Zurra took a deep breath, slung his okka rifle over his shoulder and began scaling down the side of the structure.
#
Oraank motioned for his bodyguards to stop as they reached a dead end. Hard snow and shards of ice pelted them as they stood exposed against the rocky wall above the dark crater.
“Grakko is gone,” one of his men wheezed, shielding his eyes.
“There must be another way,” Oraank barked and looked down. “See, there are structures down there. That must be where the cable car at the main settlement goes.”
They watched the cable car sputter to life on the other side of the chasm and begin grinding towards the wheelhouse. Oraank studied the buildings far below. “Those buildings are no more than fifty feet beneath us, we can try to descend.”
The two bodyguards stared at each other in concern, but the boom of a fighter patrolling above the crater underscored their peril and they begrudgingly followed their leader down.
#
Zurra heard the grind of the cable car and hurried his climb, reaching a catwalk at the bottom of the structure as the car neared. He stared over the edge to see the cables moving through the thick snowfall and glanced up at the wheelhouse on the other side of the chasm, nestled between two larger structures on a precipice. As he watched the far-off buildings, he noticed movement on the crater wall. It was Oraank and his men, climbing down the side!
They must be truly desperate, Zurra thought and watched the cable car emerge from below. He waited until it was fully beneath him before saying a quick prayer, vaulting himself over the railing and landing atop the small transport with a thud. The roof of the car was coated in a thick sheet of ice and he lost his footing, barely catching the edge of the roof and leaving him dangling in full view of the three surprised krokator inside.
So much for surprise.
The heretics all went for their okka guns. Zurra scrambled out of the way as one of the krokator kicked out one of the glass panes to get a better shot at him. As the heretic leaned out, Zurra swung one of his legs up, kicking him square in the jaw, causing him to lose his footing and plunge out of the cable car and to his death. Zurra pulled himself inside and found two okka guns trained right in his face.
“Dumb move, Imperial,” one of the heretics growled with glee as his finger tightened on the trigger.
A gust of wind rocked the car. Zurra seized his opportunity and grabbed the barrel of the okka rifle, swinging it towards the second heretic. Instinctively, the first enemy squeezed down on the trigger, accidentally peppering his friend with needles.
Zurra wrenched away the rifle and tossed it out of the open window, reaching around for his own. The heretic smacked him across the forehead, slamming Zurra’s head against a window, nearly cracking it. Disoriented, he tried to pick himself back up but found a pair of hands around his throat, squeezing down.
“This ends here,” the heretic spat and pressed his thumbs into Zurra’s windpipe. A blast of snow and ice poured in through the window, pelting them with frozen debris. Both slid across the floor and rolled into the far corner with a hard thud.
Freed from the vice of the heretic’s hands, Zurra grabbed the okka rifle from around his shoulder and swung it around, smacking the heretic in the head with the butt. In the split second it took for the heretic to sprawl dazed across the floor, Zurra fired three successive darts, all three striking between the shoulder blades.
Zurra rubbed his throat as his earpiece buzzed. “Sharm Zurra, can you hear us?”
“I can hear you,” he replied with a gasp. “I am on a cable car nearing a wheelhouse at the bottom of a ravine. I think Oraank is cornered down here.”
“The fool! Find him and apprehend him.”
Zurra nodded. “Confirmed.”
The cable car reached the wheelhouse and he jumped through the open window onto a thin iron walkway. Hundreds of feet below, he could vaguely make out the snowy crater floor. He made his way through a door back out into the blizzard and saw an isolated platform atop which was perched a lonely silver sphere. Before he could get a good look, a gust of wind knocked Zurra to the ground. When he glanced back up, the sphere had rolled off of the platform and into the darkness below.
The wind howled and Zurra stayed close to the wall, trying to see through the furious snow. Something moved up ahead and Zurra jumped aside as two okka needles buried themselves into the wall where he had been standing just moments before.
A mottled-skinned krokator came roaring out of the storm with his okka rifle raised high. Zurra grabbed the rifle before the krokator could fire again and twisted it away, losing control of his own rifle in the process. The large Wurkkanosh krokator struck him and sent Zurra toppling from the building down to the rocky outcrop below.
