Unsung Heroes
Chapter Seven

With the engines off and the lights powered down, the Black Scourge was deathly silent. Through his night vision visor, Terrik peered out a window into the cold recesses of space. The ship was still drifting quietly in orbit around Moaz, with no one the wiser as to what was happening aboard.

None of them spoke as they made their way through the pitch-black corridors, and the only sound he heard was the soft patter of their footsteps against the cold metal flooring.

Terrik had always prided himself on his nerves of steel. He had faced down waves of enemies alone without the slightest trepidation. But right now, trapped in the derelict, powerless vessel with a vengeful, eviscerating Biomancer, even he was growing scared.

The air felt thinner by the second, making it harder and harder to breathe—which, in turn, made it more difficult to concentrate. He checked his watch. The countdown showed forty-five minutes left.

“Take the next right,” the hooded man advised. His flashlight waved back and forth, piercing the gloom in an almost hypnotic rhythm. Somehow, the shifting light in the otherwise black hallway made Terrik even more nervous.

The three of them rounded the corner and stopped. They were at the main power generator. Nearly twenty meters tall, the reactor was angled at the bottom like a screwdriver pointed toward the floor. Light blue pulses emanated from the spinning power source, maintaining the artificial gravity within the vessel. But with the central computer on the bridge locked out and powered down, there was little more the generator could do for them.

A wide chasm surrounded the reactor on all sides, more than thirty meters deep—easily fatal to anyone who fell in. Designed as diffusion tunnels to vent the excess energy, they were not meant to be traversed. Catwalks had been built for maintenance purposes, but large warning signs were placed across the walkways, cautioning soldiers of the sporadic bursts of energy that sometimes showered the catwalks in electrical sparks.

“There has to be another way,” Terrik muttered.

The computer hacker shook his head. “No. The emergency ladder we used to get to this side of the ship is sealed with electronic locks. Without power, I can’t open them. The same is true for the main service doors you used. If we’re getting to the hangar, we have to go through here.”

Wonderful, Terrik thought. Another giant pile of good news.

Without a word, Dex moved past them. He pushed aside the warning markers and marched onto the catwalk. Terrik and the hooded figure looked at one another, then at the catwalk, before following behind.

With each step they took, the metal walkway creaked and moaned, as though threatening to collapse. Gripping both rails, Terrik clenched his teeth and forced himself to keep going. The path wove over and around the generator, but as he drew closer, Terrik realized a section of their catwalk and the one below them was missing, as though something had fallen from a great height and crashed through this very spot.

The computer expert shined his light across the expanse. “That’s at least a fifteen meter gap. Now what do we do?” His voice echoed throughout the chamber.

Dex knelt down at the edge of the chasm as though judging the gap for himself. He took six steps backward, then took off in a sprint, gathering some speed before vaulting through the air, augmented by his Biomancer abilities. The Latoroth landed firmly on the other side of the catwalk, one hand down in a crouched position.

Not bad, Terrik thought. But how does he expect us to get across?

“Any ideas?” Terrik whispered to the computer hacker.

The man shook his head. “No. If I had my grappling gun we could swing across, but it was confiscated with the rest of my belongings.”

Terrik did a quick inventory of his own possessions. His jet pack was the obvious choice, but he was low on fuel.

“I should have enough fuel to fly across alone, but together we might not make it . . .” he muttered.

“Then go alone,” the computer expert said. “There’s no sense in you—hey!”

Terrik took hold of the hooded figure and activated his jet pack This man had freed him and fought with the courage of a true warrior, so there was no way Terrik would leave him behind.

For a brief instant, Terrik was sure they were going to make it. Then, partway over the chasm, his jet pack sputtered and died. Falling at an angle, Terrik reached for the edge of the catwalk . . .

And missed.

Loralona darted through the valley, careful to keep to the shadows. The six warriors guarding and mutilating her ship, the Coming Storm, would be more than a match for her if they saw her approaching. She had basic training in close-quarters combat, but the Shock Syndicate had spent significantly more time developing her ability to thrive in the shadows. And that required patience.

There were two ways to take down enemies in stealth: the first was to attack fast and hard, before the enemy had time to react. The second was to cast a blanket of deception, letting the enemy destroy themselves through fear and paranoia. If given the option, Loralona preferred the latter.

Squeezing in between two rocks, she pulled out one of the six replicators from her satchel. The device could imitate any sound within the the Shock Syndicate database, a trick she had used countless times before. Scanning the device, she found the creature she wanted. It was a Sleezak—a type of sand burrower indigenous to Moaz. It was known for toying with its prey for minutes at a time before killing with its two large fangs.

