Hallowed Nebula Page 3
“Are you all believers?” she asked them.
“Didn’t you already ask that?” Hanei said.
“I know you believe,” the woman said to him, then tilted her face back to Karklosea. “And . . . her.” Her tone was bitter. And then her gaze shifted to the rest of the council. “But what about the rest of you?”
Karklosea pulled her back again, this time with enough force to cause pain in the woman’s arm. The woman retorted, slapping her hands at Karklosea, and then sending a telekinetic push against the armored Templar. The woman wasn’t just any young-looking woman, she was also a psionic.
Karklosea noticed two things by the time she got back to her feet after the strong push. One, the woman got closer to the council, two, the ranger’s rifles powered on and were seconds away from taking aim at a target before them. That target wasn’t Karklosea or the woman, though, she had a feeling she’d become one any moment, now her redeemer was firmly grasped in her hands.
“We are all believers, yes,” someone from the council said, Karklosea wasn’t sure who. She was too busy getting to her feet, drawing psionic energy from her body, and pouring it into the redeemer sword in her hands.
The woman grimaced, turning her back on the council. “I was afraid you’d say that.”
Then, she snapped her fingers.
The four rangers fired their weapons. Ultra-high-velocity rounds left their rifles, filling the walls, windows, and furniture within the chambers with holes. Karklosea focused her mind and performed a quick jump port that saw her body turn into a blue streak of light, then reappear in front of the council. Her left arm rose, and from her left wrist was a purple shimmering disk-shaped psionic shield, deflecting the projectiles intended to terminate the council.
The council cowered behind the steadfast Lord Commander of the Templars, even their psionic personal assistants as they weren’t wired with the cybernetics needed for combat or defense. What happened next on Karklosea’s part had to be quick and decisive.
The woman at that point levitated up to the ceiling via telekinesis, her body enveloped with waves of purple light. The four rangers went to regroup, hoping to get behind Karklosea’s disk-shaped shield. One of the rangers left themselves exposed due to lack of cover.
With a simple thought of her mind, she sent a wireless command that saw her blade transform from a sword infused with psionic power, into a rifle. Two direct purple blasts of psionic plasma left her redeemer. The shields of the exposed ranger flickered with the first hit and then shattered with the next. Her third shot vaporized him.
She instructed those behind her to get down and spread out, as the rest of the rangers found cover and were about to resume their assault. The disk-shaped psionic shield vanished when her arm lowered while the redeemer returned to its sword mode, the blade glowing brightly with purple energy. Two jump ports saw her teleport behind two of the three covered rangers, each one receiving four to six folded slashes in rapid succession, shattering their shields, melting swathes through their combat armor, and spraying blood and the smell of burning flesh and metal up at her face.
The gunman threat was almost eliminated, the psionic woman still floating up above, not so much. By the time Karklosea stood to look at her, an explosion erupted. The force of the blast tossed her like a ragdoll against the wall, making those that survived it question the structural integrity of the chamber as it now looked like a war-torn battle zone when the dust, debris, and smoke cleared.
Psionic plasma fires billowed around Karklosea, she could tell because they were purple. The woman unleashed a psionic bomb, an impressive ability, not even Karklosea was able to ignite one during her days as a psionic sorceress.
Karklosea looked toward the council, unsure if they or their assistants survived the blast. The lack of movement from any of their bodies was concerning. If the leadership of the Union was wiped out, then the cries of people during the dragon’s incursion she heard on the Union newsfeed were true. The Gods had truly abandoned the galaxy.
She got to her feet, flicking away the holographic notification her HNI fed her about the status of her armor and health. She didn’t need to view the flashing red lights to know her shields had fallen, and she suffered mild injuries to her arms and face. The redheaded woman descended from the ceiling, psionic winds rippling her red hair as she made eye contact with Karklosea. Both women readied themselves for a second round. Karklosea’s left arm rose again, forging a forward psionic barrier as she ran in, charging with her redeemer in its sword form in her right hand.