The Wurkkanosh hopped down after him. “We have an Imperial, sir!”
Zurra heard voices from up above and he slowly regained his footing, watching the Wurkkanosh approach. “Come at me then, heretic!”
The krokator growled and pounced. Zurra blocked a right hook and spun the heretic into the cliff wall, grabbing ahold of his face and slamming his head into the rocks. The heretic grunted and sagged towards the ground. Zurra rammed his head into the cliff one last time and shoved him away, watching him roll like a rag doll down over the edge.
Zurra heard a commotion above him and glanced up, spotting figures moving along the catwalk atop the nearest structure. His gaze continued to a door opening out onto the outcrop from the building and he burst straight for it, okka needles piercing the snow behind him as he plowed through the door into the electrical shed powering the cable car.
“He went downstairs!”
Zurra gasped for air, watching his breath steam up one of the control panels. There was a noise from up above and one of the Wurkkanosh started descending a ladder at the far end of the shed. Zurra slung his Obedience Stick off his belt, flicked it on and twirled it in his hand, stepping back behind a humming generator in anticipation.
The large, gray krokator dropped down to the floor, okka gun ready. “Come out, Imperial, so I can kill you!”
“As you wish!” Zurra scoffed and stepped out from behind the generator, hurling the Obedience Stick across the room into one of the control panels. The electrified baton shorted the panel, spraying sparks and blacking out the shed. Zurra charged forward and pushed the Wurkkanosh into the console. There was a scream, a fizzle, and then only silence and the smell of burnt flesh.
Zurra carefully looked up the ladder. Oraank was waiting up there. Not one to hesitate, Zurra snatched the corpse’s okka gun from the floor and scaled the ladder.
#
Oraank staggered out onto the rocky ledge beyond the shed and a strong gust of wind nearly blew him off of the edge and he dropped to one knee, barely keeping his balance.
Where was Grakko? There was nothing on this ledge. He was trapped here at the mercy of the howling winds roaring out of the crater. How could Grakko have escaped?
He clambered up to his feet, looking around the cliffside. There was no other path. Another gust of wind whistled along the crater wall, and he at last realized that Grakko had found some other escape route he had failed to notice. He was trapped.
“Oraank!” a voice called from behind. Oraank spun to see an Imperial soldier crouched in the doorway to the electrical shed ten feet away. “Stand where you are!”
The wind howled and Oraank tightened his grip on his gun. “What are you going to do? Arrest me? Go ahead and try!”
Zurra tensed and inched forward. “You either leave this ledge a prisoner or a corpse, Oraank. You know you are cornered.”
“Only a fool would follow me down here alone, Imperial!”
“I will not give you another chance, heretic.”
“Then come and get me!” Oraank said and raised his okka gun, squeezing the trigger.
Zurra dodged an okka needle and fired two in return. They sailed wide to the left of Oraank but caused him to stumble backwards over the edge of the out
crop, and he vanished into the blizzard.
Zurra pressed a finger to his ear. “This is Sharm Zurra! Oraank is gone. He fell over the edge into the crater.”
“Why would he have climbed down there? He must have known he was cornered!
“I do not know,” Zurra replied, wondering just that. “I do not know.”
Chapter Two: Shoregrove
Two months later
Los Angeles, Planet Terra, Sol System, Human Alliance
“Colonel Moss, in your opinion, is there sufficient evidence to back up the Krokator Star Empire’s claims against Hessian Engineering in light of the Piskka incident?”
Colonel Gary Moss, a thin man in his late forties with quickly graying hair, leaned towards the vox. “As far as Military Intelligence is concerned, Commissioner, there has been little information gleaned from the krokator that could be used in the ongoing probe of Hessian Engineering.”
The hearing room, one of dozens of identical chambers in the bowels of Shoregrove Hall, was filled with reporters, politicians and intelligence experts. In front of the panel of twelve Commissioners, six from each of the Alliance’s two main political parties, Moss and Major John Gresham sat at a tiny metal table. The chief counsel for Military Intelligence barely fit at the end.
