Fall of Zona Nox

Part 1

Nicholas Woode-Smith

Warpmancer © Nicholas Woode-Smith 2013

Part One Edition
Published in Cape Town, South Africa

Originally published 2013
First Edition published 2016

License Notes

This book is protected under the copyright laws of the Republic of South Africa. Any reproduction or other unauthorized use of the material or artwork herein is prohibited.

This book respects property rights and allows owners of the book to lend and give copies at their leisure. It does, however, prohibit reproduction of the book for commercial purposes. Reproducing it is strictly prohibited.

Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Disclaimer: The persons, places, things, and otherwise animate or inanimate objects mentioned in this novel are, for the most part, figments of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to anything or anyone living or dead is coincidental and unintended by the author.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1. Galis

Chapter 2. Mafia

Chapter 3. Night

Chapter 4. Siege

Chapter 5. Outpost

Chapter 6. Tundra

Chapter 7. Dreams

Chapter 8. Insects

Chapter 9. Armour

Chapter 10. Watchers

Chapter 11. Titan

Chapter 12. Pebble Rock

Chapter 13. Arrival

Chapter 14. Extraction

Chapter 15. Informants

Chapter 16. Escape

Chapter 17. Failed

Chapter 18. Buy-out

Chapter 19. Tunnels

Chapter 20. Rescue

Chapter 21. Drugs

Chapter 22. Mobilization

Fall of Zona Nox: Part 2 and the full volume available on most platforms.

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“If I was to pay one compliment to humanity, that would be its persistence to not stay down even after being shot, beaten, and crippled.” – Martyr Grexus of Xerl, Imperial General, 3550 T. C

Chapter 1. Galis

A stray bullet ricocheted off the concrete tiling of a nearby shop as the boy narrowly dodged the projectile. The guard was in pursuit and gaining speed by the second, firing as he ran. The boy was fast but that made little difference against bullets. Luckily, the guard was too incompetent to stop and aim. The skidded into an alleyway, knocking over dustbins to try hinder his pursuer. He had done this hundreds of times without a problem, but today, he felt it might be his last.

Loose concrete and red sand fell as he grappled onto the roof of a low lying shanty, the guard still in pursuit. The roofing was as it had always been - grey, damaged and flat. He had grown up in this city and this loathsome sight was normal and even of some relief to him. It was a strange feeling, gaining pleasure from the sight of grit and dirt. The boy had come to accept this, and become better for it.

The guard lifted himself onto the roof, being weighed down only slightly by his cumbersome armour. Before the guard could grab the boy, he leapt across a small opening to another roof, once again escaping capture. The boy needed to get to the Poor District to have the slightest chance of escape. He sped across the grey surface, darting away from incoming fire. This route had already been set up by multiple thieves as an escape route and the boy only had to jump the occasional gap. This was, in fact, a hindrance as he did not typically mind jumping gaps, while the make-shift bridges allowed his heavily armoured pursuer an easier route.

He had thought that stealing an X51 Battery to sell on the black market would be easy, but it looked as if he had been wrong, and was now regretting it. The victim of his crime was a rich off-world merchant with ties to multiple corporations. The X51 Battery had enough energy to power a house for six months and was only the size of a portable communicator. It apparently utilized a new substance from Nova Zarxa, a hybrid fuel made from varying types of crystals and chemicals.

He had heard rumours of the battery and decided it was a worthy prize. A little bit of credit in the right pocket and he found out that the merchant was meeting his client in the southern Merchant District to conduct the trade. All information had stated that the merchant was without private protection and was utilizing the easily bribed guards of the local tavern.

The reports had been wrong. The merchant had, in fact, replaced many of the tavern staff with his own personal retinue of hired gunslingers.

Luckily, the boy’s stealth had allowed him to pilfer the battery without raising any attention. The alarm had sounded after he had reached the end of the street and was the signal for a band of eight heavily armed mercenaries to give chase. It seemed they were not used to Galis, and as they drew their guns, they were met with others from jumpier mercenaries; a fire fight ensued and left only one guard to pursue the boy.

They had been running for about half an hour and the boy had been able to replace much of his need for stamina with adrenaline. He had the advantage of speed and a near-inhuman stamina, but the guard had a gun, so that evened the odds - somewhat. The guard only needed a steady hand and good aim. He lacked both. He did, however, possess a commendable diligence, and never gave up the chase.

The boy was gaining a little bit of speed across the rooftops. The combined feeling of danger and the wind buffeting against him was thrilling and terrifying at the same time. He jumped up to catch another ledge, he felt the impact of his hands upon the edge of the higher roof and was about to pull himself up when the guard caught hold of his ankle. Only the boy’s tight grip on the edge of the roofing stood between him and punishment. The guard was strong and the boy would not be able to hold on much longer.

He kicked the guard in the jaw but realised that he was wearing a mask, like most guards who worked for the corporations in Galis. He struggled to squirm free. His grip was all that was between a robber’s execution and freedom. He lowered himself an inch feeling the guard relax, thinking that he was giving up. Then the boy hooked his foot under the bottom of the guard’s mask and flipped it up. Before he could react, the boy kicked him in the jaw again. This time, it connected with a satisfying thump. The stunned guard loosened his grip on the boy’s ankle for just a moment, but that was all it took.

He climbed onto the ledge while the guard recovered and the chase resumed. Roof top by roof top, the boy leapt and dashed. Neither of them had gained anything but a few bruises and a lot of fatigue. Then he noticed that he had crossed the invisible border between the Poor District and Merchant District. This border had nothing to signify it, and only reputation allowed people to know where it was. He turned to notice that the guard had lost sight of him. He wouldn’t pass up this chance. Hastily lowering himself through a sky light, he landed on the top floor of a building he knew to be a saloon. The saloon was called the Rusty Trooper, a popular hangout for gangsters and ruffians. The owner was a friend, family of sorts, and secretly, a fence for the Galis Black Market.

Years ago, there had been no organised black market and people would have to sell their stolen goods on the streets This was highly risky, as the passing victim may give exception to the act. Black market fences would purchase stolen goods and make sure that no one knew who stole them; they also put bounties on certain items, like the battery that the boy had stolen.

He lowered himself into a corner, holding his breath slightly, and waited. Minutes later he could hear the guard run right past the sky light. The heavy footsteps banged loudly on the concrete and tin roof, making the guard’s identity unmistakable.

The boy had escaped and kept his prize.

Skulking out of the shadows, the boy revealed his features. He was of the typical city dweller variety; dark brown, almost black hair, pale skin and green eyes. He was slightly taller than most, but not enough to brag about. Overall, James was an average looking Galisian teenager.

Assured of his safety, James descended the stairway. Like most buildings in Galis it was crafted of concrete and metal; only the corporation housing could afford alternatives. As he climbed quietly down the steps, he could hear sounds of merry-making and smell the scent of fresh meat and vegetables mixed in with the acrid smell of low-shelf booze and unwashed men. The Rusty Trooper was a good bar for both food and drink, but no saloon could expect respectable clientele in such a location.

