Wylde Fyre
By Stephen Doyle
All characters created by Stephen Doyle
'Zee' created by Chris Mills
This story may contain bad language and hard violence - you are warned.
Chapter One
“Stepping onto the road”
Antherian year 1140
Two Miles from Capital Xerxes
Once, this had been a proud city. It had stood between the thick
jungles of the east, the massive forests of the North, and the wide
plains and grasslands of the south, on the shores of the clear blue
ocean, as a testament to the world that spawned them from the two
distinct species of this world that they could achieve anything, form
peace amongst themselves, to the taming and control of their
environment.
And so they had erected this city, and proclaimed it capital of their world, Antheria, and named it Xerxes.
And Xerxes had been a magnificent city, filled with amazing works of
artistry, architecture, and dizzying wonders of imagination and
technology. Millions had lived there, thousands more had visited the
bustling hub of a world on the verge of something greater than
themselves – for the Antherian race, finally unified after centuries of
fighting amongst the two races on it’s surface, had been about to take
the first step into deepest space. They had been about to test their
first demi-light engine, and take steps into space.
And then they had arrived. The Marek, the first ones from the stars,
the visitors doubted for so long as figments of peoples imaginations,
as fantasy and fiction, the contact they’d been searching for, for so
long.
Suddenly, nothing else mattered, as the enemy had attacked. They had
done so swiftly and without warning, unleashing weapons of a like
unseen. Their numbers were legion, and the military had no chance to
keep up, and were overwhelmed quickly. Finally only guerrilla
resistance and tactics had worked, but eventually these too had
dwindled, leaving only nothing to try but a last chance attack, which
had failed too.
That had all been years ago and now there was nothing but the few bands
of roaming freedom fighters, deep in the jungles and forests, equipped
with what they could scavenge, and fighting only as a last resort.
The rest of the population of Antheria, reduced to millions in number
from billions, toiled endlessly in the work camps on the planet. Mining
resources, working in factories to reclaim those things already used,
or were taken ‘elsewhere’ in space aboard the handful of the Mareks’
gigantic organic starships that hung in orbit, to be used for purposes
unknown, and best left that way.
Only three of their ships – that had been all it took.
Others still… they were taken into the hives of the hateful
creatures, and had never returned. Speculation ran rife as to what had
been done with them. Captive test subjects, food sources, raw
materials, and slaves inside the hives were some of the more popular
theories – but in the end no one really knew.
Taia Maine lowered the binoculars from her green eyes and let those
thoughts run through her head as she looked out over the ruins of
Xerxes, the metal, glass, stone and plastic now obscured with strands
of green and brown as the wild reclaimed it, the pattern broken only by
the mass of mottled and irregular dark green at the centre – A hive,
full of the Marek.
Taia’s feline tail lashed in anger, and her ears
flattened back against her head as she thought again of the Marek and
all they had done to her world.
Twenty-six years old, she had not been a fighter when the Marek
invaded. She had been one of those who spoke out against war, had hated
violence, guns, and killing. A pacifist to the core, a hater of warfare
and all it entailed.
That had changed, in the five years between.
She had been captured, and managed to escape by luck and sheer fluke,
but not until after she had seen the inside of a Marek hive, seen the
horrors that went on inside.
Now, three years later, she still woke in a cold sweat in the middle of
the night sometimes. That had changed her mind, and her belief. Some
things, she knew now, could not be reasoned with, could not be fought
or avoided, no matter how hard you tried.
Her sandy brown fur rippled softly in the breeze, and her bright orange
hair shone in the sunshine, Taia walked down the slope towards where
the Rhino all terrain vehicle and her friends were waiting.
Thrown together by circumstance and a shared sense of hope, they were
part of the handful of free people left on the planet. Operating in
‘cells’ of ten to thirty members, they were the only thing left to free
the Antherian people. They knew it was a nearly hopeless task, but they
had nothing else left. It was either try, or to give up entirely, and
no one wanted that.
