Hunt for the Garde Part 4

"Dr. Zakos was thrilled with the work the three of you did last night," the captain says. His hands are clasped behind his back. "You may not be aware, but the doctor answers to Beloved Leader himself. You've brought honor to your names and to this s.h.i.+p. Well done."

The three of us grunt and nod.

"Today we have a . . . more interesting task for you," the recon officer says.

She taps on a tablet in her hand, and a video plays on one of the screens lining the walls. Humans in front of some sort of waterfall. Talking to the camera. Pointing to a blue stone.

"This video was uploaded to the internet just a few minutes ago," the officer continues. "It's a message for the Loric, but broadcast for anyone in the world to see. It's possible we're the first Mogadorians to pick up on it."

"These appear to be four more 'human Garde,'" the captain says. "I'm sending all three of your squads to collect them. a.s.suming they're still there. Your secondary directive is to investigate the blue stone on the video. Take a laser cutter. Bring back a sample. If this turns out to somehow be Loralite, Beloved Leader will no doubt be pleased. We'll give you some lead time before we share our discovery with the other captains. I want this to be our victory."

"This is a big opportunity," the recon officer says. "Securing the humans and taking control of a possible Loralite deposit will bring glory to you and our s.h.i.+p."

"As you may have guessed based on the context of the message, it's possible the Loric or their allies will be there. You're to exercise extreme caution." One side of the captain's lips curls up a little. "And brutality."

This is better news than I could have expected. Still, something doesn't sit well with me.

"Sir," I say, taking a slight step forward. My eyes are on the ground.

"Speak freely, Vintaro," he says.

"If it's possible the true Loric Garde might be there, should we not . . ."

I trail off, unsure of how to continue. It's not my place to question the judgment or commands of my superiors.

"You're wondering why we don't send half the fleet to stop them," the captain finishes my thought.

I don't respond. It doesn't matter-he keeps talking.

"Our orders are to secure Chicago. As soon as you're en route, I'll put in a priority-one request that I be allowed to send a more substantial amount of troops to the location where this video was shot: Niagara Falls. However . . ." He pauses for a few seconds. "High command has been slow to respond to requests for the last twenty-four hours. As you know, Beloved Leader is very busy at this moment."

Hail our Beloved Leader! Forever may he reign!

The captain crosses his arms over his chest. "Now, if you do happen to run across the Loric while on this mission and they try to interfere, it would of course be your duty to take them out. And doing so would bring glory that would follow you for the rest of your life."

My vision goes red. I hardly comprehend the rest of what the officers say. All I can think of is facing the Garde. Of taking out their leader, John Smith. How his arrogant face might look as my hands grip his neck.

And before I know it, the captain and reconnaissance officer are gone.

In half an hour, we've a.s.sembled and briefed our squads, loaded our Skimmers, and are flying towards Niagara Falls. I a.s.sign one of my men to pilot the craft while I triple-check our weapons and supplies, going over possible scenarios in my head. Once we've obtained the humans, should we delay our return? Wait around for the Loric to show? How long? And what if we're not the first Mogadorians there. It sounded as though anyone could have picked up on this broadcast. If other squads from other wars.h.i.+ps show up trying to claim our targets, or take credit for killing the Garde . . .

How far do we go to ensure that victory belongs to our wars.h.i.+p?

Or to my squad, for that matter?

"Vintaro," one of my men says. It's the newest member. I stare back at him. His nose is bruised and smashed from last night's run-in. He tentatively adds, "Sir."

"Speak," I say.

"We will make Beloved Leader proud," he says. "We'll bring honor to our wars.h.i.+p, and the captain will know that it was Vintaro shaba who led us to victory."

He hits his chest with his fist and grunts. I return the gesture. My heart drums under my knuckles. All my life, this is what I've wanted. What any Mogadorian wants. To excel, and speed our progress across planets and stars.

"Four targets," I remind him, and the others. "You've seen their faces. Lock them down, then find the possible Loralite deposit. Put a hole in the head of anyone else who dares stand against us."

"We're just a few minutes away," the pilot calls back. "We should- s.h.i.+t."

"What?" I ask.

"One of the other Skimmers just hit their afterburners."

I watch as our allies shoot ahead. Trying to be the first ones there, I'm sure. To claim the humans.

"Catch them!" I bark, and I can feel our acceleration in my guts.

I open up a comm line, reporting back to the wars.h.i.+p.

"This is Vintaro shaba. We have no visual on the targets yet, but we're approaching the-"

"Look!" the pilot shouts, bringing up a visual on-screen.

The other Skimmer is hovering above the side of a roaring river. Troops jump to the ground. There are humanoid figures in front of them, but we're too far away to make out what's happening clearly. As we get closer, though, it's obvious these humans are fighting back. The other squad members are firing at them.

"b.a.s.t.a.r.ds!" I slam my fist against the back of one of the seats in our s.h.i.+p. "They'll kill our targets! Get us-"

There's a flash of some kind of red energy across our s.h.i.+p's winds.h.i.+eld.

"What the-," the pilot starts, but the sound of the explosion and our hull ripping apart drowns out the rest of his words.

CHAPTER TEN.

I'M BLOWN BACKWARDS, INTO THE REAR OF THE s.h.i.+p. Everything is rus.h.i.+ng air, fire and ash around me.

Our pilot's dead. So is the soldier who was sitting in the copilot's seat. It's difficult to see what happened exactly, with the thick, black smoke filling the cabin; but it's obvious they're gone.

And that we're falling.