The saloon floor was covered with metal tables, seating a number of ruffians who looked to be gambling or drinking. Very few ate at this time, but the owner would have already started cooking for the evening meals by now.

The person of James’ interest and the owner of the establishment was Billy Roman, who was currently shining mugs behind the old metal counter of the saloon. James walked casually to the counter where he took a seat. If he was anyone else, no one would have suspected him of returning from a heist. Alas, his fame went before him, and he was known throughout the bar. Fortunately for him, no one cared where he got his money. Blight, they often had worse sources for their incomes.

‘James, I didn't see you come in,’ Billy greeted without lifting his head. This was a common occurrence.

‘I used the scenic entrance,’ James replied snidely, as he always did.

‘You know that X51 Battery that the Board wanted?’ James continued.

‘What about it?’ Billy asked, still not looking up from his oh-so-important shining of the glass mug.

James took the battery out of his jacket. ‘That will be five thousand Credits.’

Billy finally looked up and gawked at the battery. ‘By the Imperial Council, you’re the best damn thief in Galis! I heard reports that that merchant was packing his own private army.’

‘At one time, I thought that this would be my last theft for that very reason. It wasn’t that hard though, now that I think about it. Corporates got spooked quite early on and started shooting each other; only got marked by one.’

Billy looked impressed, and so he should be. James, at an early age, had been the breadwinner of the household, even if Billy was the one who had given him a family. It was James’ skill which had kept them alive for so long.

Taking out his wallet, Billy handed James five thousand credits in the form of the green notes common to the north. The note was a Galisian Dollar, crafted of paper fibre which by itself was worth more than the silver and steel common to Zona Nox. Paper was hard to come by in the north.

‘Regardless, you still managed to jump a Titan tech trader. That’s no mean feat.’

He raised his mug in toast, ‘To the best damn thief in Galis.’

Some people cheered quietly while the others raised their mugs. Billy served him a mug of beer and continued serving the other customers, evidently bored of his pointless scrubbing of the single glass mug.

The Rusty Trooper was quite a bland tavern, actually; grey walls, tin or metal tables and a plastic countertop made to look like wood, but it was still quite popular in this part of town, and was known for its iconic neon sign of a drunken Trooper wielding an assault rifle and glass bottle.

James, personally, admired the practicality. The Rusty Trooper was a front and a drinking-hole for career gangsters; it didn’t need to be flashy.

As he sat down, finally easing the strain on his legs, the door opened and two strange figures entered. The glare of light hid their features but James could see that they were definitely not human. One was tall and thin, with stringy arms. The other was short and hunched. The door closed and, as James’ vision adjusted to the light, the figures revealed themselves to be aliens – a short Exanoid and a Gray. As people realised what they were, everyone turned to stare at the new entrants to the tavern. There was no law segregating different races, but normally, this saloon was only used by humans. James tensed up, ready to act if necessary.

The aliens walked in, the Exanoid looking relaxed and the Gray, watchful. Before they could reach the bar counter, a man by the name of Ryan blocked their path. James turned in his seat, ready to intervene. He normally didn’t particularly care what happened to aliens, or other people for that matter, but didn’t want trouble in Billy’s saloon. Additionally, if a fight was to break out, it could attract unwanted attention, attention which James sorely wished to keep away.

He had never really spoken to Ryan, but knew him to be an enforcer in the Marzio family, a gang in which James was a made-man. Ryan was notorious due to his stature and strength. James had to admit to being a bit threatened by the large muscular man. He didn’t only perform well; he looked the part - shaved head, goatee and all.

‘This bar is for humans only, alien,’ Ryan slurred, obviously drunk. He tilted from side to side occasionally; his eyes seemed to be hazy. Evidently, he was not past the point of incapacitation, however – unfortunately.

Oh great, James frowned, a brute and a drunk; just my luck.

James carefully changed his seating position. If a fight was going to break out, he wanted to be able to move fast.

‘There is no sign stating we can’t drink here,’ replied the Exanoid calmly, ‘we only wish for bed and drink.’

‘Leave them alone, Ryan,’ Billy called coolly, betraying his sentiments through tensing up. He had stopped serving customers. His one hand had disappeared below the counter top. James knew what Billy was touching, and he hoped that he would not have to use it.

The man shouted back, spitting at the same time, ‘This pig face and Gray skin don’t deserve your hospitality, Billy.’

The Exanoid countered. ‘We have money, no need for trouble.’

Ryan spat at the alien again. ‘I don’t bloody care if you have money! You aliens are always trouble. You kill our families and take our land. The Troopers do nothin’ because they’re in your pocket, the whole bloody lotta ‘em! Someone is gonna have to take care of all you off-worlders. Better it be me!’

Before anyone could react, Ryan launched his fist at the Exanoid. James and a few others jumped up to intervene, but just before impact, the Gray caught the brute’s arm and twisted it.

‘Now, can we drink?’ asked the Gray in heavily accented English.

The man began to sob, his arm twisted at an odd angle and his mouth blabbering out an apology. The Gray released his grip and allowed Ryan to fall limply to the floor as he clutched the damaged appendage in silence.

Bar fights happened often but a strong Gray was a rare sight. James could see a lot of people were as startled as he was. The Exanoid and Gray strolled up to Billy and asked for two beers. Seeing that no more violence would erupt that night, James once again took his seat and drank his beverage in silence, only just concealing his discomfort at the presence of the Exanoid and Gray beside him.



Billy normally allowed James to sleep at the saloon free of charge since his parents had died. Tonight, however, James felt that he could do without the charity. He refused to lodge for free and instead rented his own room. The Gray and Exanoid took a room next to him. He managed to suppress most of his discomfort and slept reasonably well. But, he was still thinking about the Gray.

What he had heard of Grays was that they were a weak race, normally captured as slaves. He had seen groups of them congregating around corporate ships at the starport and had surmised that their enslavement was most probably due to their anatomy. They were not built to fight. A weak physique, pale skin and skeletal arms; It was a wonder they were even used in physical labour at all.

Its presence was an oddity in itself. Any alien was a rare thing to see in Galis. The city, as well as all of Zona Nox, was human-owned. Aliens were seen occasionally at the starport or in the civic district, but overall, they were a rarity. Even though the aliens downstairs had obviously been peaceful, James could understand Ryan’s racism. Many people’s relatives and friends had been killed by aliens. The Empire of Xank were those aliens, and had been attacking every month now.

The Trooper outposts could handle them most of the time, but every once in a while, a Xank attack force would get through. A few months back, a mob of Zangorians, bird-like troops of the Xank, were rampaging through the Poor District. Ninety people had died, including five Troopers.