Stepping with the characteristic prowling gait of her species, Taia
walked towards the low crouched shapes of the three CRV’s of the team
she’d picked for this little observation mission. Military combat robot
vehicles; it and others like it that had escaped destruction during the
war were one of the few advantages the resistance had left. They were
well armed, highly manoeuvrable, and represented the peak of antherian
war-fighting abilities.
Adam turned his head as she approached. Like her, he was a feline, but
was from the jungles, rather than the mountains, a far off island with
a long and proudly independent history. His fur was uniformly black all
over, and his hair the same. The only break in the shine of his coat
was the bright points of his green eyes. He was standing by the foot of
his CRV where it crouched under a camouflage net.
“Anything interesting?” he said quietly, the assault rifle he held now
slung casually, but ready on one shoulder, a sword in sheath diagonally
across his back.
“No” she shook her head. “Not a single thing has changed… they don’t seem to be doing anything”.
Taia shook her head and sighed.
“It’s… like they’re up to something, but we have no pieces of the
puzzle. If only we could get more intelligence on them, find out more”.
“Guess we’ll have to wait until we’re back in base then” Jessy, the
lynx who was the other member of their unit said with an apologetic
shrug. “Shall we go?”
Taia nodded. She had no desire to spend any more time around the
wreckage of the capital, and all of the memories it contained.
Standing proud at the centre of the city of Firstholme, the central
HQ of the international banking company was a creased, cracked and
cratered ruin of a building. It matched its surrounding fellows with
its unsightly blemishes of steel and iron superstructure showing
through the concrete façade and the empty staring eyes of its smashed
and missing windows.
Below ground though, in the mazes of subway
tunnels, bank vaults, access tunnels, utility ducts and sewers,
sheltered the centre of the resistance – Position A. Communications
centres, ammunition dumps, armouries, workshops, medical centres, and
more were huddled in the tunnels. Vaults, basements, and large open
sections had been converted into proper rooms and facilities, and the
rabbit warrens had become a home to the rough and ready militia.
In one of those many rooms, lit by a bare bulb over his head that had
an audible hum, Josh McCray unloaded the contents of a box of personal
effects into his new quarters.
Transferred from a remote base on the outskirts of the southern desert,
Josh was still clueless and quietly curious as to why he had been
posted to the central base. His skills on a computer were legendary
throughout the resistance, and he had some skill as a pilot and gunner,
but he wasn’t aware of any need for those qualities so far. Whatever
the reasoning, he was hoping he’d be given an explanation soon enough.
Josh looked around the room once more, and raised an eyebrow in silent
contemplation. It was the first office he’d ever been assigned, but it
wasn’t amazing. Dust-covered, pitted and rust-smeared walls stared back
at him, the only reprieve in the surprisingly carpeted floor under the
soles of his sneakers. Overhead, the single dim bulb swung carelessly,
casting dappled shadows over his ice-blue fur with its brown trim.
Shrugging silently, he continued unpacking, fastening a couple of his
posters to the walls, which immediately gave the room a more uplifting
appearance, as they supported long-gone rock bands or movies. His
clothes already away in his personal ‘space’, he nodded in
satisfaction. He’d unpacked successfully. With no further orders, he
decided to have a look on the resistances rudimentary data net for some
clues as to why he was here.
Sitting at the battered chair at the equally battered desk in the
middle of the thoroughly battered room, he flipped open the cover of
his hardened laptop, and started to access the data net. The familiar
logo of the resistance came up – the planet Antheria, atop a
tri-pointed star, coloured gold for victory on a circular blue
background. This quickly faded, and Josh began to look through the
normally accessible files, looking for any deployment orders, other
personnel reassignments, or anything else out of the ordinary.
One thing that sprung to his notice was the number of personnel who had
been transferred in at the same time as him. Resistance members had
been pulled back from bases all across the planet. Only one or two from
each base, but all the same, they’d been called in. A total of five,
including him, had been recalled. Two were on a long-term recon
mission, and the other two had been in bases similar to him.
“Interesting” he muttered softly, and started to access more
information – however, as soon as he made to, a warning flashed up,
telling him that he was attempting to access restricted information. He
reached for the keys, thinking how easy it would be to hack his way
past the barrier, but then he paused. It wouldn’t be a great promotion
of how trustworthy he was to start hacking into the resistance data net
to get things he wasn’t supposed to be looking at.