The barrier deflected a number of telekinetic pushes and pulls aimed at her, as for the stray bullet that grazed her thigh from behind, not so much. The remaining ranger was still active. When she neared her target, she heard a loud crash and the battle cry of a man. Karklosea would have to deal with that later, any psionic that could set off a psionic bomb had to be neutralized or risk another one from going off.
Karklosea closed the gap between the two and swung her blade. The psionic energy within it cut through the woman’s barrier, her mental focus was gone, and then later her consciousness when Karklosea bashed her face with her psionic shield sending her to the shrapnel-covered floor.
Turning around, she faced what caused the crashing noise from behind and the death of the last ranger. A large Aryile man stood, he wore combat armor and carried a magnetic rifle that was decades old, in service around the Celestial Order wars if she wasn’t mistaken. The Aryile man lowered his weapon, stepping deeper into the chamber. His skin was pale like Ienthei’s, a rare sight among the Aryile. In fact, the man looked a lot like Ienthei. So, when Ienthei’s bloody and wounded body stood from the rubble that fell on him, it was no surprise to her that he locked his eyes on the newcomer Aryile and his jaw lowered in shock.
They knew each other.
“Ienthei, I heard rumors you had taken a seat on the council,” said the newcomer Aryile. “My late congratulations to you.”
Ienthei slowly asked. “Father? Is that you?”
The Aryile man nodded. “Indeed.”
“No,” Ienthei shook his head in denial. “My father, Jainuzei, is dead.”
Gagging and coughing behind Karklosea drew her attention away from the two Aryile men. The redheaded woman regained consciousness and rose from the floor. The purple glowing edge of Karklosea’s redeemer stopped the woman in her place as she looked down upon her.
“Who are you?” Karklosea spat at her. “What do you want?”
The redheaded woman laughed, lifting her hands at the ceiling. A swirl of purple psionic light spun above the chamber like clouds forming into a violent storm cell, as the woman chanted. “Marduk is eternal!”
A second psionic bomb exploded moments later.
2 Foster
XSV Johannes Kepler
UNE hangar, Amicitia Station 14, Arietis System
October 30, 2118, 06:12 SST (Sol Standard Time)
The XSV Johannes Kepler sat idle in the hangar, part of the UNE arm of the enormous space station. Men and women in orange coveralls, with an arsenal of tools in hand, diligently worked to make the minor repairs the ship needed. The aftermath of the battle between the Terran Legion and the Draconian forces the Kepler dealt with at Taxah still showed.
Various antigravity carts entered the hangar and were pushed up into the Kepler’s cargo bay via its lowered entry ramp. New supplies, or so Foster assumed, having turned away from the Kepler’s gym observation window during the quick break she allowed herself to take.
Foster returned to the mats on the floor, her body moving up and down slowly within the empty gym. A holo screen floated behind her, keeping track of the number of pushups she completed, well the ones she completed correctly at least. It was a number she wasn’t proud of, despite the sweat coating her body.
When she had enough of the pushups, she took a second break, emptying a water bottle into her mouth. The soft hum of the air recyclers accompanied her to the pair of boxing gloves on the shelf she walked to, and she put t
hem on. From there, she took out her frustration, caused by her poor performance, on a nearby punching bag. Her sore, sweat-drenched arms grew more tired with each strike.
Foster wasn’t military and never was. She was never used to this level of physical activity and wondered how long it would be until her body adapted to the change of lifestyle she had forced upon it since the Kepler had been docked at the station. They were waiting for the Radiance council to get back to them with their request while repairs and resupplying finished up.
“Hey ther’ captain,” Jacob Miles of the UNE Marines spoke, and had evidently entered the gym without Foster realizing it.
She gave the punching bag one last firm hit before turning to him. “You lost, Marine?”
“Naw, but you might be,” he said with his Atlantic Canadian accent. “This ain’t the rec room or that pub on the station there.”
Foster faced the punching bag again. Her fists rose up to strike it rapidly. “I’m right where I need to be.”
Miles stood closer, observing Foster and stroking his ginger beard with intrigue. “Your form is off, ma’am,” he said. “And you’re barely making that bag move.”