James had walked past the scene on his way to a gang meeting and could still not get over his revulsion. The bodies were fresh and blood was everywhere. It was different to the violence of the gangs. The people were torn apart. He had since numbed himself to such scenes. The world didn’t care about his constitution or delicate desires. James had learnt this the hard way. Life was hard.

The aliens in the bar were not of the Xank Empire, James knew that much at least. Exanoids and Grays were regarded as Free Races, even though many Grays were anything but free, but that did not stop a lot of people’s hatred towards them. People would always find a target for their frustration. If something varied from the norm, the ignorant tended to attack it, and these aliens were definitely not of the norm.

Grays were thin and skeletal creatures, called Grays because of their skin colour. They typically didn’t carry that much muscle and were only effective in labour if accompanied by large groups of their kind. Their eyes were generally quite large, and they possessed only two slits for a nose.

James remembered hearing somewhere about what people thought they were like thousands of years ago. People back then had thought that the Grays were a race capable of advanced technology and mind powers. This couldn’t have been any farther from the truth. Grays were, rather, a tribal race until the Imperial Council, Humanity, and many other races found them and enslaved or civilised them.

Exanoids were renowned managers and overseers. Their skin was brown with lighter brown stripes; their noses were long and snoutish. One of the remarkable physical traits of the Exanoid was its permanently curved spine. Its spine bent like a bow, causing their gait to be permanently slow and unwieldy. James had to admit to not knowing much about them, besides that, the Troopers tended to get along fine with them. James didn’t have long to ponder these thoughts, as his exertions finally caught up with him and allowed him a well-deserved rest.



James stayed around the Rusty Trooper for a short while after that. He didn’t need any credits since his last heist, so decided to relax. He was also keeping his head down, since his theft had been reported. This was a mere formality, as nobody ever cared about theft reports in Galis City.

The Gray and the Exanoid left that morning, to the relief of Racist Ryan. The Exanoid thanked Billy for the hospitality and then left, hiring a taxi to take them to the Corporate District. James didn’t know why, but he hoped that they didn’t run into trouble. The Exanoid seemed likeable and even a bit naïve, which was a rare pleasantry on Zona Nox.

Originally, there had been some word around the saloon that guards were patrolling the districts and streets more than usual. James was not worried about the heightened security. He knew the reason to not be crime prevention, but rather, if the rumours were true, that the Empire of Xank was once again amassing a force to attack Galis. This was a common occurrence, but the Trooper guards would not allow their vigilance to falter just because of repetition. James had even got some glimpses of Reapers, large walking vehicles used by the Zona Nox Military. The governor had to have been anxious to allow the warmachine access to the city streets. In the wrong hands, the gatling gun of the vehicle could level most of the concrete structures to be found in the city.

Galis City was mainly controlled by corporations and gangs, but somewhere in its history, the Troopers had placed a governor to administrate the city. First, they tried to actually take over the city. Mass casualties caused them to revaluate their stance. They changed their jurisdiction to rudimentary law enforcement and the guarding of the starport, the only one of its kind on Zona Nox. This suited the locals’ preferences just fine.

Galis was the capital of the northern section of Zona Nox, apparently controlled by the Troopers. It was located on the eastern flank of a large expanse of desert called Red Sand, right on the shores of one of the only large bodies of water on the planet - Galis Lake.

James had lived in Galis most of his life. He recalled living in some other city when he was younger, but had since purposefully rid himself of those memories. Life did not go on if you were stuck in the past, especially a past which was dead. He knew the streets better than most. He had lived here for most of his life and had spent much of his younger days traversing the streets and roofs, finding nooks and crannies to hoard food.

James lived in the Poor District with Billy and his son, Andrew. Billy’s wife had been killed nine years ago in a Xank invasion, along with James’ parents. James remembered Billy mourning for a long time and still sometimes these days but he had recovered on the whole. His saloon was profitable and his fence job, even more so.

Galis was, for the most part, a cesspool but it was James’ home and was much a part of him as his own body and soul. He knew there must be something better out there, but he would not ruin himself looking for it. He was content just to survive.

The Poor District was an appropriate name, if a general one. It wasn’t all poor, but did play home to large expanses of shacks and tenements. It was a breeding ground for crime and lawlessness, a place of chaos if not for the gangs.

The only thing keeping the little sanity left in the district and the whole city, for matter of fact, were the gangs. The gangs maintained order while destroying it at the same time. If a business wanted to last longer than a day, it needed security and protection. The gangs provided that. Petty violent crime caused people to lose money, and if they couldn’t afford to frequent gang businesses, then the gangs would be worse off. The gangs were brutes and killers, but they were the lesser evil in some ways.

Many smaller groups that called themselves gangs existed, but they were just opportunistic street kids trying to gain a slice of the city. The real gangs were the power holders of the Districts, the people who decided who lived or died. They were the true lords of Galis. There were many gangs, but the only ones that really mattered were the Marzios, the Zenites and the Purgers. They controlled most of Galis and made sure the city did not try to tear itself apart while the Troopers were stopping the Xank from tearing everything else apart.

James looked at the streets around the Rusty Trooper while taking a drag from his cigarette. To his left was a drug den. He watched as a wasted junkie staggered out of the door to be mugged by a group of small children. The children beat the junkie to the ground and ran away with his spare change and hopefully a morsel of bread. The junkie was left lying on the ground battered and thrashing to try and get up. No one spared him a glance. He chose that life. He had to deal with the consequences. Not being able to look any longer at the shameful writhing figure, James turned the other way. To his right was a gun store. A gangster had bought James his first pistol there, an Aegis 9mm. He had fought his first firefight with that pistol and killed his first man. Its trigger had allowed James’ entry into what saved his family, even if it forsook his soul. Opposite the saloon was a brothel. These were common all over Galis, and as a merchant once told James, all over the galaxy. Scantily clad woman and men could be seen advertising themselves on the pavement near the brothel. Once a customer picked a product, they would enter the brothel. Sometimes a prostitute would exit the brothel with a bruised eye or worse. Sometimes the prostitute never left. Some of the prostitutes looked content with their profession, while others looked like they would be happier dead.

James knew the industry was necessary, but he also felt that he wished the local gangs would defend their employees a bit more. He would be the last to tell that to the Don, though. He wasn’t that ready to risk his neck for some whores.

He sighed and shook his head. From this viewpoint, life was anything but pleasant, but he was still thankful for what he had. He had earned it all himself. That’s what mattered.

Cluttering the street were crowds of people, some wearing gang uniforms, but many just wearing whatever they could find. Marzios wore black leather or suits and ties, Zenites wore synthetic red jumpsuits and cloaks. Purgers donned white, entirely. The people, despite their obvious misfortune, still looked lively. They didn’t brood, they just got on living. It was that practicality that James admired about Galisians.