A new Commissioner piped up. “Major Gresham, what is your opinion?”
Gresham cracked his knuckles under the table and shifted in his seat. “My opinion on what exactly, Mr. Commissioner?”
“On the Piskka raid and its implications for this special committee’s investigation, Major. It is my understanding that you are Section Four’s in-house expert on the Krokator Star Empire in addition to your duties as Junior Liaison Officer to the Commission.”
“Well, I’ve worked as a translator and political analyst, if that’s what you mean.”
“I believe you authored this paper here, The Correlation of Military Spending and the Political Stability of the Krokator Star Empire, a few years ago,” the Commissioner replied, holding up a thick, bound document. “It is a very thorough work.”
“Well, I’m flattered you read it, Mr. Commissioner.”
“Please answer the question, Major,” a female Commissioner reprimanded sternly.
“I apologize, Mrs. Commissioner. I was merely clarifying the Commissioner’s identification of me as an expert,” Gresham grunted. He turned his attention back to the Commissioner who had raised the question. “To answer your question, sir, I think the Piskka raid is irrelevant in terms of your investigation into Hessian Engineering, and I think you are missing the big picture.”
Moss leaned over to Gresham and covered the microphone. “John, be careful. They’re not interested in anything not related to illegal weapons sales. You’re on thin ice.”
The Commissioner cleared her throat to speak again. “Major Gresham, I’m not sure what you mean. Could you elaborate?”
“Certainly. Based on what little we know, there would not be sufficient evidence of Hessian breaking any Allied laws per se. The krokator have, predictably, given the Alliance no access to bank statements, transaction histories, or anything we could use. The existence of tax havens and money laundering hubs is deplorable, but whatever the krokator have on Hessian after Piskka, they’re not sharing with us.”
There was a murmur of disapproval. The female Commissioner considered this and then asked, “Major Gresham, what exactly do the krokator have?”
“They hit the pocketbook of more than one guerilla faction, and they have accused Hessian as well as other interstellar corporations of money laundering. With the evidence we’ve seen in regards to Hessian’s conduct on other worlds, it wouldn’t surprise me in the least. Again, my view is that the Commission would be unable to add charges against Hessian, Madame.”
Moss smirked and said, “Good job,” under his breath to Gresham, who leaned back in his chair, letting out a long sigh. As the Junior Liaison Officer to the Commission – JLOC for short – he served directly under Moss, the Senior Liaison Officer. Both were longtime veterans of similar Commission hearings.
A new Commissioner chimed in. “Major Gresham, you said something about us missing the big picture. Before we excuse you, what did you mean?”
Gresham locked eyes with the Commissioner. “Piskka is not part of the Empire. As an unaligned world it has sovereignty, sovereignty which was violated in the raid two months ago. If you’ll recall, fifty-five years ago the Krokator Star Empire violated unaligned worlds in a similar fashion, leading directly to the Fifth Human-Krokator War. The fact that you are more worried about slapping a military contractor on the wrist for illegal weapons sales and not addressing the most brazen belligerency by the krokator in half a century is more than stupid – it is a direct threat to the security of the Alliance. In my opinion, Mr. Commissioner.”
There was a stunned silence before the female Commissioner slowly said, “Colonel Moss, Major Gresham, you’re both excused. Thank you.”
#
“One of these days, John, you’re going to say something dumb in one of those hearings and some Commissioner will call our bosses and demand that they make an example of us.”
Gresham and Moss emerged from the hallway leading to the hearing chamber into Shoregrove Hall’s spectacular atrium overlooking the palm tree-lined Crest Avenue. The old domed building, sitting square in the heart of Santa Monica, housed the Commission of the Alliance’s chamber. Ringing the building, visible in the early afternoon breeze, were the flags of all forty-seven member worlds of the Alliance, from economic powerhouses like Manhattan, New Prussia or Aurora to minor colonies such as Aegis Prime and Parsalus.