With a sigh he shut the laptop down and pondered for a few seconds,
before there was a knock at his door. Frowning, he got up and crossed
the room to open the door.
“Yes?” he said, peering out.
A redheaded, yellow and white-furred cheetah stood outside his door,
with a smile on her muzzle. She stood a head shorter than Josh, but
still seemed to have a larger presence – possibly due to her dazzling
smile and otherwise stunning appearance.
“Hi there. You’re Josh Masters, I take it?”
“That’s right,” he said slowly. “Who are you?”
“I’m Charley. Charley Weiss. I’ve been sent to pick you up on the way
to a high command meeting – apparently they’re going to tell us what
we’re all doing here”.
Josh smiled. It was about time, and he said as much to Charley, stepping out of his door. The cheetah nodded in agreement.
“Yeah – it’s been busy around here recently”, she admitted with a nod.
“Everyone’s trying to get organised for this new mission, gathering
supplies and information, whatever intelligence they can. A lot of long
term recon units have been drawn back in”.
“What were you doing before?” he asked, curious still about why they’d all been called together.
“I was helping plan some missions into hives, a few guerrilla sorties.
Some of our research labs are getting some big projects underway, and
we’re also getting some interesting reports from the far east that I’d
been looking into – My main duties are as an aide to the head honchos.
How about you?”
He shrugged without looking back, and thus missing the scowl it prompted.
“Oh, um… Computer stuff. I’m a data-tech, officially. I’ve got a bit of
flight training, though gunnery mainly. I’m curious as to why they’ve
called me here though – I wouldn’t have thought a data-tech would be
that much needed”.
Charley frowned and then her face dawned with realisation.
“Hey! I know who you are now. You’re the Josh Masters! That guy who
hacked into the Defence Command data net and opened up all those
weapons lockers, and who pulled down all that classified info about all
the CRV storage bunkers, and-“
“Yeah” he said somewhat sheepishly. “That’s me”.
Charley grinned and nodded. “Cool”.
Antherian year 1140
Weldon Towne
19th First-Spriing
High above the ground, and wreathed in the shadows cast by the rosy
sunset against the skeletons of buildings and freeways, she perched
nonchalantly on the jutting back of a stylised gargoyle.
Far below,
Marek herded a rag-tag group of prisoners back to the hive after
another day’s work in the choking darkness of the mines, prodding and
poking at the dirty and untidy hair and fur of their captives, and
revelling in it.
Normally Zee wouldn’t have given a second glance to the procession –
she was free, and they weren’t – you win, you lose. She’d got away, and
they hadn’t, it was as simple as that.
However, for some reason –chance, fate, or divine intervention, call it
what you will - the cat rolled onto her armour-clad front this evening,
and slid her power armour’s visor back down across her muzzle and eyes,
and decided to peer down at the group below.
As she expected, there was the usual motley crew of Marek. Hulking
brutes of bilious green and sewage-brown chitin armour, bone-white
teeth and hollow yellow eyes, they stood more than a head and shoulders
above their captives. Slinking around the back of the column and around
the heels of the Troopers lurked the Killhounds.
Quadruped creatures, they were ‘designed’ through selected breeding and
brutish genetic elimination and engineering for the stealthy pursuit
and attack of prey. They were sleek beasts of muscle, built for speed
as well as strength, and with ample amounts of both.
Guttural voices of the Marek drifted upward, and Zee barely picked out
the words – the normal taunts and insults to the prisoners, who merely
held their tongues for fear of further intimidation and beating.
Amongst the ramshackle bodies, drawn and weary, the power armours
enhanced vision spotted a flash of colour in the setting sunlight, deep
scarlet red against the black of the cracked asphalt, a splash of
colour on the darkness.
Craning her neck further, she looked closer. A single red-furred vixen
was in the chain of slaves, an otherwise unremarkable troop of canines
and felines of both genders. Something tugged at the back of her mind,
as she looked at the vixen’s face, dirt-streaked and haggard as it was,
there was some sense of familiarity about it. Some connection with
history and the past…
Something shifted and crumbled underneath her hands, and there was the
sound of shifting stone and rubble. The gargoyle toppled forwards, and
Zee let out a muffled yell as she sailed out over the open street.