Through the cacophony of chatter, shouts and music, James heard his name being called. Turning, he spotted his friend and ‘brother’ - Andrew. His childhood friend had black hair and dwarfed James. He was much darker skinned than James, which even if any of them liked to think that they were family, proved otherwise. Compared to Andrew, James was a pale runt.

While James was light skinned, thin and fast, Andrew was muscular and strong. Andrew was an enforcer by trade but, what few people knew was, he would never hurt a fly, only try to intimidate them. Luckily for them, the only thing that would get him angry was the harming of those he felt shouldn’t be harmed. James had argued with Andrew on occasion for his soft attitude. For a long while, James had to undertake all of the violent jobs, leaving Andrew his innocence. As much as he liked his childhood friend, he would never forgive him for that.

Finally fighting through the crowd, Andrew smiled that joyful grin. James couldn’t help but smile back. Andrew had always been his more cheerful half, his only grip on a sense of almost forgotten youth.

‘What do you think is going to happen?’ Andrew asked, taking a spot on the wall next to James.

‘The usual. Zangorians break in; kill people, and then get mowed down by the Troopers.’

Andrew sighed and accepted James’ offer of a cigarette. After watching the crowd in relative silence, Andrew continued.

‘Are you looking for some extra credits?’

‘Not really. I have five thousand Credits from my last job, but I will probably go along with whatever you want just for the fun of it.’

‘Well, as you may have realised, we’re behind on tribute to the Don.’

‘So what?’ James replied coolly, trying to sound as if he didn’t care. Acting condescending was one of his few ways of making sure that he owned himself. No gang lord could change that.

‘So what? You do know that Don Marzio practically owns a third of the city, right?’

‘Yeah, yeah,’ James replied, knowing full well that he wouldn’t really oppose the Don, but would continue to act insubordinate. I’m no slave.

‘So you’re in?’ Andrew asked, already knowing the answer.

‘Meh, I have nothing better to do.’

‘We’re going to be hitting up Pete’s Store in the lower merchant district. Meet at Point Wench. He’s not been paying any protection to the Marzios so will make pretty pickings.’

James nodded half-heartedly and then continued to stare at the atrocity of a city he called home.



Andrew and James arrived at the meeting place at the agreed time. Two Marzio associates were already there and had brought the necessary equipment: a sack, a bat and a drill.

‘Point Wench’ was a warehouse located just outside of the merchant district. It was under the control of the Marzios and would act as a drop-off point for stolen items. From there, they would move to Pete’s Store. The plan was simple, as many of Andrew’s plans normally were: pick the lock, pocket the credits, sack the store and break the place.

James didn’t like these types of jobs, but he recognized their necessity. James was a sneak thief, and the noise of ‘sending a message’ was always inconvenient. That was the Don’s wish though. If a business refused to pay tribute, it was sacked and broken. James didn’t like it, but he would obey. He always did, if that meant survival.

It was early dawn, three hours before opening time. It was just enough time to pocket the stock and smash the rest. James, as usual, would be put on watch and stealth duties. Andrew knew his inhibitions about making noise. They left the warehouse soon after Andrew went over the plan again and each associate understood. The night was still dark and most of the lights of shops and assorted enterprises were still off. Only the occasional Trooper patrol light illuminated the street. As they walked quietly through the streets, James peered at the stars. He had never been one for astronomy, but he couldn’t help but learn many of the constellations and details of the galaxies. From their position he could clearly see the star of Extos II; neighbour to his system, near it he could see one of the neighbouring planets to Zona Nox, Glotos III. James found solitude in looking at the stars, a solitude he sorely needed in a world of blood and violence. At least the stars didn’t threaten to kill him on a daily basis.

James’ solitude was brought to an end as they finally arrived at the back door to Pete’s Store. This was where James came in, as even though this was an un-stealthy job, they had since learned to keep the noise to the end of the assignment. Drawing two pins from a pocket in his boot, James inserted them into the lock and began his work. Only seconds later his skill was rewarded with the satisfying click. He grinned slightly and withdrew his picks. Andrew opened the door. One by one, they entered.

Upon entering the store, James noted that the shelves were filled with the same stock as always: junk. Pete was an exotic arts broker. He specialized in the supposed art forms of alien and tribal civilizations. In reality, he received all of his stock from street kids who melted scrap together using a blow torch. This little scam obviously didn’t work on native Galisians, but Pete had managed to stay afloat with the business of naïve travellers and even the occasional Trooper auxiliary from Nova Zarxa or out of the system.

The crew got to work immediately. Andrew was sorting through sales records, and the associates were doing what they did best, taking whatever they wanted. James was left to the cash register which he began to work at using the portable drill. His lockpicks were useful, but they could not work on something as secure as a cash register. The drill, though, was excellently suited for the task as it bored and chewed through the mechanism of the lock entirely.

Placing the drill over the locking mechanism, James applied pressure to the trigger as the spiral-grooved shard of industrial carbide steel began to whirl into action. It was slow work, and by the time that the lock had been broken, the rest of the crew had already begun to break the place apart.

The sacks had been filled with their desired loot and after James finished it off with the credits, the vandalizing began. As planned, one associate was ordered to carry their loot back to Point Wench where they could retrieve it later. The associate left right before they began the dreadful art of impractical destruction. Andrew utilized a bat to break the cash register and file cabinets while the other associate tore at the remaining stock and shelves, destroying them. James didn’t understand why he even tried to be delicate when this was what they ended up doing every hit.

Guards normally were scarce in Galis, but the Merchant District usually received some sort of guard patrol. As James began to become comfortable with the thought of an easy job, he heard a knock on the door. Thinking that it was probably his imagination, he ignored it at first. Then the knocks sounded again.

Thump – thump. The sound of an armoured knuckle as it came into contact with the metal door of the store. Andrew and the associate heard it too, and they immediately ceased their battering. Andrew signalled for James to check the source of the knocking, while failing to suppress a look of anxiety.

Pete’s store was without windows, as most Galis shops were, so James was forced to use the keyhole. Peering through, James spotted the perpetrator of the knock.

On the other side of the door were two Troopers, each armed with a Titan AR Lancer, if he was not too far behind on the new models. These were not play peashooters. They were real military issue. The Troopers themselves were nightwatch, nothing special, but the guns were, indeed, intimidating.

The Trooper knocked on the door again. James crept as quietly as he could to his friend.

‘There are two strapped Troopers outside the store.’

Andrew showed an expression of mild irritation, almost covering genuine worry, and then replied back in a whisper.

‘Sneak out and get to a cache. If I don’t show up by morning, go to the saloon.’

James nodded and snuck towards the backdoor. The hammering on the door grew in volume and intensity as the door appeared to be growing dents. It seemed that the guards had become tired of waiting or had finally realised that something was amiss. James edged his way to the backdoor with increasing urgency. The others did the same.

Then the door gave in and fell off its hinges under the weight of both the heavy built Troopers.

‘GCTP, FREEZE!’

