Star Brigade: Resurgent (Star Brigade Book 1) (32 page)

[Don’t fear. I’m with you always.]
Maelstrom dipped into the Korvenites’ minds, entwining his power with their own. Right away their resolve amplified and they rejoined the other Korvenites.

“[I’d say we let them settle old scores with their masters before fully joining our cause. These brethren can only truly embrace the freedom of their future by killing the shackles of their past.]” Maelstrom’s amber eyes grew distant as he observed.

Floating beside him was the elderly llyriac Oreis. “[I would agree, Anointed One. The humans will not be ready for our brethren’s vengeance. I can almost taste it on my lips.]”

Maelstrom nodded, observing the procession of his flock below. This made five successful slave liberations in the past two weeks. Their supply raids were going equally well. The time when Sollus would return to its rightful inheritors approached.

His spirit swelling with joy, the llyriac gazed up at Bimnorii’s three moons illuminating the skies. “[What have we heard from Atanos?]”

“[Atanos and Vantor will meet with our vessel in the Merrivel Nebula ten days from now.]” Oreis said. “[They are on schedule. Our infiltrator confirmed it. We’ll be ready to reclaim Sollus.]”

The Korvenite leader cringed. Through the Unilink he felt night-chilled sand scraping his brethren’s bare feet, but grinned at their swelling confidence. Korvan’s children were one with their Anointed, as he was with them. “[But doubt still lingers on your mind Oreis,]” Maelstrom said softly, turning back to his brethren. “[Speak your mind, friend.]”

Oreis glanced uneasily at him, clearly remembering the last time someone questioned Maelstrom’s motives. “[The young female who ran off. She could tell others what she has seen.]”

Maelstrom rubbed his smooth chin thoughtfully, floating down to the sand from his high perch. Oreis followed suit. “[Intriguing, wasn’t she? With everyone else, I see their past, their present. With her,]” the Korvenite leader felt puzzled. He
hated
that feeling. “[I couldn’t get a definitive read. But I sensed her potential with Korvan’s gifts… incredible. She might rival even
me
in power. But her retreat proved she’s not worthy enough to serve Korvan.]”

The pair landed before the wrecked slave quarters. The Korvenite procession, marching steadily toward Ymedes, now scattered into distant dots. The Unilink had begun quivering with pleasure.

Maelstrom saw his brethren extract vengeance on former masters through their own eyes. Through one youngling, he saw the agonized face of a middle-aged human curled up in his bed shrieking. Igniting every pain receptor in the body at once.
A simple yet effective torture
, Maelstrom mused.

From where the Korvenite leader stood, the air was rife with sand from the gusty Bimnorii winds, but he could smell the burnt corpses beginning to litter Ymedes’ streets. His Retributionaries fought as one. Maelstrom knitted their minds into a flawless union as they cut down any resistance.

[Even if this Tharydane talks,]
Maelstrom communicated to only Oreis as the two walked forward.
[Who in that city would believe a Korvenite? Once word of Ymedes spreads, we will be long gone. Who do you think will get blamed?]

The two chuckled. Oreis’s smile revealed broken teeth. “[You think of everything Lord Maelstrom.]”

“[It’s a gift.]” Maelstrom shrugged and looked again toward his brethren. “[Have them take no longer than an orv. After that we must depart.]”

As Oreis repeated this message to everyone else through the Unilink, Maelstrom wrapped his arms around himself, trying to warm up against the frigid night winds. He watched with merriment as his fellow Korvenites unleashed their gifts, becoming more devoted to him as the macroms of time passed.

17.

PERSONAL LOG #20067

Hey J,

Sorry for the lack of updates. Its been a skittery few weeks coming back to Star Brigade. I’m giving all the field-active Brigadiers the day off. They’ve been working their hinds off for the past two weeks. Best I don’t completely fubber up their morale anymore.

Sides, after what happened with Jeremy a pair of days back, I need the breather too. The sprout finally got over missing the polymaero game…but the whole thing shook me about. I love where Jeremy and I are right now. I won’t ever let our relationship get as bad as it was right after your…well, you know. The father I want to be and the father I am now, its still a work in progress. But once I’m finished helping Star Brigade, I will get myself back on that track.

