The heretic howled as he clawed at his burnt face, but indicated a tunnel leading down deeper into the complex. Zurra had a split second to consider his options. Would he make it out alive if he continued that far down into the depths?
He threw caution to the wind, quickly breaking his prisoner’s neck and hurrying down into the smoky blackness. The geothermal lights flickered on and off. There was another rumble as an explosion went off on a higher level and Zurra barely dodged a stone dislodged from the ceiling. The base was on the verge of collapse.
He came out into a large reinforced cavern that was illuminated by sunlight, which could only mean one thing: he had found an escape route out of the complex. Another explosion and the ground shook again. He was running out of time.
Zurra sprinted through the cavern and started ascending a concrete ramp towards daylight, where the tunnel opened up onto a large platform overlooking the bog. Scattered heretics were fleeing the base and Zurra pursued, briefly pausing to take out two of them with okka needles before continuing.
The fighter pilots circling the base had apparently caught on to this leak and alerted the gunship in orbit, because an orbital missile exploded a few hundred yards behind Zurra, closing the escape tunnel and its force propelling him through the air. The earth shook and all the heretics fell to the ground.
Zurra picked himself back up and dispatched a silhouette he could make out through the swirling dust, hearing only his enemy’s brief yelp of surprise as one of the six-inch needles pierced his upper back.
He is close, Zurra thought and continued forward, splashing through the grimy water. Retribution was at hand.
And then, he appeared, like a ghost in the mist.
Zurra had never seen Marsa Grakko before in person, but he had memorized every photograph down the details of his posture and the exact purple tone of his skin. Zurra knew it was Grakko. He debated ending him with an okka needle, but he knew he had to kill the murderer of his brother with his bare hands.
“Grakko!” Zurra roared like his feral ancestors and found new speed in his feet. His quarry turned around and his hand went for his okka gun, but he could not reach it in time, and Zurra was upon him.
“Hey!” Gresham yelled and Zurra snapped out of his memories. He blinked, feeling a cold sweat on his brow.
“Focus, buddy, we need to figure out how we’re going to get out of here before Jurkken comes back,” Gresham said angrily. “You sure know how to space out.”
“I am sorry,” Zurra replied, embarrassed. “I was… I was reliving a memory.”
“Was it relevant to our current situation?”
“In a way. The krokator Jurkken plans to deliver me to is a high-ranking Hudda Kugrall officer named Marsa Grakko, and I have encountered him once before.”
Gresham tried wiggling his wrists again to no avail. “Yeah? What happened?”
Zurra paused for a long time. “It is of no importance to us right now. I am sorry I brought this evil upon you, cooker of foods. The Hudda Kugrall will kill us both for sport.”
“I figured.”
“These ropes are very tight to these chairs. I do not think we can escape.”
Gresham breathed out heavily. “No, I don’t think so either.”
They sat in silence for a long time before Zurra ventured, “Do you suppose any of your friends will come looking for you?”
“Like who? Nobody knows we’ve been kidnapped. My superiors are all at the summit and anybody who knows Jurkken exists is likely dead now too. They said they’d taken care of Lara. I hope they haven’t…”
“She is your mate?”
Gresham laughed. “No, no she isn’t. I had a mate… err, a wife, but we got divorced years ago.”
“I am sorry. At least you have mated in your life.”
“You haven’t?”
Zurra shook his head. “I did not have the luxury. I have lived my life as a dutiful servant of the Empire.”
“And that means you’re not allowed to have a little fun?”
“Not with my father. He always preferred my elder brother Turka, and when my brother was killed it became my duty to complete my brother’s work twofold. When my father died some years later, it then became my duty to honor my father’s name.”
“Is that what you want?”
“It is what is right.”
Gresham shrugged. “Fair enough. How did your father pass away?”
“A space accident. There was a malfunction with the ship he was onboard.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“I wonder what he would think if he saw me here now.”
“What do you mean?”
“I have lived my life to honor my ancestors. The Akgu name is a fine one on my homeworld, one afforded much respect. I wonder if he would be proud.”