Everything went still as the Troopers levelled their weapons at the three Marzio gangsters. James knew that none of them had any intention of being taken alive, and if the Troopers couldn’t accomplish that, they would surely resort to the other option. Even though he had been ordered to leave the building first, James was still the closest to the guards. He would have to be the one to act.

As his perception of time returned to normal, James acted. He charged head on and took the lead guard in the gut, winding him and knocking him to the ground.

‘Run!’

The associates hesitated, but Andrew didn’t. He had grown up with James; he knew that when James did something, he always intended to come out alive. The momentum of the tackle had caused him to also barrel through the second Trooper, allowing him to get out of the building. The chase was on.

The Troopers were out of the building soon after him. They didn’t delay their firing, but it was to no avail. Every bullet missed as James dodged and ran. Realizing that they would not be able to hit him, the hot headed Troopers gave chase.

The cache was just a block away from his position. If James got there, he could hide or use the weapons hidden there to fight. Even if outgunned, James had always been a better shot than the average gangster or Trooper.

Closing his eyes, James ran, using his other senses to control his movement. The wind buffeted against him as the thrill of the chase nestled into his body, giving him the extra power needed to run. The wind direction suddenly changed, signifying a new opening. He turned up the street and opened his eyes. The Troopers had not caught up but would still be on his tail, he allowed this short time of peace for a breather but before he could achieve satisfactory rest, a bullet landed in a nearby wall. He turned and saw the culprits; three more Troopers had caught up to him and were firing as they ran. One stopped and fired again, an aimed shot that James only barely dodged. James sighed and continued his flight, evading projectiles as he ran.

He had always had a great, near-inhuman, stamina and was already pushing it to the limit. He knew he was tired, but it didn’t matter. All that mattered was that he survived. Then he could see it - the cache. It appeared to be a regular concrete hovel, but the cache was ingeniously hidden inside. Relief started to fill his mind, diluting the adrenaline and unintentionally allowing him to realise his fatigue.

Panting, James looked over his shoulder to see if the Troopers were behind him. The street behind him was lifeless. They were close, though, James knew that much. He did not delay opening the door and shutting it behind him.

Inside the small rundown building was a chair, a table and an empty book shelf. He walked to the book shelf and felt around for the secret switch that he knew was concealed there, as he was the one who set it up. Feeling around the empty bookshelf, he felt a flare of pain shoot up his left arm. He had triggered one of the traps that he had set. Luckily he had pulled it back in time so the needle wouldn’t be able to spread whatever poison he had dipped it in.

He sucked the finger that had been injured, and then tried again. A small beep signalled that he was successful this time, as the ground behind him opened to reveal a trapdoor.

He mounted the ladder to descend into the blackness as the lid atop him closed automatically. He was in complete darkness, comforting darkness. He felt the floor beneath him but was still in darkness. He was blind to the room, but not for long.

Three – two – one, the lights switched on to reveal the room. Within the sparse chamber was a bed, a mini fridge and a chest. In the chest he knew there to be an auto-pistol, which he kept and maintained in case of emergencies. This particular cache was only known to Andrew and himself, and he didn’t have to worry about others utilizing it. It was built decades ago when Galis was merely a ranch town and had acted as a safe house of sorts. After the rapid development following the fall of Dead Stone, the ranch had been abandoned and the existence of the bunker forgotten, until James and Andrew had stumbled upon it.

Panting from the chase, he staggered over to the mini fridge to retrieve some food and water. Chases made him a slight bit peckish and he would need to sustain himself. He ate a meal bar and drank some water from a plastic bottle. Slowly, he started to feel his energy levels rising again, thanks to the caffeine infused bar. Taking a seat on the pallet, he waited.

A few moments later he heard movement above him as the door to the hovel was slammed open.

‘Where could he have gone?’ a Trooper asked in a mystified fashion.

‘I’m sure I saw him run in here,’ another Trooper replied, ‘let’s move out; he might still be nearby.’

‘We better find him or the Sergeant’s gonna be pissed.’

James heard the door close. Then all was quiet.

He hoped Andrew got out okay. He didn’t concern himself with that thought for long, though. If he had learnt anything in Galis, it was that if you watched out for yourself, everything would work out. Andrew knew this too. It was the philosophy which had kept them alive all these years. With that thought, James drifted into a restful, but light sleep.

“And with a wave of his hand, a world fell. Skies turned from a pleasant blue to a harsh grey as the life of the planet was sucked out within seconds. Its residents could only wait to die.” – Meran Kara, Blighting of Resh

Chapter 2. Mafia

The impact of boots upon metal woke James with a start. In a flash, his pistol was levelled at the ladder. Andrew paused and then chuckled. He was grinning childishly as he dismounted the steps of the ladder. Glancing at the gun, he barely suppressed a snicker.

‘You’re too jumpy, James. Some day you’re going to shoot a friend without realizing it.’

‘That won’t happen.’ James muttered to himself, embarrassed.

‘I’m sure it won’t.’ Andrew chuckled, before his expression hardened.

‘Anyway, we should get back to the Rusty Trooper. The guards got bored and went back to base.’

James nodded. ‘First we must pop in to see the Don. Our tribute is already overdue. We don’t want to let down the associates just because their made-men didn’t hand in their dues.’

‘Now look who’s taking responsibility,’ Andrew goaded as they climbed up the ladder and exited the hovel.

The streets were starting to fill with the usual types of people who you would find in Galis. Thieves skulked in alleys, beggars harassed passers-by, and thugs looked for innocents to prey on. This was a normal sight in Galis. In fact, this was a usual sight everywhere in James’ world. Every morning the sun would rise to herald a new day - a new day of bloodshed, theft and corruption.

A boy, no more than nine years of age, bumped into James. Before he could get away, Andrew picked him up by the scruff of his neck and put his hand out. The boy placed James’s wallet in Andrews’s hand. Andrew put him down and sent him off with a harmless shove. Andrew passed the wallet to James and sniggered, ‘Kids.’

They walked down the ruined streets that they had worked, played and wept in ever since they arrived here. Besides the inclusion of a few shanties, they looked the same as they did then. This was the old district. It existed long before the exodus from the old Red Sand cities and still stood relatively the same. Their war-torn faces still stood as a testament to the spirit of Galis. Scars were trophies.

They walked for a while, making sure the handles of their pistols were just uncovered enough to discourage any opportunists. Andrew turned into a nearby shop and James followed. Inside was a man cutting up a large chunk of Mozar meat. He was an old, gaunt man with sunken eyes with a bitter expression. It looked as if, for the moment, the meat was his method of vengeance against a hard life.

The man lifted his head at the sound of them entering. He inclined his head at the door behind him and continued to butcher the meat, muttering incoherently.

They entered to find a smoke filled room, the harsh smog being incapable of escaping due to the lack of windows. On the other side of this entrance hall was another doorway, flanked by two large men carrying almost equally large rifles. The shorter, but no less threatening thug, put out his arm, blocking their way.