Below, the Marek looked up as the first stones hit the ground. Shouts
of alarm and alert were raised, and the troopers started to fire
upwards at the silhouette above, their forearm mounted plasma guns
spitting neat packages of energy into the air. Others took to the air
after they extended membranous insect-wings from concealed places in
their back-carapaces, before soaring aloft on organic thrusters.
Zee cursed as more rubble bounced off of her sloped helmet, and engaged
her flight pack. The rocket pack whined as it gained power, before
igniting and boosting her up to the relative safety of the rooftop.
Perched on the edge, she tried to regain her breath, but was foiled as
the Marek troopers shot up into view on either side of the corner where
she had come to rest. Bolts of plasma split the already cracked and
pitted surface, chips of stone and dust exploding into the air.
Moving with equal measures of instinct and cunning, she ducked low and
ran, before diving into a forward roll and bringing her arms up with
the nearest trooper firmly bracketed between her clenched fists. A
perfect crosshair appeared around the creatures’ midriff, and she
opened fire, twin shuriken launchers letting fly with a stream of
razor-edged disks. The Marek stuttered a final war cry, and then roared
its anger as the mono-edged disks sliced through one wing, and it
plunged earthwards.
The edges of a smile creasing her muzzle, the cats’ joy was
short-lived, as the Marek troopers identical twin (not a rare
occurrence, for the drone race), smashed a ham-sized fist across the
back of her helmet, which sent her skidding across the rooftop on her
front.
Groaning, she rolled onto her back, as her power armours’ visor flashed
up a string of red-edged warnings and alerts, which faded as
self-repairs and re-routes took effect. The sky trembled slightly,
until she realised the trooper was walking across the rooftop, and had
stopped beside her.
“Surrender, and I shall make your death relatively painless” it said in
a monotone, its voice as much of a parallel to its’ endless siblings as
its appearance.
“Not very original” Zee said with a snigger through her helmet. “But then that’s you lot all over”.
She triggered her flight pack and jetted off of the rooftop, launching
a smart grenade back in the vague direction of the Marek, as she jetted
into the rapidly darkening night sky. Somewhere in her head, the face
of the vixen still bugged her – she was sure she was someone important.
Not famous, like a movie star, but important, like a politician or a….
scientist!
That was it – she was Talian Sahram. She was a famous archaeologist, as
well as being what had been tentatively dubbed a ‘theo-historian’.
As there was very little actual factual and recorded evidence as to the
fate of the ‘ancients’ of Antheria, there were several historians and
archaeologists who had taken to postulating well-researched and
thought-out theories as to their demise. Talian Sahram had been one of
the foremost amongst these, though her theories had been radical and
wild. Zee vaguely recalled that she had gone as far as suggesting that
the Ancients had seeded the planet with the Antherians’ base DNA, which
was an altered version of their own, and then they’d left by some
means, leaving them inaccessible to the rest of their child race, who
were meant to carry on in their absence. The various ad-hoc
translations of the symbols found in the structures across the surface
of Antheria, and under it’s oceans (apparently) supported this, or so
said the scientists – however, several opinions – most opinions, if one
was honest, believed that this was made up by the scientists to support
their own claims.
Zee shook her head and shrugged as the ruins of the city fell
behind her, and the thick grass and high passes of the Fyfield mountain
range loomed ahead.
Reaching the foothills, she touched down,
catching her thoughts. Whatever the reason she was still alive, Zee
anticipated that the Resistance wouldn’t mind getting their paws on
Talian Sahram with all of her limbs intact. Perhaps it was time to pay
a visit.
As black as the night sky that was visible through the vast
transparent membrane that covered one side of the gallery he now
stalked along, yet countered with a bright and almost garish orange,
the Marek Warlord Santomagh headed for the biology labs of the Xerxes
central hive. One of the labour-caste scientists had reported that
another series of experiments had been completed, and that the Warlord
should witness the results. Grudgingly, and with boredom, he had
accepted. Though being the ruler of the planet had its’ advantages, it
also had it’s moments of tedium. Having to be present for the endless
failures of the latest strategy of the Hive Queen’s ‘grand plan’ was
one of them, though he knew better than to protest – or to even think
it too often, such was the hive-mind.