Gresham wasn’t sure how to respond, so instead he ventured, “Um… do you see any sharp objects in this room? Anything we can use to cut these ropes with?”
“Do you really think they would leave cutting devices in a room with two prisoners?” Zurra said flatly. His tone was uncharacteristically derisive.
“No, I suppose you’re right. Well what’s the plan then?”
“We will improvise, cooker of foods.”
They sat in silence for a long time before Zurra finally ventured the question that Gresham had also been pondering. “What do you think they meant by ‘after tonight,’ cooker of foods?”
Before Gresham could answer with his suspicion, two huge green-skins barged in, both reeking of beastwine and grinning like idiots.
“Look at these bunchu!”
“This should be fun, komok.”
Gresham came up with an insane idea, his eye falling on the okka gun slung by a strap over the larger of the two’s shoulder. He would most likely wind up with his skull bashed in, but wasn’t that already the alternative?
The large krokator bent over so that he was inches from Gresham’s face, collected a substantial ball of saliva in his mouth and aimed it right into the human’s eye with both of his tongues. “How does that feel, bunchu?”
The other krokator struck Gresham hard across the cheek. “The mighty humans! So self-important! Telling us where we can and cannot go, where we can and cannot sit, when we can and cannot speak! Well, here in Crocktown, you play by our rules!”
Gresham looked up and spit blood and two of his teeth out onto the floor. “Yeah? Okay, you drunk space gorillas, untie me so we can settle this like men.”
The two krokator howled like monkeys. “You hear this, komok? He wants to fight us!”
“We had better be careful so he does not call the police to arrest us for touching him! The poor bunchu may have breathed our germs!”
They continued laughing and the larger one pulled out a wickedly curved knife and slashed Gresham’s ankles free. “Very well, bunchu, we will settle this the correct way. You will have your wish.” He cut the binds around Gresham’s wrists and with a heave flung the hapless human like a rag doll across the floor.
The two krokator laughed as Gresham staggered up to his hands and knees. The smaller one ran over and kicked him in the gut, collapsing Gresham to the ground again.
“Cooker of foods, you cannot win this fight!” Zurra cried from his seat.
“And you,” the smaller of the two green-skins growled in Krokam, pointing a long, crooked finger at Zurra, “You are lucky Jurkken told us you are not to be touched or we’d be ripping your tusks out.”
The larger krokator pulled Gresham to his feet and pinned him against the wall, pressing the blade of the knife right up against his throat. “I don’t like bunchu. I don’t like this planet. But I especially don’t like you.”
“The feeling is mutual,” Gresham huffed and suddenly kicked out his feet, dropping his weight to slide down the wall at an awkward angle, catching the green-skin off guard. He grabbed the okka gun, turned it inwards and pressed its barrel into his attacker’s side, pulling down hard on the trigger an
d hearing several pops as the needles were driven deep into the hapless krokator’s side.
“Ukkum strike me!” the smaller krokator screamed, grabbing for his own gun. Gresham spun the corpse of the first alien around, twisting the okka gun on its strap and firing wildly at the second krokator. Two needles embedded themselves in the green-skin’s torso and he pitched back, wailing in pain as he tried to dig the viciously long spikes out of his chest to no avail.
Gresham panted and let go of his krokator shield, letting it hit the floor with a resounding thud. He untangled the okka gun’s strap from the carcass’s arm and picked up the discarded knife from the ground.
“Are you out of your mind, cooker of foods?” Zurra said with a hesitant breath, his eyes wide with a mixture of shock and disbelief.
“Hey, you told me to improvise,” Gresham replied and cut Zurra loose. The large krokator rubbed his wrists to regain circulation and then yanked the okka gun away.
“You should be careful with this, it is very dangerous,” Zurra said sternly. Then he smiled. “But where in the name of the Truuknan did you learn to do that?”
“I’m full of surprises. Let’s find a way out of here.”
They carefully moved out into the hallway, looking around for any sign of trouble. The underground bunker’s silence unnerved them both.
