent. I needn’t remind you that thousands of our people have fallen to Agents over the years. They are more than assassins or soldiers. They-”

  “I know what an Agent is and what they are capable of. This does not change the fact that you have dishonored me and disgraced yourself and your family.”

  Anger started to seep into his consciousness, making him think and say irrational things. “Had I not known any better, I would’ve said that I was being set up for failure. That maybe I had outlived my usefulness, my lord.”

  “Yes,” Stiprox said. “It is unfortunate that you survived to live with the shame of failure. I had hoped that you would have died completing your mission, but, much to my dismay, Captain Dah failed to eliminate you.”

  “Then you wish me dead?” Seryyk said, standing for the first time in Stiprox’s presence, fists balled, knuckles white. “After all that I have accomplished for you? After all I have sacrificed? You dare throw me to the sharks and then threaten to dishonor my family?” He took a defiant step forward. The assassins responded by placing their hands on their Kit’Ras. “Does Vyysarri blood even run through your veins?”

  That got him! Stiprox, showing more vitality and vigor than Seryyk had ever seen in him, stomped down the steps of his throne—the assassins jumped to follow—and stood face-to-face with Seryyk. His breath was hot on Seryyk’s face as Stiprox’s chest heaved with rage-fueled fury. Still Seryyk couldn’t help but think that something is off, he didn’t smell like a Vyysarri from this distance. Perhaps it was the ship’s air scrubbers. A Vyysarri as old as he, would need clean air. But nonetheless, he couldn’t shake that feeling.

  “Kneel!” he boomed. Seryyk refused. “I said kneel!”

  Stiprox’s guards struck him in the back of the knee, forcing him to kneel with a grunt. The fury burning in Seryyk’s eyes gave Stiprox a moment’s pause. “I was going to simply kill you outright for your inability to generate results, but now… now I am going to let you live and suffer the death of your entire family!”

  As Stiprox turned his back on Seryyk, Seryyk lunged forward, ignoring his wounds and with the speed that only a Vyysarri could achieve. His target was the frail old man. “NO!” he shrieked with rage and the will to protect those who matter most to him.

  “Sir!” one of the assassins shouted.

  Stiprox turned just in time to get a clawed hand to the face. Seryyk started at the man’s scalp, dug his claws in all the way to the skull and raked down to the chin, taking Stiprox’s left eye and hair with it. For two seconds while Stiprox cried out in pain and rage, Seryyk realized that the hair in his hand was a wig and that prosthetic makeup hung from his bloody claws.

  He looked up at a Seryysan! A Seryysan imposter, one he recognized almost immediately! As six swords dug deep into his flesh robbing him of his life, he lived his last few seconds knowing that Stiprox was an imposter and the Resistance, for which he forsook his citizenship and sacrificed everything, was a lie…

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Prime Minister Pual’Kin Puar buried his face in his hands as he leaned heavily onto his desk. The weight of an entire system of hundreds of planets and ships, thousands of military service people, and trillions of citizens, rested squarely on his shoulders. The tentative alliance with the Vyysarri was crumbling beneath its feet, his government was out of control with more leaks than an thousand-year-old rowboat, both Warthol and Stiprox were doing a fine job of mucking everything up as if they were working together—which was an idea he was still entertaining. Furthermore, he hadn’t even gotten to the possibility that they may have discovered the fate of the Founders—which was still a safely-guarded secret as far as he knew. He knew that if the Vyysarri found out about the cache of ships and weapons, that things would only get worse. He wanted to keep that card up his sleeve if relations with the Vyysarri turned to throwing punches. He hated having to plan for such a scenario, but was also a realist and that type of outcome was becoming more and more of a reality.

  His first task was to find some sort of proof of this conspiracy that put him at odds with Prefect Chuumdar. However, all that proof went up with Admiral Tarr’s ship along with three thousand men and women. He hadn’t even considered the financial impact of losing the only two Courage-Class Vessels, but when the Director of Governmental Finances showed him the credit amount, it took the wind out of his sails. It was only when his little brother Brenan spoke again, that he realized his mind had wandered off.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “What was that, Brenan?”