The good news about the Brigade is that their practices are showing modicums of improvement. The bad news is that the improvement is moving slower than a glacier. But they aren’t getting the fubbering teamwork aspect of it.

Love always,

H

Football was once the biggest sport on Old Earth. But it never gained much traction outside the Solar System colonies, especially after the 2100s when earthborn humans began mixing into the intergalactic culture. Habraum’s father Samuel had taught football to him and his four brothers when they were little, constantly harping on how football reflected simpler times and pleasures before beings began wasting their lives on the countless virtual world networks. The elder Nwosu was right, as Habraum had learned early on in life.

Now Habraum stood in a HLHG suite he reserved, dressed in a black cutoff tee and shorts. Around him was the bright green turf typical of a football field and his team of holographic simulacrums from Earth’s popular football players in the 2300s. The other team had players from the 2200s.

The referee’s whistle shrilled harshly and the game commenced. Habraum hadn’t played in months, but he launched himself into the game with an aggression usually reserved for Brigade field missions. Cutting loose like this felt glorious, working with his team to read feints and setups, every teammate operating in one flowing unit. The fast, furious game see-sawed back and forth, but 59 macroms later Habraum’s team won 4-2. A good workout; an even better stress release.

“End session,” Habraum ordered, wiping the dribbles of sweat from his face. Instantly the torn up football field turf and players from both teams vanished on his command. Familiar neon blue walls appeared in place of that, an empty HLHG suite bare of any details.

After a long hot hydrobath and a change into denims with a loose-fitting henley shirt in the nearby HLHG locker rooms, Habraum mulled over the Star Brigade rookies and their turgid progress in the field combat simulations. With all the other hurdles Honaa, Sam and he had to deal with, they clearly needed someone dedicated to prepping these kids for the field.

“But who?” the Cerc fumed. Any ex-Brigadier with training know-how had no desire to return. Habraum found himself the observation deck of the HLHG suites, six of them in total. Though each had its own control room, this deck was where an outside observer could view every suite at once. The ObDeck stretched at least 40 metrids long with tall, wide viewscreens along the walls to capture activities inside each suite. HL-1 and HL-6 were occupied, obvious by their viewscreens being activated. As most Brigadiers had left Hollus for their day off, Habraum curiously hopped from viewscreen to viewscreen to see who remained.

In HL-1, Ensign Cortes was darting around in a barebones simulation exposing the suite’s neon-blue walls. The doctor was covered in sweat, her cropped pixie-cut black hair lank and damp. At first Habraum thought she’d been jogging, before a saucer-like mechanoid soared into view spitting out small energy bolts, Liliana sprinted, sometimes somersaulting, all in an effort to dodge the bolts. Habraum smirked, recognizing this program. It was designed for projectile-shooting maximums, honing the user’s aim while working on evasion responses.

Liliana dropped to one knee, pointing her hands together like a gun and returning fire. She nailed the saucer mech dead-on, the air rippling in the wake of her ring-shaped sonic blast. The mech sputtered and dropped to the floor. But not before spewing out one last photon burst. Liliana took the hit in the stomach before she could dodge and went sprawling.

Habraum cringed. He hadn’t forgotten how much those bolts stung.

Liliana looked exhausted and miserable as she clambered slowly back to her feet.

“Restart program,” the doctor demanded, putting on a more determined face. The saucer mech revived up to a floating position and Liliana took up a readied stance.

“Might be hope for her yet,” Habraum murmured with an impressed smile, moving then to the HL-6 viewscreen.  As the Cerc approached what he saw was a number of blurs racing across the screen. Nothing could mistake what he heard—yowling, snarling, spitting. Then Habraum took in full sight of HL-6’s viewscreen. His jaw dropped.

Kintarians.
A lowland plain served as the setting of at least two dozen of the feline race, tangled together and tearing into each other with vicious, feral abandon. Blood sprayed, the air filled with noisy rips of fur being torn off flesh in large chunks. Already, countless bodies lay strewn across the plain, their wounds soaking the lush grass in pools of crimson.