‘Business?’

Andrew replied, ‘The crow’s nest is on fire.’

The thug smiled and answered, ‘And we don’t give a damn.’

The thug lowered his arm at the correct pass phrase and allowed them to enter.

Sitting upon a posh leather chair, surrounded by other gangsters and his retainers, was the lord and founder of the Marzio Mafia - Don Marzio. The Don wore an expensive suit three-piece suit, all in black. He was reclining in a leisurely fashion on the chair, his legs propped up on the desk. On closer observation, one could spot scars on the Don’s arms and face. This was a reminder that Don Marzio had fought for his power, opposed to the other gang leaders which had inherited it. James has always felt himself respecting the Don. He did not, by any means like the man, but had a profound regard for anyone who built themselves up from nothing. Don Marzio was one such man.

‘You’re late. I presume you have a good reason for it?’

The Don stated irritably, his expression betraying his tone. While the tone may have seemed perturbed, James could easily see that the Don was more amused. A lot of things amused the Don, and that was another reason why many found his gang a much more ‘familial’ one, even if it was just as violent as the others.

James replied, ‘The city watch got a little irritated at our late night jobs, so we were on the run for a bit.’

The Don nodded in understanding.

‘Hand over your tribute to Grug’tug and find one of my Capos to get some work. I know you prefer free-lance work, but you have been running behind on your task list.’

Grug’tug was a tribal of the Southern Tundra, an area south of the Titan Mountains which separated the Red Sand Desert and the Tundra. He was large and well built. Anyone could see that he had the intelligence of a Mozar in mating season but he was reliable and that counted for more than most things in this line of work. They handed over the money. Don Marzio thanked them graciously and they left the building.

After walking the appropriate distance away from the butcher shop, Andrew sighed.

‘I hate Capo tasks. Even if we’re made-men, they still push us around.’

James rolled his eyes. ‘I know where you’re coming from, but I understand the Don’s sentiments. Organizations need to actually get their members to do something on the books once in a while.’

‘Doesn’t mean I have to like it,’ Andrew mumbled, tucking his hands into his pockets.

James chuckled and they walked the rest of the way in relative silence, taking in the sights and flavour of Galis.



The Capo was drinking at the Rusty Trooper. He was a short man with a shaven head, his scalp was tattooed with the image of a Sylith. He was wearing the typical Marzio Capo garb - black business suit and tie with a fedora, the latter currently placed upon the bar table. The Capo also wore a Glotos III campaign medal on the fedora, an honourable piece of insignia which he wore proudly. James couldn’t help but wonder how the Capo possessed the medal, as the Glotos III Campaign had ended one hundred and fifty years ago and had not involved any humans. On closer examination, James identified the man as a Capo he knew. He wasn’t as bad as the other ones, so Andrew and James jumped at the occasion to approach him.

They strolled up to the Capo and sat down next to him. After ordering two beverages, the Capo spoke without sparing them a glance. ‘Are ya here for work?’

‘The Don said we should find a Capo to get something to do. Been running behind on tasks, apparently.’

‘That you have. I may have something which you two can do.’

The Capo put down his Zarxian Ice beer and drew a small electronic tablet out of his jacket pocket. It was an old model in Galis, but still useful. After fiddling with it a little, he read from what appeared to be a list of available jobs for gang members.

‘Purgers been roughing up our stores in the slums, I need a collection from a store in the Merchant District, and I have some merchandise that I need to....’ he trailed off as the device started buzzing. He closed the list, clicked the receiver and held it to his ear so he could hear the message. The voice on the device was hurried and fearful.

‘We need reinforcements at Warehouse 1B, all units move to the Warehouse district; the Galis Blades and Zenites are advancing against us. The Purgers of Filth are also moving in!’

The message repeated itself. The Capo returned the tablet to his jacket pocket. ‘This changes a few things.’

He called for Billy. The Saloon owner arrived and politely asked, ‘What can I get ya?’

‘I need to see your ‘Special’ Stock.’

Billy nodded, understandingly, and signalled them to follow. They entered the back room. Billy was typing on a key pad. The wall opened up to reveal an arsenal of weapons ranging from revolvers to sniper rifles. The Capo picked up an assault rifle and passed both Andrew and James two others. Billy looked a little worried about his son and practically adopted son following the Capo, but suppressed it. This was business.

They exited the Rusty Trooper and entered the Capo’s car, a dark blue Obsidian rover. He started the car and spoke.

‘When we get there, I need you to stop reinforcements from coming through the back. It will be tough, but we’ll need your aim, James.’

‘And what am I? Just an extra bandolier, then?’ Andrew added.

‘Hey, don’t blame me that you can’t hit a Blade for jack.’

Andrew leant back and mumbled to himself.

‘Regardless, both your trigger fingers will be needed. Yours as well, Andrew, for all that’s worth.’

James nodded and Andrew mumbled in reply. The Capo put the car into gear and began driving down the battered roads of Galis towards the Warehouse district on the other side of town.

James could see many people from multiple gangs moving towards the same location. Some shouted taunts to one another, but they all knew that the real fight would only start in the maze which was known as the Warehouse district. James sat back in his seat, loaded the rifle and prepared for one long afternoon.



Three more Zenites fell to a hail of lead as the Marzio gunner let out a burst from his machinegun. Again and again, Zenites charged, and every time they were mercilessly put to halt.

Andrew and James aided the gunner with the assault rifles from the Rusty Trooper stash. When Zenites tried to outflank them, they would soon be put to rest as a shell found their flesh.

The machinegun position where Andrew, James and a Marzio soldier were stationed was conveniently located at the back alley to the infamous Marzio warehouse – a gargantuan titanium structure used to smuggle all manner of goods in such a way that even the heavily resourced town guards were left agape, as well as act as the heart for control of the Warehouse District itself.

The post itself was located on a platform overlooking an intersection of passages between smaller warehouses. It was at this vantage point that they had managed to hold the line against wave after wave of unfortunate red cloaked gangsters. They had not faltered in their defence and were still going strong.

As reports had come from couriers, they had realised that it was not the same everywhere. Other Marzio groups weren’t so lucky in this conflict. Galis Blades were attacking the main entrance of the warehouses and were being pushed back, but inflicting major casualties on Marzio associates and soldiers in the process. The Marzios were a big gang, but not as big as the Zenites or the admittedly weaker Galis Blades and could not take too many losses. Luckily, the Purgers of Filth had yet to make an appearance, as to James, the rest of the Marzios wouldn’t be able to survive if the Purgers got in on the action. The tardiness of the white clad gang was not a surprise, though; as they were known to not use transportation as it was detrimental to the Cleansing.