Quietly she pulled out four more replicators and programmed them to the same creature, leaving the final replicator empty. Pushing her brown hair behind her ears, Loralona took out a remote, and stepped out into the light of the three moons. If the enemy stayed true to the routine she had studied, one of the guards walking the perimeter would be coming around the boulder momentarily. It all came down to timing. She only had three seconds to pull it off.

Loralona exhaled slowly, suppressing her inner fire again as she drew her combat knife. Honing her senses, she heard the sound of boots crunching in the desert sand. Instinctively she pushed the button.

A surge of power pulsated through her camouflage generator. It was the newest technology within the Shock Syndicate—a device that enabled the wearer to blend in with the background like a chameleon. But because of the large energy output, the device only lasted three seconds, and needed to be recharged before it could be used again.

The soldier, carrying an automatic plasma carbine, came around the corner, walking directly toward Loralona. If she moved, her background would change and she’d stick out. Remaining motionless, she counted down the seconds in her head. After two more steps he was within arm’s reach of her.

The soldier paused, looking crookedly in her direction.

“Wait a min—”

Loralona didn’t let him finish his sentence. Springing forward, she drove her knife deep into the base of his neck—one of the few areas unprotected by his armor. He slumped to the ground, fatally wounded.

Now it’s time to go to work.

Kneeling beside the dead soldier, she pierced another hole into his neck five centimeters beside the fatal blow, imitating two large fang marks. An expert would spot the differences between her blade and the creature’s fangs, but she doubted these Varrcaran grunts were that clever. Loralona took the final replicator and set it to emulate a man’s scream, burying it beneath the Varrcaran warrior.

Melting into the shadows, she made her way around the camp, keeping a watchful eye out for the remaining guards. At each stop she buried one of the replicators in the sand, only a couple centimeters from the surface.

All set. Now to replace a good spot to watch the camp unnoticed.

Stopping behind another large boulder, Loralona relaxed her coiled muscles. It was time to make her foes uneasy. Tuning in to the conversation of the men around the campfire, she waited for an opportunity.

“Once we’re done with this piece of junk, we’ve got another ship to dismantle before we can leave this miserable little planet,” one of the soldiers said. Anger flared within her at the man’s off-handed remark about her ship, but Loralona quickly reined it in.

“Really?” the other soldier asked, his shoulders slumping. “Where at?”

“Two kilometers northwest of here.”

“Maybe it’ll actually have something of value,” the man grumbled.

“Maybe. But probably not. These people are scum-suckers, after all. They think a loaf of bread is pure gold.”

The two soldiers laughed. Had she been carrying her poison dart launcher, Loralona would have ended their laughing for them, but she had a plan, and was sticking to it. To her right, she saw the soldier that had been walking the perimeter head for the campfire.

“Have you guys seen Ghent?” the man asked, checking his rifle. “I haven’t seen him for the past fifteen minutes.”

“That’s odd. Maybe he’s replaceing a spot in the sand to water.”

“I don’t know, check the walkie-talkie,” another said.

“But the commander gave strict orders for radio silence unless it’s an emergency.”

“This could be an emergency. Call him in,” the last soldier ordered. The one holding the rifle nodded, cocked his head, then placed his hand by his ear.

“Ghent, come in . . .”

The men waited, but no reply came. The five troopers looked at each other, none of them knowing what to say. A thin smile crept across Loralona’s lips.

“Ghent, I said come in. Report immediately, soldier.”

Loralona let the silence grow. Five seconds, ten seconds, until it hung over the soldiers like a heavy cloud.

Then she activated the first replicator.

A blood-curdling scream echoed across the valley. The warriors jumped, taking a full second to recover before one of them spoke.

“It’s Ghent. He’s in trouble!”

All five men sprinted from the campsite. Loralona stalked them in the shadows, letting the first four pass beyond striking distance. As the final soldier ran by, she pounced, silently driving her combat knife into the base of his neck twice, as she had done before. He crumpled to the ground and she darted to her second position, unnoticed.

Loralona took a deep breath and tried her best to calm herself. Adrenaline coursed through her veins, but right now she needed to stay in control—precise and honed. She closed her eyes and listened for her enemy.

“He’s dead!” one of the soldiers shouted, having reached the body.

“What happened?” another asked. “I’ve been walking perimeter for the last four hours and haven’t seen anyone.”

“I don’t think a person did this . . .”

“What do you mean?”

“See those two punctures in his neck? Those look like fang marks to me.”

“Tell me it’s not one of those sand burrowers.”

“I hope I’m wrong.”

“Hey, guys,” came a fourth voice. “Where is Beodine?”

“I thought he was right behind us!”

Time for phase two, Loralona thought to herself.

She reached to her side and set off the second replicator, the one only a few meters from the soldiers. A deep, bellowing call lingered in the air several seconds before twisting into a high frequency shriek.

The soldiers paled. “It’s burrowers! Run!”