Stepping into the room as a door irised open, Santomagh stared down at
the forms of the scientists, tiny compared to his three-story height.
“Well” he asked his voice like a rumbling thundercloud.
“Ah, yes, sir” said the nearest scientist.
If Santomagh was a scorpion, or a spider, then the scientists were as
ants or beetles. They were small of body, and weak (though still
stronger than an average Antherian). They had six limbs, and lacked
wings or weapons. Two legs and then four arms for their work, which was
betrayed by their oversized braincases. They were also more functional
than the other creatures, given greater freedom of personality and
expression than the drone-like warriors.
Santomagh hated the scientists, and their weak bodies. Warriors were
his ideal, the peak of physical perfection. Muscles, sinews, and bones
wrapped in power and ferocity rarely matched.
“Continue, worm”, he intoned, looking down. “How goes the experiment?”
“We have subjected a further set of prisoners to the grub as per your
instructions. We have also modified the grub in accordance with the
last results. So far we have not activated the specimens, but all
indications are favourable”.
“You said that the last time… and the three times before that as well.
I can only take so many disappointments, you realise” said Santomagh,
reaching down to pick up the scientist by the scruff of his neck, and
holding the creature at eye level.
The scientist quailed in his grip, and simpered quietly, before waving
to the others on the ground below with the two arms that weren’t
clenched together in front of its face.
“B-begin the test, activate the subjects!”
The scientists rushed about, making final adjustments to organic
technology and machinery that bubbled, squawked and hissed in response,
before the six upright ‘pods’ of organic matter at the end of the
chamber burst open, flowing a torrent of foul-smelling liquid onto the
floor. Six naked Antherians stepped out, three male, three female,
three Canus, three Felness, all disorientated and confused.
“What happened to? -“
“Where are? -“
“What’s going on here? -“
“You! You monsters! -“
And so on, and so forth, until Santomagh stepped forward with a step that reverberated like a rumble of thunder.
“Silence! Scientist,” he said, turning his head, “why is it not happening?”
“A moment, my lord” answered the scientist, whom he had now returned to the floor.
The six Antherians all fell quiet all of a sudden, before their bodies
began to twitch and jerk, rasping choking sounds and dry rattles coming
from their throats as their bodies began to spasmodically bend and
twitch, bulging obscenely in all the wrong places, joints twisting and
stretching to the sound of cracking bone and sinew. Fur shed in clumps,
and tails wasted to nothing in seconds. Skin split and flesh twisted,
muscles grew taut and expanded, eyes rolled white up, and the flushed
yellow. Blood and gore was coughed up in excess, and teeth joined the
grotesque cascade as new bladed teeth filled maws.
For an impossible instant, the six Antherians stood as perfect Marek
soldiers, and Santomagh opened his mouth to speak. But then the instant
passed as trembling continued to wrack their addled bodies, twisting
them further. Clumps of fur sprouted out of control through gaps in
chitin plating, eyes bulged obscenely into caricatures of their former
selves. Limbs changed size and shape in sickeningly fast speed, until
flesh simply could not withstand any longer and the twisted beings gave
mournful howls and dropped to the ground as formless heaps of mess.
“Failure!” spat Santomagh, kicking the nearest scientist across the
room to end up as a ragged heap in the corner. “And you had it so close
this time! What went wrong?”
Another scientist sidled up to take his predecessors place. “I think
that the Marek cell-pattern went into replication too many times, my
lord. It overwhelmed the host, and then started to replicate the
original bio-matter as well as converting the host. The resulting
conflict destroyed the body”.
“Can it be fixed?” said Santomagh. The scientist merely nodded, his
primary and secondary hands clasped together in a posture of
subservience.
“Yes, my lord. I also believe that we can make improvements upon the original design”.