Habraum wondered what mental case would run a program like this, especially with lowered safety protocols. Then he looked closer at the HL-6 info console and found himself totally unsurprised reading the name of the Brigadier reserving HL-6. Right on cue, 2nd Lt V’Korram Prydyri-Ravlek rose from the thick of the fray, roaring madly, a massive figure even among the large Kintarians he fought. He held his shiny scaphes in a reserved grip, cutting through the tangle of Kintarians wearing nothing but dark pant-shorts. Powerful muscles coiled and rippled underneath his fur coat as he slashed and kicked at his foes. A sable-furred Kintarian charged and got two scaphes jammed in his chest. V’Korram rushed by three more Kintarians. One silvery slash later they were clutching at their throats, red blood fountaining down their chests.

Several kills later, the near-seven-foot Kintarian stood alone atop a pile of his own race, drenched in blood not his own, chest heaving, teeth bared in a predatory grin. Seeing no one left to fight, the Kintarian threw his head back and let loose a victorious roar; thunderous, belligerent, echoing over the lowlands, a release after battle. By then Habraum had seen enough. “What the fekt?” he muttered as he walked away. That was what V’Korram called recreation?

An urgent beep sounded from Habraum’s comband. He raised his wrist and clicked the device’s side button to answer. “This is Nwosu.”

“Captain,” the voice of a communications controller said. “You have a direct transmission from the Terra Sollus UComm HQ. It’s Admiral Hollienurax.”

“Forward to my ready room.” Habraum felt sudden unease as he left the ObDeck. His next meeting with Hollienurax wasn’t until next week. Why would he call again unless something urgent had come up?

On the translifter ride to his Ready Room, he reflected on his last conversation with Hollienurax just two days ago. Habraum had been honest about needing more time to further develop this new Star Brigade, and the UComm Admiral had been more than flexible. Dealing directly with a higher up like Hollienurax had been a bit jarring originally for the Cerc, who before had mainly dealt with superior officers within Star Brigade.
Respect the rank, but don’t deify it
, Habraum told himself as their first meeting took place. Brushing his worries aside, the Cerc quickly strode out of the translifter when it stopped on the second floor and entered the Command Center doors.

The Command Center was a whirlwind of activity, discussion and information all moving at FTL speed in every direction. For as long as Habraum had been a Brigadier, this two-tier room served as the nexus for Star Brigade data transmissions and assignments. It also operated as Hollus Maddrone’s main bridge, handling day-to-day operations of the starbase. Its walls were a silvery metal alloy mix of titanium and arkanium, the same alloy they used inside the best Union Command Cruisers. Running along the walls on both tiers were various blinking consoles, small viewscreens and controller interfaces with information on UComm AeroFleet ships docking at Hollus Maddrone and TransNet datastreams, refreshing every 30 nanoclics. The tracings around these consoles and viewscreens were angular, intricate, bright red in their hue, most likely of Thulican origin. They held a striking contrast to the silvery white of the Command Center walls.

In front and center sat a vast viewscreen, slightly curved inward and towering at least 12 metrids—just shy of touching the lower edge of the Command Center’s vaulted ceilings. Currently it displayed countless diagrams and more TransNet broadcasts. Three UComm officers sat in front of the viewscreen’s operational panel, engrossed in their work and nothing else. Numerous UComm analysts worked diligently at their workstations, some racing back and forth between the first or second tiers, all chatting away and exchanging information as quickly as possible. There was nothing too frenzied about the scene Habraum witnessed. Everything and everyone flowed in an efficient and slightly hyperactive manner.

In the middle of this controlled chaos was Lethe, the director of Hollus Maddrone. He stood with poise and serenity, listening intently to reports from the second tier. He craned his long neck in Habraum’s direction and right away the Cerc felt a gentle, telepathic nudge.

Are you alright? I sensed your worry from outside.
Lethe’s voice soothed through Habraum’s mind.