Foster’s form was debatable, she followed the holographic videos exactly on how to stand and use a punching bag. The other comment? Well, he wasn’t wrong. If you looked at the punching bag when she went to hit, it looked as if it wasn’t being touched at all. The thought only made her frustrated, frustrated enough to kick it.
It moved that time, and she went to address Miles with her Tennessee accent. “This the part where you—”
The punching bag swayed back from her kick, hitting her on the side, nearly knocking her over. Miles stood laughing. Foster didn’t join him.
“As you were sayin’, Cap?”
“Tell me you gonna be goin’ your own way?” she finished after getting back to her feet.
“Eh, that’s the thing, Foster,” Miles said. “Everyone on me ship was part of the fleet that ended up around Taxah. The crew’s all getting questioned for their actions, while the higher-ups determine who is loyal to the UNE and who is secretly with them Terran losers.”
Miles was officially never part of the Kepler’s crew. The Kepler had rescued him along with Boyd’s EDF team when their trip back to the planet Jacobus turned out to be a terrible mistake. One that the Terran Legion, in secret, was using to acquire dragon eggs to breed an army of dragons for their cause. Miles, like the EDF team, tagged along for the ride while they awaited new deployment orders.
“Makes sense, I guess,” Foster said. “We took out the main Terran-controlled ships but there was probably a member or two lurking around on the ships that came to help us.”
“Aye, they already arrested a few that outed themselves,” Miles said. “I had to get questioned meself, as with them EDF idiots you got hanging around. But since we helped you all survive, we got cleared for duty quickly.”
Maxwell and LeBoeuf were the two remaining personnel from Boyd’s team. Sergeant Chris Boyd was still MIA, lost or dead somewhere on the Imperial colony Taxah. Meanwhile, Chevallier’s mortally wounded body remained idle in medical cryo, waiting for the one doctor in the galaxy that could save her with a special set of cybernetic implants.
Chevallier’s state was the sole reason why the Kepler was putting its mission to search for the Draconians’ homeworld on hold. It was the fastest ship in the cosmos, and therefore the fastest one that could find the elusive specialist deep in Radiance space.
With a smile, Foster asked. “Where does that leave you, Miles?”
“Gonna be a while before I’m back out there in space, and remember, me whole team is dead.”
“Sounds like a brand-new assignment for you.”
“That depends on you, Foster,” he said, then placed his hands behind his back. “I’d like to remain aboard, with yer permission, of course.”
“Don’t think we’s got enough beer aboard for two Canadians.”
“I don’t think you got enough security for the ship that’s supposed to save us all from dem dragons.” Foster’s eyes rolled and she returned to the punching bag, this time not caring if it took her boot to make it move. “Let’s face it, Cap, can Maxwell and LeBoeuf be trusted? And what became of them Radiance rangers we got aboard? Where the hell were they when the shite went down at Taxah?”
“I get where you’re comin’ from Miles,” she said after three strikes of the bag, “but Maxwell, LeBoeuf . . . even Chevallier, they all came around to help me get off the Marcus Antonius. And Chevallier damn near got herself killed to save my hide.”
“Still, I think this mission would be a whole lot safer if you had me watching over you and the others,” Miles said. “Remember, Cap, if it wasn’t for me, that confrontation outside of Phylarlie’s manor would have been a whole lot worse. As in, Commander Williams would be in a body bag right now.”
“That’s fair.”
“So, am I in?”
Foster stepped away from the punching bag again and removed the sweat on her forehead with a smile. “I’ll sign whatever paperwork, Miles.” More like holowork. “Welcome to the crew.”
“Now with that out of the way,” Miles said, heading for the exit. “I’mma go get my workout gear. The gym on the station is full.”
“Don’t tell me you wanted to join the crew just to use the gym right now?”
Hearty laughter was shared between the two before Miles vanished behind the sliding door. Foster went to do one last round with the punching bag before the intercom beeped.
“Bridge to Foster,” Odelea’s soft Aryile voice said.