Santomaghs’ head swivelled, and his eyes fixed on the scientist. “Speak”
“Um, yes my lord. I think that we can improve the design, so that an
Antherian disguise is maintained, and can be transformed out of via a
mental command, inputted at a later date, by either ourselves or via
the subjects own mental conditioning”.
“Intriguing” said the giant warlord, pausing for a moment with a hand
on his chin. And it was – the potential was almost worth it alone.
These spies would be almost identical to the originals. Unless the
markers and traces in blood and DNA samples were known specifically to
look for, they would show up merely as traces of illnesses or of other
conditions. And then the ‘fake’ Antherians could discover the location
of the Resistance base, and then they would attack, and summon
reinforcements. It could work, as an admirable plan…
“Very well then, scientist. Let it be so. However, do not hasten to
forget the demise of your predecessor, as it will be yours as well if
you fail”.
“Yes, lord Santomagh”.
The scientist bowed, and began to hurry his fellows to work, as
Santomagh turned on one huge heel and departed the room. His huge wings
flexed in reflex to the contemplation inside his crested head as he
considered the possible outcomes of this venture – it would improve his
own standing no end. Perhaps then, he would be sent somewhere other
than this pathetic mudball. There were countless other worlds out there
that required the domination of the hive-mind to bring order to their
endless chaos.
Not that any of that mattered – he wished to be on the front lines of a
planetary assault was all. His body was built for killing strength;
unstoppable fighting power and the multiple organic technology weapons
secreted about his powerful frame yearned to be used. He was wasted
here, he imagined, where he could do so much more elsewhere.
His multiple rows of teeth split in a Marek approximation of a smile.
Yes, he would have his chance. And it would not be soon enough.
Josh and Charley had arrived outside the door to the high command
briefing room, and had ended up standing there for a moment, as each
waited for the other to tap the door. As one, they both reached
forwards, and then sharply withdrew their hands as each looked at the
other.
“I thought you were going to-“
“Yeah, and I thought you were-“
Charley grinned and extended her hand with its dusty yellow, black
spotted fur, yet white as snow on the underside, and tapped the door
the regulation three times.
“Enter” a voice said from inside, and the two looked at each other
before the cheetah opened the door and they both stepped into the
central command chamber.
Arrayed around a semi-circular table were the leaders of the
resistance. Josh cleared his throat from the lump that had been forming
there, and to him the sound was like it had been played over the sound
system at a super bowl.
Ahead of him was the ultimate leader of the resistance, the head
honcho. A regal and imposing looking Felness, Alva Mandros sat before
him, his hands neatly folded on the desk. Even with the
responsibilities of his rank, and the things it entailed, his eyes were
still soft and warm, and there was a gentle smile on his face.
To either side of him, there were the three advisors. They were the
ones who made the plans, reported the strategies, and also distributed
them amongst the lower ranks. One male and two female, two Canus and
one Felness, they sat to either side of Mandros. Charley went and sat
with them, nodding to them as they did to her, the cheetah settling
into a seat off to one side of the main table.
Josh stood to attention, remembering himself after a moment’s
hesitation, his booted heels clicking together on the polished stone
floor.
“Sir!” said Josh. “Specialist Josh Masters reporting as ordered”. He hoped he had got everything right as he said it.
“Very good. Specialist, no need for formality at the moment – I’d like you to feel comfortable”.
“Sir – weren’t there supposed to be others joining us?”
Mandros looked to one of his advisors, a lion like himself, but with a
thick red mane, complete with three white stripes – one from each
temple, and one from the middle of his forehead.
“Yes – we’re waiting for one of them, but the others have been… waylaid. We’re expecting them shortly, however”.
As the advisor finished speaking, the door handle turned, and another three bodies entered the room.
The three soldiers that entered had a not too impressive air, which was
soon redressed as they snapped to attention. Josh recognised Taia
Maine, Jessy Hawke and Adam Jorath – they were the most prolific
guerrilla fighters in the resistance. The stories of their rescues,
sabotages, and other exploits were legendary. Adam especially was well
known from before the war, for his associations with the White Knights.
It was a surprise to see him here, given that background.