Once again, a squad of Zenites appeared around the corner and tried in vain to dispatch the Marzio forces. James crouched, just in time, as bullets whizzed overhead. The Marzio soldier with them aimed his machinegun at the squad and opened fire. The bullets tore through the flesh of those unlucky enough to not find cover. James winced as the projectiles found their targets and ripped through exposed flesh.

Andrew stood up and picked off those who had managed to bypass the gunner’s onslaught, while James peered over the sandbags to spot a large group moving in. The Zenite squad was just out of the machinegun’s firing arc, and if it was allowed to live, would wreak havoc in the alleys. At this time, Andrew also noticed the group and opened fire. Only two of the group were killed, and the rest had managed to bolt for cover.

Both sides were pinned and on equal standing, but the Marzios were at the disadvantage, as James knew that if this squad was allowed to stay there, more would pile up until the gunner’s position wouldn’t be able to hold them off. It was a war of attrition, and the Marzios couldn’t afford to wait it out.

James, keeping his head down, crawled across the platform to where he found a box. In it, he retrieved a bottle of liquid and a cloth. He was pleased at his find and didn’t delay the preparation of the Molotov cocktail. Makeshift explosive complete, he tossed the fiery projectile over the sandbags to where he knew it would find its mark.

Those that didn’t die immediately scrambled around the courtyard trying to quell the flames that had engulfed them in the inferno. The smell was horrible; charred corpses fell to the ground emanating a foul stench which spread up to the gunner’s nest.

The macabre gunner gloated manically at the flailing Zenites while they burned to death. Presumably he believed the area clear. He was wrong. While the gangster was gloating, a white clad figure steadied a sniper rifle at his head. All James saw was a red dot and then a flash. The unpleasant laughter ceased and the gangster fell to the floor, his head covered in blood with a gaping bullet hole between the eyes.

The shot to his head was a killing blow and Andrew and James did not waste time confirming the death. Shouts echoed and white figures filled the alleyways, firing their weapons as they went. They wore armour and cloaks of white, the only symbol being the golden sword piercing a black circle.

These were the Purgers of Filth. They called themselves ‘protectors of the weak’ and ‘bringers of justice’ but they were just as bad as the gangs. Extortion, murder, vandalism, it seemed the only crimes they didn’t take part in were of the vice persuasion. They executed their enemies with butcher knives, keeping the blood splatter on their white clothing as a form of trophy.

Andrew took the gunner’s place at the machinegun and rained lead onto those below. Some died but others just shrugged off their wounds and kept pushing forward. Purgers were notorious for ignoring their hurts in battle, a trait which James was ashamed to respect.

More Purgers arrived to replace the dead and the two Marzio members knew they would have to pull back. Ammo was running out and soon they would be surrounded.

James spoke hurriedly. ‘Pull back, we can’t hold them here much longer.’

‘Don’t jump now. We can do this!’ Andrew grunted, shaking from the recoil of the machinegun while a bullet streaked past his hair.

James fired a round into the culprit and turned back.

‘We can’t do much dead. Don’t die trying to be a hero. I intend to live this day.’

Andrew looked close to protesting just as the machinegun ceased and the gunfire was replaced by clicking and the wheezing of gas.

Reluctantly, Andrew complied and let go of the large firearm. James threw one last Molotov to slow down the white-wash and then abandoned the platform. Andrew and James sprinted through the alleys, the Molotov being the only thing managing to give them enough time to run.

The Purgers followed them through the alleys like a snowstorm in the Southern Tundra - at least what James pictured snowstorms as looking like. The mines that James placed hastily weakened them but reinforcements always arrived soon after to replace their fallen brethren.

Wave after wave of Purgers moved fanatically towards the back entrance of the warehouse. Others loyal to Don Marzio had come to provide support and to give Andrew and James word that the Blades had retreated but that victory was short lived due to Purger reinforcements.

Turning around once again, James attempted to open fire with his pistol. His rifle had long since run out of ammo and his sidearm was close to becoming the same. He managed to kill one with a precise shot to the chest, but his other shots failed. Swearing from frustration, he turned the corner to avoid a barrage of bullets.

Around the corner was another Purger, this one with his back to James, firing at some of Marzio’s men. James took the chance and drew his knife, quickly using it to slit the white clad man’s throat. He was glad that the Purger was wearing a sack with eye slits as a mask. He didn’t like killing those whose faces he could see. Blood sprayed as his limp body fell to the floor. Blood splattered onto James’ face. He would have felt sick by it if it was under different circumstances, but combat didn’t allow for such petty feelings such as nausea and moral quandaries.

James hastily let go of the body and allowed it to fall to the ground as a bullet marbled past and hit a barrel adjacent to him, creating a hole from which copious quantities of powdered narcotics cascaded onto the floor like water. He saw the culprit and fired, killing the Purger. Turning back to his previous kill, he quickly looted the body of any valuables.

He found what he had found on most of the Purgers: a thin dagger, a pistol and a few magazines of 9mm rounds. He picked up the much needed ammunition and reloaded his gun.

Marzios began running past him, back in the direction of the main warehouse. Among them were Andrew and the Capo from earlier.

‘Retreat back to the warehouse,’ the Capo ordered in a frantic tone, not usually found in a cold-blooded killer.

Andrew turned to follow the Capo and James did so too, after shooting a Purger who was charging with a meat cleaver.

Andrew tackled a white clad Purger who had managed to get ahead of him and in a frantic melee had managed to disarm him and kill him with his own knife. After doing so, they followed the Capo into the main warehouse where the gate was promptly closed and bolted.

The warehouse was occupied by quite a few Marzio associates and some soldiers. James recognized a few but many must have been from the other districts where James rarely travelled.

Don Marzio must have been desperate to call them this far. This gang war was unlike anything they had had for years. He had been a member from the early days and couldn’t remember any other firefight coming close.

He had barely sat down and wiped his forehead of sweat when he heard Purgers beating at the door.

They would have to hammer for quite a while, James thought. The door was solid steel and titanium. The hammering on the door grew louder in volume and more frequent. Small dents appeared along its surface.

The Marzio associates and soldiers looked unnerved but James was not concerned for some reason. He had a hunch that this would turn out ok. James had learnt to trust his gut. Even with the dents, he knew they would get a breather and made sure other Marzio members knew this.

Listening to conversations among the other Marzio members, he heard some of the associates asking why the Troopers had yet to arrive and break up the fight. According to a Capo from the Corporate District, they were busy fighting Xank in the Merchant District who had managed to make it through the wall. James’ ears perked at the word ‘Xank’ but the Capo didn’t sound concerned, so he relaxed.

James had to admit, the Zenites and Purgers had picked an inopportune day to start a fight. The Troopers would need the militia and gangsters help - inconsiderate gangsters.

The hammering ended, and then resumed with much more force. A loud clang and a dent appeared in the large metal door.

‘Shite, they’ve got a ram,’ a large bearded mobster cursed.