Foster headed to the wall, using the intercom the best she could given the restriction of the boxing gloves. “Go ahead, bridge.”
“The Union has given us clearance to enter the wormhole,” Odelea’s voice replied.
“Finally. Contact ops and tell ‘em we’s ready to get going.”
“Understood, Captain.”
“Head straight to the Radiance wormhole, best speed.”
The call ended and Foster’s fists took aim at the punching bag again. The first hurdle of their new quest was complete, stage two was to get Chevallier the treatment she needed, then after that, back to testing the vortex key, the mysterious reverse engineered device that allowed the alien tattoos forced upon Foster’s body to open a gateway into the ethereal maelstroms. The maelstroms were located in a strange universe where the laws of physics were different and served as conduits that linked different parts of space together via tunneling clouds. It was the path to the dragon’s homeworld, the path to ending the war, so she hoped.
Thoughts of the last two months replayed in her head as she struck the punching bag. Each hit she landed was fueled by her growing frustrations, like the fact the Dragon Maiden kicked her ass and Odelea had to save her. Williams got shot because he didn’t think Foster was strong enough to take care of herself. Now, her first officer lay in sickbay recovering. And Chevallier, she too nearly lost her life protecting Foster because she felt she wasn’t strong enough. And what happened after that? Foster tried to fight Moriston, and he beat her ass too, forcing her to vaporize him while he was strangling her. Foster wondered what things would be like if she had been strong enough to fight him, knock him out, and have him arrested to stand trial for creating the Terrans.
Each hit Foster made was struck out of anger. Each hit, she hoped would make her body and mind stronger. Foster wasn’t a Navy sailor, Marine, soldier, or psionic. She was an IESA explorer, an astronaut of the twenty-second century. Take away the gun in a combat situation and what were you left with? A woman that got her ass kicked every time she got into a scrap. A woman that was placed as the tip of the spear to save the galaxy that was slowly sinking into a war it may never recover from.
Foster’s final hit against the punching bag was done using every drop of energy in her arm. Her teeth gritted before she cursed loud enough for the entire deck to hear her.
The stress of her missi
on had reached a boiling point.
3 Saressea
XSV Johannes Kepler
UNE hangar, Amicitia Station 14, Arietis System
October 30, 2118, 07:33 SST (Sol Standard Time)
Za Saressea was Radiance’s liaison officer of the Johannes Kepler, acting chief engineer, on- and off-again captain, and the person left in charge of the ship’s Radiance crew, and overall jack-of-all-trades girl. She smirked at the thought of her role on the ship, and how far the crew had come in the short time they’d been together, thanks to her knowledge of it. It wasn’t until that moment that she realized how much of a pivotal role she had played in their adventures thus far.
She sat on one of the many chairs within the briefing room. The windows gave a not so breathtaking view of the interior of the hangar bay the Kepler had been resting in for the last few days. Across from the briefing room table sat Mil Tolukei, the Kepler’s primary shipboard psionic, and boogeyman if you looked at the four eyes covered in darkness from the hood he wore.
A strange silence, only filled by the blowing of the air recyclers, followed as the two remained idle, waiting for the rest of the Radiance crew to arrive in the briefing room. Saressea shuffled around a number of holo screens her HNI generated, each one listing a dossier of the Radiance team aboard.
“Saressea,” Tolukei muttered to her in the Radiance language. “May I ask the purpose of this meeting?”
She pushed three of the holo screens ahead of her aside, facing the four-eyed lizard man. “We haven’t had a formal one yet.”
“Were the numerous meetings with Captain Foster not formal?”
“I mean with us, the Radiance team on this ship,” Saressea said as she readjusted her posture to let her tail slide off the edge of her chair. “Ever since Foster took command, it’s been a life-or-death situation, or us taking a quick month and a half cryo nap. We finally have some downtime to sit and talk with our people.”
“I see.”
“Foster is the captain, yeah. But I’m still your boss first.” She glanced at his profile and winced at how Radiance placed heavy emphases on the words Muodiry. “Since we’re here, has anyone given you a hard time?” she asked him.