The lynx, cougar and panther introduced themselves before standing at
ease, as Josh did the same, briefly exchanging glances
The high command staff nodded, and one of the women – a tigress –
gestured for the four of them to sit, which they did. There was silence
for a moment, until Mandros spoke.
As they sat down, Jessy, Taia and Adam looked over at Josh, nodding and smiling to him, which he gladly returned.
“As you may know, the resistance has been in a stalemate for the past
several months. Our resources are rapidly becoming depleted, and we
have yet to gain an edge over the Marek… As such we have been forced to
turn our attentions to increasingly more desperate strategies and plans
to try and come up with a way to counter the Marek.
“As such, I have called you all here, as I believe you represent the
best the resistance has to offer – you are all dedicated members, and
you all have distinguished skills and abilities that may prove to be
indispensable to our needs and aims”.
There was further silence, as the soldiers waited for their commanders
to offer up further explanation. Jessy finally broke the awkward moment
by speaking first.
“What did you have in mind for us to do, sir?”
“I’m glad you asked, Trooper Hawke”.
The lights went dark in the room, and a screen unfurled itself at the
left side of the room. High command shifted to see the screens as the
troopers did as well.
An image appeared – a grainy piece of footage from the invasion, years
ago. There was no sound, but it was clear the piece of footage was
centring on one CRV pilot. He was a fox, aged in his mid twenties, a
picture of heroism and youthful exuberance. Confidence abounded in his
handsome face, and his warm brown eyes sparkled with mischief and inner
light.
“Silverwind Blade” said the other advisor, not having spoken yet. “He
was an ace amongst aces. The greatest CRV and fighter pilot we had ever
known – able to out fly anyone or anything. He was one of the White
Knights, the special protection, rescue, and combat force established
by the ruling councils to maintain the order of our society, they were
free of government control and restraint, and only accessible to the
best of the best”.
As the footage went on, showcasing some of the epic battles he had been
in, filmed from the ground, and then his appearance in the years after
the war – one eyed, harder and less twinkle-eyed. No one knew exactly
what he had done to get his wounds, but it had something to do with the
foiled rebellion by Blackwind Strike, that had split the White Knights.
Jessy’s forehead furrowed into a frown as she considered the information and formed her words.
“Isn’t he dead though? I thought he was shot down during the last
official DefCom offensive – he was the last White Knight, if I remember
correctly”.
Mandros nodded slowly. “That’s almost correct, Trooper Hawke. However,
we may have some new information that counters the reports of his
so-called death”.
Jessy and the others exchanged glances, and returned their eyes to the screen.
“Silverwind Blade was our best pilot – however, it seems that for
reasons unknown, he has not joined the resistance, and instead has
disappeared into the forests of the North. We would like to try and
approach him, coerce him into joining the resistance”.
“What for?” said Adam, snorting in contempt. “The CRV’s we have left
are not powerful enough to fight the Marek. A different pilot would not
change that, and besides, I do not think he would come back now”.
“That’s where the second part of our plan comes in,” said the other
lion, taking over the speaking. The image changed to show a vixen, red
furred and with raven-dark hair.
“This is someone else you may recognise”
Josh nodded this time. “Yeah – that’s Talian Sahram. She’s that
scientist who had all the theo-historical debates on TV and in the
news. What does she have to do with all of this?”
“Recently we uncovered a portion of her diaries in electronic form. We
haven’t been able to decode much, but we think she may have been onto
something – something big! We’d like you to decode the rest, Specialist
Masters. However, there’s more too – Since only she has the last part
of her theories as well as her established and tested information, we
need to talk to her in person”.
“Sounds easy enough – where is she?” asked Taia, speaking for the first time.
“That’s the hard part”, said the second female advisor, “in a Marek hive”.
“Damn” muttered Adam.
“Okay, so this is what I see you wanting us to do then” said Jessy.
“Rescue Talian Sahram, and convince Mr. Blade to join our resistance
tea-party. But the question still hangs – why?”
The four members of high command all exchanged a glance, some unspoken
communication passing between them via a shared glance. The four
soldiers facing them shifted uneasily in their seats as they waited for
an answer to their question from their superiors. Jessy was about to
open her muzzle and ask if there actually was a reason, until Mandros
spoke up. When he looked at the five of them, there was nothing but a
look of severe seriousness and sincerity in his eyes.