“You realize, cooker of foods, that Jurkken probably has a small army waiting for us upstairs.”
Gresham considered this. “We do have the element of surprise. He most likely doesn’t realize we’ve escaped yet, but we should arm ourselves if we’re going up there.”
“Do you think there will be weapons down here?”
“I guarantee it. These are gun traffickers we’re talking about.”
They opened a door and Gresham’s prediction was proven correct. There were a number of AG-111 automatic assault rifles in an otherwise empty gun rack, as well as standard-issue sidearm pistols in a crate.
“This must be a leftover from the Ventura theft,” Gresham whispered, picking up a Triple-One and glancing down its barrel, feeling the familiarity of its grip.
“You have used one before, I hope.”
“Yeah, Triple-Ones were standard issue during the Dhruiz War. They’re a bit outdated but it’ll do the trick.” A quick search of the room revealed ammunition for both the sidearm and the assault rifle and Gresham slung the Triple-One over his shoulder. “You ready?”
“You look like quite the warrior.”
“I’m getting there.”
They moved back out into the hallway, Gresham tucking the sidearm into the back of his belt. They spotted another closed door and checked inside. This room was filled with opened crates containing thousands of individually shrink-wrapped okka needles, as well as two empty gun racks outfitted for rapid-fire okka rifles.
“Christ, his ET weapons business is either booming or he’s moving something big soon,” Gresham said before it dawned on him. “Shit. The conference.”
“What?”
“The security summit! It’s tonight! They’re going to attack it!”
Zurra shook his head. “No, cooker of foods, they are not that stupid. Imagine the security they would have to fight their way through to get there.”
“And yet,” Gresham said slowly, “they murdered your Emperor on Urkuran Eve, the holiest of sacred holidays for your faith, in the heart of the Imperial City.”
There was a long pause before Zurra grabbed three readied clips of okka darts. “You are right. What do we do?”
“First, we get out of here. Then we try to reach Moss, or better yet Godford, to warn them.”
They stepped back out into the hallway and found the staircase, ascending it slowly with their guns trained towards the door at the very top.
They inched up to the last stair and Zurra breathed out, placing his hand on the door handle. “You realize, cooker of foods, that this will be a very hard fight.”
Gresham considered what his life had been like just two weeks ago. An exciting day involved getting home early and catching a good movie on the screen.
“Well, you only live once,” Gresham said and tested the handle. It was unlocked. He pressed down and stepped out, bringing his gun up to eye level.
They were in the middle of a crowded gukka bar, and immediately the heads of dozens of krokator and patrons of every imaginable species turned in shock. Gresham aimed his gun straight at the ceiling and fired a warning shot. “Everyone out!” he roared and lowered his weapon. There were screams and a number of patrons dropped their pipes, charging for the doors. Two okka needles embedded themselves in the wall next to Gresham’s head as the remaining krokator in the lounge revealed themselves to be Jurkken’s enforcers.
“Take cover!” Gresham called out to Zurra before diving behind plush seating pillows. Needles peppered the cushions, leaving behind a little forest of death only inches from Gresham’s prone body. Zurra moved behind a large marble pillar, not taking a single shot.
“Help me out here, Zurra!” Gresham called out as three needles ricocheted above his head.
Zurra stepped out from behind the pillar and lined up a flawless shot, striking a blue-skin in the side of the neck. He pivoted back behind the pillar to dodge return fire and then emerged on other side, hitting a second blue-skin in stride with three needles in quick succession as he moved deftly and in an almost fluid motion behind the bar itself.
Gresham pulled out his sidearm and fired blindly in the direction he hoped one of his attackers was in. He heard a yelp of pain and saw a krokator stumble backwards through a door, clutching his leg in pain. His target’s flight was short-lived, as an okka needle bloomed from the wounded alien’s knee like a lethal flower.