I lunge forward and hit a few b.u.t.tons, enacting some emergency protocols. For what it's worth. The Skimmer rotates as it drops, but I manage to get us evened out enough so that when we hit the ground, cras.h.i.+ng into a wooded area near the falls, we're right-side up.

It's only once we've stopped skidding and the smoke starts to clear that I can a.s.sess the damage.

Getting to my feet, I realize my left wrist is broken. A setback, but one I can overcome. I only need one hand to fire a blaster. I could kill without either arm if I needed to.

"Report," I shout, the sound of the nearby waterfalls nearly drowning out my voice.

"Sir," someone says.

From the back of the Skimmer, the newbie emerges, coughing. There's a cut on his forehead, but otherwise he looks fine.

"Is it just you?" I ask.

He nods.

I glance at the controls. Our communications systems are shot. Somewhere near us, I can hear blasters firing.

I gesture to the hole in the c.o.c.kpit, and then we're climbing out.

"What's your name, soldier?" I ask my only remaining squad member.

"Drak shaba," he says.

This takes me a bit off guard.

"We come from the same vat," I say.

He nods, his eyes searching the trees around us as we get our bearings. A good soldier.

"But I think I was born quite a few broods after you," he says.

Our Skimmer crashed not far from the falls. I spot two piles of ash beside metal railings set up to keep people from tumbling into the water. The two remaining Skimmers circle overhead, firing at targets I don't immediately see. A few more of our troops from one of the other Skimmers are hunkered down behind large rocks, shooting from cover.

"Drak shaba," I say, taking out my blaster with my good hand. "We have a mission to complete. Let's make our vat, our wars.h.i.+p-our Beloved Leader-proud."

He grunts in reply. We rush into the fight.

I spot two targets: a blond-haired girl hiding in the trees a hundred yards away from us, and a stout, brown-haired kid trying his best not to fall off the rocks and into the water while waving his hands around. Possibly using Loric powers.

Drak sees them too.

"Take the girl," I say, and he disappears into the trees. "Nonlethal shots. We'll ride back in one of the other Skimmers. They'll have room for us."

I hustle to the side of the railing above the brown-haired kid and aim carefully. The humans are putting up a h.e.l.l of a fight-much more than I'd expected. But this is far from over. We can still capture them. I can still achieve victory.

I fire. My aim is good. I hit the boy twice in his rear. Just enough to take him down without killing him. He falls, crying out. I think. The sound of the water is so loud.

It's probably why I don't realize the person sneaking up on me until it's too late.

"Oy!" a voice shouts.

I turn. There's a human boy standing ten yards away. His hair is an odd color. Unnatural. Almost white and sticking up on the top of his head.

I turn my blaster on him. He grins and shakes his finger back and forth. Something flies over his head. A streak of red, pulsing energy. The boy clenches his fingers into a fist and swings it down. Must be using telekinesis. Before I can leap out of the way, the red thing hits the ground behind me just on the other side of the railing. Exploding. Sending me flying through the air along with a shower of smoke, rock, debris.

I hit the ground and roll, finally coming to a stop with my back against something hard. My head smacks against whatever it is, blurring my vision. There's a sudden pain in my chest.

"Thanks," the boy calls over his shoulder, but all I can make out is a dark-haired figure, much too small to be a Mogadorian, disappearing into the trees. The boy turns his attention to me. "Man, I've got to work on my aim. I almost got poor Bertrand caught up in all that. Ran's bomb was supposed to actually hit you. Still, I bet that b.l.o.o.d.y hurts, doesn't it?"

I look down. There's a length of metal rod sticking out of the right side of my chest. Part of the railing I'd been standing by. One of my lungs is destroyed, certainly. I must be in shock, though, because I don't feel much of anything other than a cold tingling in my fingers.

I look around. Where is Drak? Where are the other troops?

"d.a.m.ned humans . . . ," I spit out. "Weaklings . . ."

The boy smiles in a way that sets my blood on fire. "Seems to me like these 'human weaklings' are taking out all your men. You shoulda brought more aliens with you." He lets out an exaggerated sigh. "Guess I shoulda guessed you ugly b.a.s.t.a.r.ds would pick up on our message. Maybe the Loric aren't far behind." His face lights up. "Wait, is this some kinda test or something? Because I think we're acing it, mate."

My blaster lies on the ground between us. The boy opens his palm, and the blaster flies into his hand. Over his shoulder, I see one of the other Skimmers going down. There's something hazy about it. Like it's been covered in some kind of cloud or swarm. It crashes into the water.

I try to stand. That's when I realize the rod has gone completely through me. The back end is embedded in a tree. I twist my body in an attempt to dislodge it. That's when the pain comes.

I yell. The boy holds the blaster up, aiming at my face. Based on the angle, it looks like he'll miss. But if I stay here, he'll hit me eventually.

I won't let this child end me. I have only one option. Maybe I'll even survive. Maybe the wounds aren't that bad.

With every ounce of strength in my body, I lunge forward. There's a sickening, wet sound as I slide off the metal. I feel a blast of heat shoot by my ear, searing the air. The kid missed.

But he's not really my concern now.

"Oof," the kid says. "Looks like you're already dead."

I crawl forward on my knees. Dark liquid gushes from the hole in my chest, covering me. Coating the leaves. I look down at my hands. They're turning gray. A bomb of exclamations goes off in my head.

You've failed! Kill them! It hurts! Don't let this human beat you!

And then comes the loudest of all as my fingers start to break apart. Disintegrating.

Hail our Beloved Leader! Forever may he . . .

PART THREE.

REXICUS SATURNUS.

CHAPTER ELEVEN.