“The five of you are now part of the official secrets and guarded
information act. What we are about to discuss in here, shall not be
spoken of with anyone other than the persons mentioned, or the people
present in this room. It must also not be discussed anywhere other than
a secure location, free of any personnel not of a sufficient clearance
level. Breaking these rules and regulations will result in an immediate
court-martial, resulting in severe disciplinary actions”.
The five of them exchanged a quick sidelong glance – ‘Severe
Disciplinary Action’ was a rosy tinted way of saying ‘execution’ and
everyone knew it.
“Are we clear on this?” asked Mandros, still fixing them with the same gaze.
“Yes sir!” the four of them intoned.
“Very good”, he said, standing up for the first time, as the lights
returned to normal, and the screen rolled itself back up into a ceiling
space. As he walked around the desk, he looked into a nonexistent
distance, his hands fastened behind his back, before coming around to
the front of the table, standing closer to them before fixing them with
the same penetrating gaze.
“As well as the central bank, do any of you know what other important
buildings are in this city?” he asked in a casual tone and manner.
“The central library, and the grand university are both here” Josh
replied – he had been familiar with both, as a university student a few
short years before the Marek attacked.
“That’s right. The university and library – but what we’re interested in is the University”.
“Why’s that?” said Taia, an eyebrow raised. “I don’t think we need to send Silverwind Blade on a university course”.
Mandros smiled at that. “No, not quite. It’s what we found in one of the university offices that’s the interesting part”.
“It wouldn’t have been Talian’s office by any chance, would it?” said
Jessy, knowing the answer already and guessing one step ahead.
“Yes, that’s right. Amongst all of her archaeological notes, we found
several photo’s, maps, drawings, and reports detailing a find she was
hoping to keep secret so she could unveil it to the press at a later
date – as such, a great deal of information as to the locations of what
she had found, as well as all of her travel details, had been stashed
elsewhere – we expect they’re either consigner to her memory, or else
in the encoded portions of the files we removed from her computers”.
“All right” said Taia, folding her arms, “I see why we need Talian now,
but I’m still lost as to why we need Silverwind – an ace CRV pilot – in
connection with what you’ve told me”.
“That’s all to do with the nature of what it is she’s found, Trooper Maine”.
Mandros stood again, and started to walk around the office. The other
members of high command watched him curiously, as well as flicking
their eyes back to the four soldiers in front of them.
“I expect you all saw the news reports around two years before the
invasion, of Talian Sahram returning from the Kharabata Archipelago?”
The group nodded. They all remembered it – mostly because of the fact
she had later returned with a military expedition group – a strange
occurrence for someone who never worked with the armed forces.
“Yes”, said Josh, picking up on their collective memory of the event.
“And I remember she went back with a military expedition. Does this
have something to do with that?”
“Everything”. Answered Mandros. “You see… The expedition group that
went there didn’t come back – except for a few members. They left
again, a few months later however, with many more people and a lot of
equipment. Obviously Talian Sahram was one of them”.
“And… Silverwind Blade was another?” said Taia, frowning slightly as
she coped with the idea, trying to figure out where this was heading.
“Yes, he was. The exact details of what they found were never released
– they were heavily classified, and buried under levels of secrecy and
Beauracracy. Then the Marek came, and it was forgotten about for a long
time… Now though – well, we have reason to believe that whatever they
found might just lend us an edge we need in this war”.
“Wait a minute… I think I can see what you’re getting at here,” said
Adam slowly, his hands moving in the air in front of him, and his long
tail twitching slowly as he worked the ideas through in his head.
“Silverwind Blade was a pilot – an ace pilot, in fact. And he was
assigned to this supposed ‘research’ and expedition mission. It’s
unlikely that a transport would need an ace pilot – no offence
intended, Trooper Hawke – so you’re thinking that there was something
at the research site that required Silverwind’s skill?”
“Exactly” said Mandros, smiling. “And whatever it is, we need it”.
To be continued…