  “I said that someone had to have changed the records for this Orr’Lyyn guy,” Brenan repeated.

  “And it sure as shit wouldn’t have been Brandarr,” Dah added. “He wasn’t an idiot.”

  “But all of our proof went up with that ship,” Khai said, flipping through pictures of known SAVR sympathizers, when Orr’Lyyn’s picture came up. “This is Orr’Lyyn?”

  The Prime Minister craned his neck to look as the computer screen. “Yeah. That’s it. I’ll never forget that face—not after I’ve seen it without a body.”

  “This is the guy I think poisoned me outside the Upper Seryys Hospital when I went to visit Dack. He was also the guy that I saw at the attack on my wife’s ship.”

  “Well, it’s clear that this guy worked for Warthol,” Dah said. “But we still need proof. So far, I’ve only gotten surface stuff about him. The military ID and orders are as authentic as they get, but I can’t find anything on his place and year of birth, primary or secondary school transcripts, nothing.”

  “We need to the find the actual person who altered these records,” Sibrex chimed in. “You said it yourself, Captain Dah, that Brandarr wasn’t stupid enough to alter the files himself. So he must’ve coerced someone.”

  “We need a programmer to rummage through these files for digital fingerprints,” the world leader said. “Dack, can you have your hacker get through these?”

  “I can get him here pretty quickly. He’s currently at the Aurora Police Department,” Dah offered.

  “Do it.”

  “Yes, sir.” Dah stepped out to make the call.

  “Sibrex?”

  “Yes, Prime Minister?”

  “I owe you an apology,” he confessed. “I didn’t trust you when this whole thing went down. Now I know that I was wrong and I should’ve listened to Khai when he defended you.”

  “No apology is necessary, Prime Minister.” Sibrex said. “You simply acted upon a decision based on the information you had in front of you. I do not take offense. I possibly would have come to the same conclusion. But, Prime Minister, I appreciate the apology.”

  “Good,” he said with a satisfied smile. “You are an invaluable member to this little unofficial team.”

  One of Puar’s many assistants entered the office at a brisk pace. “Prime Minister, Prefect Chuumdar requests an audience with you immediately.”

  “Patch him through to my office,” he said. “Khai, I want you in on this call. Being the ambassador, you might have more luck with him.”

  “I think that Sibrex should be on this call, too, sir,” Khai suggested. “He holds a high rank in the Vyysarri military.”

  “Agreed.”

  From the center of the office, a large holographic head appeared. It was Chuumdar and he looked like he always did, angry and ready for a fight, that is, until he saw both
Khai and Sibrex. “Supreme Commander Sibrex, It was my understanding that you were dead and that Ambassador Khail was responsible.”

  “A lie,” Sibrex said curtly, “Woven by a spider who calls himself Warthol, leader of the Resistance.”

  “Ah. I see. We have a similar troublemaker called Stiprox. Well, it is good to see you alive and well. And Ambassador, it is good to see you, too.”

  “Prefect Chuumdar,” Khai said with a cordial bow of his head.

  Trying to hide the dread in his voice, Prime Minister Puar spoke in the most diplomatic voice he could muster. “Prefect Chuumdar, to what do I owe the honor of your call?”

  “I am checking on the status of your investigation. My finger rests poised over the button to call in the attack and have heard nothing from you. Why such disrespect for an ally?”

  “Prefect-” he was about to say when Sibrex interrupted.

  “Prefect!” Though the politician was insulted by the interruption, he showed no sign of his annoyance. Yet somehow Sibrex picked up on it.

  “My apologies, Prime Minister. May I address my Prefect, sir?”

  “By all means,” he said waving a hand toward the Prefect.

  “My Prefect,” Sibrex started, his deep voice rumbling, “I have been apprised of the situation between our people and I can assure you unequivocally that Prime Minister Puar is not behind this assassination attempt, that there is a puppeteer pulling the strings.”

  “I trust you, Sibrex. You are a credit to our race—cunning, decisive, intuitive and intelligent, but I still require proof.”

  “Much of the proof you desire perished with the destruction of the Courage, my lord.”

  “Indeed. Pardon my skepticism, but that sounds convenient.”