The remaining four krokator drew closer together, crouching behind pillows and seats and taking their shots more carefully. Gresham crawled carefully over spent okka darts lying on the floor lest he be scratched by one and lay flat on his stomach, taking careful aim with his sidearm. His shot flew wild, missing the exposed krokator he was aiming at but still managed to strike a gukka pipe, knocking it over and causing its flaming contents to spill onto the surrounding pillows.
The surprisingly flammable cushions erupted into a merry conflagration and the krokator stared at it in surprise. Their momentary pause would cost them. Zurra leapt up onto the bar, deftly moving along it and working the trigger of his okka gun with surprising quickness. One, two, three needles zipped through the air, and one, two, three krokator were felled.
The last krokator stood up to fire at his prone enemy, but Gresham managed to finally score a hit. The tan-skin dropped to the floor with a wound to the chest, and Zurra leapt down from the bar to finish him off with two needles to the throat.
Gresham ran a hand through his hair as he got up. “Damn. That was… well, damn.”
Zurra indicated a hallway “I saw Jurkken escape through there. Come on.”
They hurried down the hall and through a bead curtain. An okka needle buried itself in the ground in front of Gresham’s feet and he threw himself out of the way behind a large sofa in what was clearly Jurkken’s office. The portly tan-skin was cowering behind his desk, gripping an okka pistol for dear life and peering gingerly over the edge.
Zurra moved into the center of the room, unprotected, his gun relaxed at his side. “Come out, heretic coward, and face me.”
“I spit on your name and ancestors, hrain!”
“You are cornered. Even if you could kill me, cooker of foods has a perfect shot at you. There is no escape, Jurkken.”
Gresham crawled closer to the desk, tucking away his sidearm and making sure he had plenty of bullets in his Triple-One. If Jurkken were to kill Zurra, he would have to respond quickly and with a lot of gunfire.
“You are too late,” the gangster hissed from his hiding place. “You think we are afraid to die? Dakkal is more than willing to give his life for the Black Prod.”
“I do not doubt that, and Dakkal will give his life,
for I will take it.”
Gresham’s heart was racing. Jurkken stirred behind the desk. Zurra remained still as a rock. How could he be so calm?
“I am not foolish enough to think that Dakkal will assault a League of Planets security summit in the human capital with only a token platoon of heretics,” Zurra continued.
“And you are correct. Once again, you underestimate us. You cannot even begin to fathom how alone you really are, Sharm Zurra.” Gresham saw Jurkken’s shadow on the wall tense up, like a predator readying to pounce on an unsuspecting prey.
“Look around, you are the one who is alone,” Zurra said, twitching ever so slightly in anticipation. “You are the one looking death in the face.”
“Damn you to the Origin World, hrain!” Jurkken cried and stood up, bringing around his okka gun. Gresham raised his Triple-One instinctively, trying to see his target more clearly.
Zurra was faster than either of them, however. He swung the pistol up from his side with lightning quickness and fired a single needle straight into Jurkken’s eye. The krokator didn’t even have a chance to instinctively grab after it, the little dart of death burying almost its entire length in his head. His body pitched backwards, hit the wall and slid down, one eye still open and the other punctured like a balloon.
Zurra lowered the gun nonchalantly and looked at Gresham. “We should go.”
They walked back through the carnage they had left behind in the main lounge, the fire now a full-on conflagration that had consumed most of the room, finding new cushions and gukka pipes to feed upon. They skirted the flames, pushed through another bead curtain and emerged out into a cool Los Angeles evening in the middle of a street that could have been any busy intersection in the Empire. Every building was built out of blackrock and every sign was in Krokam. Zurra felt right at home.
A crowd was gathering as smoke started billowing out of the gukka bar’s windows and front door. Gresham tugged on Zurra’s wrist and they slipped away between a pair of surprised civilians, pushing their way discreetly through the throngs of krokator and finally emerging out behind the crowd.
“What now, cooker of foods?”
Gresham looked around. “Great question.” They were in the heart of the Zone and he genuinely had no idea where they were.
He peered upwards at the sky and saw the sun hanging low to his left. “Okay, it must be in the later afternoon, so… that direction is north, to Los Angeles. Let’s go.”