James Scotson - Planets Falling

“There is no doubt that these are the bad guys,” Fromer muttered to Etch. Etch closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead.

Etch glanced at another screen. “The biological sensor estimates about five hundred sentients in the colony. It cannot penetrate more than a few feet underground. I would double the number of combatants to one thousand to account for individuals hidden below the surface. Most of the life appears to be human. However, there are zenats and even a few naurons present.” Etch took a bite of meat from the grilled leg of some zenatan animal.

“It is time to call in the calvary.” Fromer grinned. His black eyes twinkled in the moonlight.

The Institute and zenat high command sent three battle vessels within the next day. The naurons sent an additional spy ship to observe the fight and assess its impact on their embryonic world. Fromer and his crew remained hidden on the planet and waited for events to unfold. The soldiers were upbeat and excited about the prospective tussle.

The first volley came quickly. A small galaxy class pirate ship dropped into high orbit. The Institute vessels quickly surrounded it while the vessel’s quantum drive was still glowing. Its crew surrendered immediately with the exception of the pilot, who jettisoned himself into space. Fromer’s drones revealed that several of the ships on the surface were preparing for flight. It was time for them to act.

Etch jumped into the pilot command while Fromer and his soldiers piled into the rear of the shuttle. The shuttle lifted silently and circled the crevasse — the city and makeshift spaceport deep in the gloom below. Shots from a small plasma cannon in the tiny city flew toward the shuttle. Etch expertly evaded the smoking, golden orbs as if they were annoying snowballs. Each soldier jumped out of the shuttle, forming a perimeter around the colony. Each was armed with a pulsed ion cannon, which ionized the hulls of ships causing their thrusters to fail. The weapons were silent, clean, and safe for organisms — but deadly to any ship or equipment that required power to operate.

The first ship to lift was a scarlet and black cruiser that held a complement of about fifteen people. Fromer’s soldiers fired. In moments, the vessel stalled and fell back to the platform with a metallic thud. No explosion occurred. But Fromer was quite sure the inhabitants were either dead or gravely hurt. The attack would give the pirates pause about sending more ships into the narrow space. The same qualities that hid the colony so well made it impossible for the stolen ships to escape.

Five more Institute and zenat shuttles appeared above the canyon, gleaming in the sunlight. Another volley of half-hearted fire emerged from the surface. Soldiers dropped out of each vessel, landing strategically in the rocks around the colony. From his vantage along the rim of the crevasse, Fromer heard rifle shots, explosions, and screaming. It was time for him to descend.

He opened his pack, deployed a thin rope, and deftly lowered himself down the slick rock face. The ground was enveloped in a thick haze of smoke. Screams and rifle fire spun directly ahead. From the drone recon, he and Etch identified a command center, which was about a thousand feet to his right. If orders were being given to the pirates, this is where they were generated. He felt his way to the rock wall and followed it, frequently glancing at his positioning system. The smoke thinned slightly and he saw it — a metallic building with a series of antennae on the roof. In this stony chasm, all transmissions needed a serious boost. It was from this building that they were being broadcast at high power. Two figures — one clearly human and the other likely zenat — crouched before the door, repeating rifles clutched in their hands.

Fromer reached into his pack and produced a small stick. He flicked his wrist and the pole tripled in size; a glowing blade appeared on the end — his one gift from Minna — a lancet. He leapt silently at the door. In two quick swipes, the guards were splayed open, blood streaked on the ground. He pulled a lens from his helmet visor, placing it over his right eye. It allowed him to image the heat signatures in the building. The computer in his visor reported that there were likely five humanoids in the building. Two were in the room directly beyond the door. The others were in a rear area. It also showed a tunnel below the building with an unknown cadre of individuals.

Fromer ripped a canister from his hip belt, kicked open the door, and threw the can inside. Smoke filled the room; Fromer rushed forward. His visor showed a figure crouching in the corner. He pounced, dispatching the pirate with one flick of his lancet and a fine mist of blood. He felt a jab on his back and turned to see a black figure with a large pole in his hand. A hulking zenat dressed in traditional battle armor grinned at Fromer in the haze. Fromer stepped back, stumbled, and fell. The zenat warrior lunged forward with his pole. Fromer flipped around and swung the lancet at his attacker’s legs. An image of Mup briefly passed his mind. The warrior screamed in pain. Fromer shoved his knee in the zenat’s face and finished the creature with his lancet.

Bits of dirt and metal sprayed Fromer’s face. Somone was firing at him with a simple rifle from an adjacent room. Fromer crouched behind an empty cargo container and lobbed a concussion grenade. Upon impact, the grenade collapsed the pocket of air around the shooter. She groaned as her eardrums ruptured from the implosion. Fromer jumped, grabbed her rifle, and ended her life.

The visor computer calmly announced: “Assailant forward, ten meters, 25 degrees.”

Fromer realized this was a combatant in the adjacent room, waiting for him. He spoke calmly. “Come out and I will not harm you.”

The smoke lifted. Fromer stood facing the rear door as a squat, muscular figure appeared. Mup.

“Hello old friend.” Mup leaned on the threshold, twirling his lancet casually. It was still undeployed — contracted with no blade in sight. Fromer recalled the happy day Minna gave the weapon to Mup.

“Mup. What are you doing here? Are you being held captive?” Fromer knew the answer but was still processing his disbelief.

“Fromer, you know better. It could easily be you standing here. These people on the floor were my friends, my family. You killed them all. I can’t let this stand.”

Fromer sat on the container. “Mup, we have no friends and family. This was clear when we left the training world. You and I, we are freaks of the galaxy. Look at us. We can produce no offspring; we are lethal; we have no history.”

“My dear brother, you’re so very wrong. We’re free like the rest of them.” Mup gestured to the fallen soldiers. “We owe allegiance to only those we choose. It’s false that the Institute and zenats guide our future. They may have created us in a laboratory. No love or passion was present during our inception. But this doesn’t mean that we must live our lives devoid of these feelings. We aren’t tools of the Collective’s greedy alliance. Can’t you see Fromer? They want control of it all.”

“You are deluding yourself Mup. Do you believe these people, these cold-blooded killers are your friends? They are driven by greed and profit, not a search for freedom. I daresay many of them pillage and destroy for the sheer joy of it. That is purely evil. They are agents of destruction and disorder. They are using you just as the Institute does — for your strength, intellect, and agelessness.”

“I fell in love, Fromer. She was the pilot on one of my missions for the Collective. We realized that we had similar stories. Both of us were indentured agents for the Families. We lost our childhood to the calculus of galatic progress. Her brother, another pilot, had already rebelled and joined our cause. She was working for us while she continued serving the Families.”