Loralona heard their heavy boots pounding through the sand as they neared. The soldiers didn’t even bother to stop at the second body as they went by.

Right past Loralona.

She sprang on the soldier trailing slightly behind. With two quick thrusts in his neck, he died before he could utter a word.

The remaining three made for the desert. But Loralona wasn’t done yet. She set off the third replicator, several meters in front of them. The ominous sound of the Sleezak rumbled from the ground, corralling the soldiers back toward the campsite.

A smart foe would have noticed the lack of vibrations beneath the sand, but these goons were either too frightened or too stupid to see through her ruse. Loralona waited patiently, corralling them back and forth between the hidden replicators like a herd of lambs to the slaughter. As they ran past her position again, she pounced on the soldier with the rifle, killing him quickly before the others could notice.

The final two men climbed onto a boulder, standing back-to-back. A nervous tic overtook them and they looked around wildly. They drew their plasma pistols, ready to make a last stand against a monster that was only in their minds.

Or perhaps the monster is real. They just don’t know what it looks like.

It was a role she didn’t mind after seeing these same warriors butcher countless innocent people the day before.

I’m just taking out the trash.

Loralona picked up the dead soldier’s plasma rifle and sighted in. Two loud shots echoed across the valley and the final two soldiers crumpled to the ground.

The battle was over, and not a moment too soon. The temperature was dropping rapidly. Much longer out in the cold and she wouldn’t be able to move her fingers. Loralona recovered her replicators and jogged to her ship, climbing inside to survey the damage.

All it took was a glance for her to realize she wouldn’t be able to repair the vessel. The engine had been carelessly ripped free, severing cords, wires, and mechanisms she needed to fly her ship off this rock. The flames of her anger grew. A hundred memories of the Coming Storm flashed through her mind. Her ship was something precious to her, but now it was little more than an empty shell.

Loralona bit her lip. She couldn’t stay here—not with a dreadnought still in orbit around the planet. They would undoubtedly send a regiment to investigate the soldiers’ disappearances, and she wouldn’t be able to handle them all.

Wait. Didn’t the soldiers say there was another ship northwest of here?

Right now it was her only hope of escape. Grabbing an extra coat and gloves, Loralona bid her last farewell to the Coming Storm, and set out.

Tola held his breath as the bounty hunter’s jet pack sputtered and died. Their momentum halted and Tola felt his body go weightless for a moment before they plummeted. His ally desperately reached for the edge of the catwalk only to come up short by a few centimeters.

A scream escaped Tola’s lips as they picked up speed.

“Hold on!” the bounty hunter shouted.

Tola’s arms were already wrapped around the armored man, but now he clasped his wrists so tight he could feel his fingernails digging into his skin.

Suddenly the bounty hunter lurched to a halt. Tola slipped down the sleek armor and barely caught himself on the warrior’s boots. He looked up and saw his ally clinging to the lower catwalk, nearly twenty meters off the ground and positioned diagonal to the ledge above.

The bounty hunter grunted. “Quick, climb up!”

Tola wasn’t the strongest guy around, but he could handle his own body weight. Bit by bit, he climbed up the bounty hunter and pulled himself onto the cool, corrugated steel. As soon as he was firmly on the catwalk, Tola reached out and helped the armored warrior up as best as he could. The bounty hunter flopped onto his back, and they both took a second to catch their breaths.

Tola couldn’t believe it. This man had risked everything to get him across the chasm. Never would he have expected a bounty hunter to make such a sacrifice.

“Are you two done napping?” Dex yelled down from above.

“We’re fine, thanks,” the bounty hunter replied as he pushed himself to his feet and reached out a hand to Tola. “Let’s go.”

Tola pulled himself up. “Listen, thanks for—”

The bounty hunter held up a hand to stop him. “We’d better get going. By the way, that wasn’t a very manly scream back there.”

Tola cleared his throat. “What are you talking about? That was as manly as they come!”

“Afraid not, human,” Dex echoed from above.

Tola opened his mouth to protest but they didn’t give him time. The armored warrior pushed past him and ran down the suspended walkway. Ten meters above, Dex started running as well. Tola shook his head and followed suit.

It wasn’t that girly. . . .

It was the vacancy that bothered Dex. The stillness, the . . . emptiness of such a massive ship he found unsettling. Not long ago there had been soldiers in almost every room. Now they had all vanished. It reminded him of his years in solitary, contained apart from everyone else in an inky black void.

True, no personnel would be stationed in the reactor room, but even on the way here he hadn’t heard or seen even a single sign of life from the rest of the ship. No comm chatter or the pounding footsteps of a unit marching through the corridors. No attack ships screaming outside or requesting permission to board.

It was as if Janus had somehow gotten them all.