“That’s assuming anyone at MID really cares what the Commission thinks,” Gresham snorted as they walked out through a security checkpoint. “Besides, it’s good for politicians to have their egos bruised every now and then.”
They stepped out into the infernal July heat, each taking a deep breath that felt like inhaling fire. In the distance, against the hazy sky, the towers of downtown Los Angeles reached for the heavens. Crest Ave, miles long and originating amongst those same towers, stretched past them, heading for the nearby Pacific coast. The street was surprisingly empty for a weekday, until Gresham noticed that a section had been cordoned off.
A large crowd had formed around a podium built on the plaza separating Shoregrove Hall from Crest Ave, barely two hundred yards from where Gresham and Moss stood. Alongside the star-covered, navy blue Alliance flags fluttering in the breeze were garish teal and yellow banners with rounded edges – not a human design.
“Well that I explains why the street is empty,” Gresham realized. “I completely forgot. The President of Vega is here on a state visit. He and President Paine are speaking soon.”
“You’d think the committee could have picked a different day to call us down here for their witch trial,” Moss grunted and tapped his portable screen, reading a report. “Security must be extra tight after all the recent terrorist attacks.”
“I’m surprised they’re even letting them speak in public, especially after the Gardelli Crown Prince was murdered a few days ago.”
“John Gresham!” a voice called out over the plaza. “John, over here!”
Gresham turned to see a tall, firm-jawed man in his early forties approaching. The handsome figure waved again to acknowledge him and Gresham grinned.
“Greg! Good to see you!”
Commissioner Gregory Reed heartily grabbed Gresham’s hand and shook it. “I thought that was you. How have you been?”
“Oh the same, you know,” Gresham chuckled and indicated Moss. “Greg, you remember Colonel Gary Moss, SLOC Section Four.”
“I recall hearing your presentations on a committee or two,” Reed said and shook Moss’s hand. “Nice to see you again, Colonel.”
“Commissioner Reed.”
“What brings the two of you down here? You here to see the President’s speech?”
“The special panel investigating Hessian En
gineering wanted us to come down and tell them things they already knew,” Moss remarked sarcastically. “It’s a shame you’re not on the committee, Commissioner. It could use somebody with an understanding of the military and our general line of work.”
“You’ll have to excuse my colleagues, Colonel, they mean well.” Reed glanced back at Gresham. “It’s been way too long, John. It’s good to see you again.”
“That’s my cue,” Moss interjected and shook Reed’s hand again. “Pleasure as always, Commissioner. I’ll see you back at the office, John.”
“Gary.”
Gresham and Reed entered the crowd, pressing their way to get a better view from a pair of steps leading up to the glistening glass façade of Shoregrove. Two members of the Shoregrove Police were adjusting the microphones on the podium while an aide tested them to make sure they sounded right.
“How’re the wife and kids?” Gresham asked as they found the best vantage point.
“Doing just fine, thanks for asking! You seeing anyone now or are you still holed up in that apartment of yours like a hermit?”
“You’re an ass, Greg,” Gresham snorted and crossed his arms, quickly changing the subject. “Speaking of the Hessian committee, what’s the latest on the investigation? They any closer to filing charges against the company?”
“Any day now has turned into any week now,” Reed replied. “The defense contractor oversight legislation is even more bogged down. You know how it is in this town. Commissioners from both parties get cold feet once their campaign contributors start calling them up to protest new laws or regulations. Business as usual.”
“You’ve turned into a cynic, Greg. We don’t spend nearly enough time together enough for me to rub off that much on you.”
A yellow humanoid stepped up onto the podium and began testing the microphones. The alien tapped one of them, smiled and nodded at a nearby human in approval.
“So how’s that MID officer doing?”
“Hmm?”
“The one who got attacked at Defense a few days ago. I heard about it on the news. They said he got stabbed in the chest and stomach trying to stop a burglar.”
Gresham grimaced. “Oh, you mean Jeff Vance. Well, yes, he’s alive. More than can be said for the employee at Defense who got his throat slit and intestines spilled all over his office. Looks like he was the target. Beats me as to why.”