Dex shook his head. Paranoia was starting to get to him. He and Tola had counted nearly forty guards still aboard, and there was no way Janus could have killed everyone in the time it had taken them to travel through that emergency hatch.

The faint smell of blood hit Dex’s nostrils—the rotting stench of decay he’d come to associate with one man.

Janus. He was following them.

As much as Dex wanted to turn around and fight, time was too critical right now; it was already difficult to breathe, and they would need every second possible to force the hangar doors open and steal a shuttle in time.

A beep echoed from somewhere within the cavernous chamber. Somewhere close. Dex searched his black jacket and found a small transceiver hidden in his pocket. Below him the other two stopped to listen.

“Hello, Dex,” came Janus’s snide voice over the transmitter.

Dex felt his rage spiking within him. This man was like a demon, plaguing him no matter where he went or what he did.

“Nothing to say? I hope you don’t mind that I slipped this in while you were frantically sputtering for your life. I just wanted to let you know I’d be there soon. And for you Dex,” Janus snickered, “I’m going to crush your organs one by one, starti—”

Dex squeezed his hand into a fist, smashing the transceiver.

Chew on that, you luna—

He stopped as another sound echoed loudly throughout the chamber: a sharp chorus of metal straining and twisting. Dex wheeled around. With his augmented vision he saw Janus telekinetically forging a walkway over the chasm with metal stripped from across the room.

Dex’s eyes lit with fury. Janus could easily jump the ten meter gap—this was purely to flaunt his incredible powers.

“What is that?” Tola asked from the catwalk below. The groaning metal gave off a heavy, eerie sound.

“Nothing,” Dex replied. “Absolutely nothing. Let’s keep moving.” He squeezed the catwalk’s railing as hard as he could, venting some of his frustration before turning back around and breaking into a sprint.

Soon, Janus.

A minute later, he reached the opposite side of the reactor room, the catwalk spilling out into three adjacent corridors.

Which way?

“Dex! Take the left path,” Tola yelled from below. “Follow it to the end, and you should be at the hangar. We’ll meet you there.”

Dex unsheathed the scimitar strapped to his belt. He had a feeling he was going to need it..

Terrik lived and breathed by his code of honor. To his warrior clan, nothing was more sacred. He was sworn to fight to the death for his clan members, and they would do the same for him, without hesitation.

But to Terrik, Janus was not a warrior on the battlefield; he was a butcher. Symbolic of the worst someone could fall to, he was little more than a raving animal, not worthy of respect, and retreating from him brought no loss of honor.

At long last they exited the reactor chamber, a deep cackle echoing behind them. The computer expert shone his light back and forth between the corridors.

“Which way?” Terrik asked.

“Elevators are offline, so we need to replace a stairwell to go one floor up.”

“Follow me,” Terrik said, spotting a sign to their right.

As they bounded up the stairs, Terrik felt his head starting to spin. He stumbled once and placed a hand against the wall to maintain his balance. The oxygen deprivation was already affecting his motor skills.

We need to get out of here, fast.

“Are you all right?” the computer hacker asked.

“Yeah, just give me a second,” Terrik muttered. He closed his eyes and tried to relax his addled mind. Pressing forward, he heard plasma fire erupting from the main hangar. Cries of anguish followed almost simultaneously.

I hope that’s not more trouble waiting for us. We’re cutting this down to the wire.

Terrik and the hooded figure entered the hangar to replace Dex waging a one-man war against the troopers still stationed inside. The massive room was pitch black—Terrik knew from experience that the Varrcaran helmets weren’t equipped with night vision, giving Dex a huge advantage—but he was still greatly outnumbered.

Chambering his last energy pack, Terrik rested his rifle on the hand railing and sighted in. He counted seven soldiers still alive, most on the far end of the room from Dex, hiding behind crates. They were blindly shooting at any noise.

“Get down,” Terrik whispered to the computer hacker.

He fired six shots, dropping as many soldiers. The last turned and sprayed a volley of plasma fire wildly around the room before Dex ended her life with a slash of his scimitar.

Terrik breathed a sigh of relief.

Now we just need to open the hangar door and—

“Naomi?” the hooded man said suddenly, leaning forward.

Terrik followed the man’s gaze but there was no one in that direction. “What are you talking about? There’s no one there.”

The hacker blinked a few times, then shook his head. “Nothing. Never mind.”

Terrik paused. Was he hallucinating?

The warrior checked his watch. Fifteen minutes of oxygen left.

“Get over here!” Dex roared. “We need to pick a ship!”

Three vessels were docked in the hangar, all of which looked to be in good condition. Terrik and the hacker ran over to Dex when a tremor suddenly shook through the hangar. The warrior lost his balance and toppled over. Metal screamed and moaned as it was forcibly ripped from the walls around them.

He’s here.