‘James, if you’re going to be a hero anytime soon, now would be a good time.’ Andrew added, a bead of sweat appearing on his forehead.

Everyone turned to James at the proclamation, and hopeful stares all made their way to him. Some associates were even whispering to each other, gasping at his name.

‘Is that really him? I heard that a made-man named James single-handedly robbed an entire corporate convoy,’ one young associate said in a hushed tone.

‘Yeah, it’s him. If anyone can get us out of here, it is definitely the Shadow of Galis,’ another added.

‘Shadow of Galis?’ That was a new one. James smirked slightly, he preferred ‘Corporate Bane’ to be honest.

Standing up, James decided to be a hero, as he opened his jacket to reveal a flat contraption. Andrew gawked. ‘By my blood, where in Blight did you get that?’

James grinned and replied, ‘Your dad’s pantry.’

‘You thieving bastard,’ Andrew replied, a sigh of relief betraying his sentiments.

James chuckled and headed to the dented steel door.

‘We have two minutes at most,’ James stated to the crew. ‘Prepare a flanking manoeuvre for when they enter. This will only slow them down.’

The gangsters around him nodded and did as he ordered. Even Capos obeyed him without objection. The remnants of the Marzios did as James ordered, while he placed the flat object on the side of the doorway and pressed a switch, creating a beam which stopped on the other side.

The door was starting to give as more and more dents appeared around the lock and hinge of the door. James ran for cover and just in time as the door burst to reveal a brute of a man carrying a large rotating minigun. The Gatling mechanism began to spin as he entered. But as hoped, he triggered the trap. The claymore was set off, releasing a deadly shock to those in its proximity.

‘Fire!’ James shouted as all the gangsters rained bullets on the charging Purgers.

Purgers charged two by two into the warehouse just to be mowed down by the Marzio troops inside. Bullets flew, but only a few from the white fighters. The funnel had been successful, as James had hoped. Only a few troops could come through at a time, making the Purger’s superior numbers useless.

The charge turned to a trickle, and eventually halted. Gunfire stopped and as the last Purger fell, so did all noise.

They waited in silence until eventually, a Marzio associated cautiously peeked his head through the doorway and announced, ‘They’re gone! We won.’

A cheer erupted across the warehouse. Many patted James on the back, euphoria from victory and simply being alive allowing them to ignore what they had lost.

The day had been won but at a cost. The attack had destroyed much of Don Marzio’s assets and it would take him years to rebuild them, but Andrew and James had survived and that was all that mattered. James holstered his pistol and walked off with Andrew, making sure not to trip over any corpses.

“Gang honour is a strange thing. It is kind of hard to believe that a criminal has any sense of chivalry while he destroys your property and murders your family.” – Extract from ‘Analysis of Galis Crime’

Chapter 3. Night

Don Marzio sat with his hands cupped, his calm posture contradicting his mood. There was no amusement in his eyes.

‘So what you are telling me,’ Don Marzio said in a hushed tone, ‘Is that in just one raid, we lost over five billion credits worth of property?’

The Capo nodded hesitantly.

Don Marzio didn’t make eye contact; he just sat there, gripping his head between his hands.

James knew the Don was normally quite a calm and collected person but this was ridiculous. He had just lost an entire empire. Out of the five city districts he had held, he now only, barely, maintained control over one. And that number! Five bloody billion! James couldn’t comprehend the amount.

Out of his made-men, only ten had survived, with his associates either retreating or joining the other sides.

‘There was a rat in the gang, sir. He told the Zenites when we would be weakest and the other gangs informants in the Zenites carried it down until half of Galis knew that the patrol shift was at two,’ the made-man added, obviously trying to make the Don feel better but failing dismally at it, ‘We were outmanned and outgunned. They didn’t care how many of them died. They practically blew themselves up to get to us. We were lucky that we actually won.’

Another made-man continued. ‘As Leon said, we won. The Galis Blades are sitting with barely enough men to guard their hideout. The Purgers have been slaughtered and the Zenites are currently being attacked by smaller gangs. This is an ample opportunity. We must make a move as soon as possible.’

The Don finally looked up, his expression lightening as his despair crumbled away. James let out his breath as the Don’s mood improved. An unhappy man of the Don’s power was never a desirable thing.

‘Agreed; Grug’tug, bring me the city map,’ commanded the Don, a slight smirk emerging from under his previously sullen expression.

The Capo replied calmly, ‘Grug’tug died in the fighting, stabbed ten times by a Blade shiv.’

Don Marzio sighed. ‘A shame really; the Tribal had his uses.’

Another of his gang members entered the room carrying a large board.

‘I’m glad this wasn’t destroyed in the fighting. This glorified chess board cost three years of tributes.’

Don Marzio reached into his pocket and took out a small card. He inserted the card into a slot in the board and a 3D image of the entire city sector emerged. James had seen it only twice before. It was an amazing piece of technology, allowing data from satellites to be transferred into a hologram.

The Don peered down at the miniature city, muttering to himself. He pointed at an area and then ordered two made men to go there and gather some associates to go and break the Galis Blades’ remaining forces. He then ordered another to purchase some mercenaries with their remaining funds.

Little by little, the survivors of the Marzio Mafia began to leave the last remaining territory of their once great gang.

Eventually, only the Don, Andrew, another and James remained in the backroom of the butchery. The Don was about to give his remaining orders when he was interrupted by a loud explosion that shook the entire building.

‘What in the void?’ the one gangster swore, as he steadied himself.

‘It can’t be a Xank attack. They wouldn’t dare attack this close to the centre,’ the Don stated, but his look betrayed his sentiments.

‘Sir, if you can forgive me for saying so, but I think we should get to a safe zone,’ Andrew added, genuinely stunned.

‘Agreed,’ the Don replied, also stunned but suppressing it quite well, as James would have expected.

They all moved out of the butcher shop. The city was alive with screams and gun shots, which were only previously masked by the sound resistant walls of the back room. James spun on his heels when he heard the closest gun shots. Just down the street, barely five houses away, was a scene of terror. Three Troopers stood defending a group of civilians, some wounded, as they were advanced upon by about twenty Zangorians. The Troopers’ superior firepower was holding off the melee prone bird creatures but they couldn’t hold out forever. One civilian woman was holding a child, trying to quieten it while barely being able to stay together herself. The mother tried to make a break for it; the Troopers tried to warn her but could not risk breaking the formation. The mother and child were devoured by a group of Zangorians.

Don Marzio looked shaken but maintained his composure and asked, ‘What safe zone are you registered under?’

James answered, ‘Tenement, for some inexplicable reason.’

The Don snorted. ‘That’s Trooper bureaucracy for you. I’m registered under the Merchant District so, until we meet again.’

They nodded him farewell as he disappeared down an alley, followed by the gangster who was, in all likelihood, trying to gain a promotion by protecting the boss.

‘We should get moving,’ Andrew suggested.

James nodded in agreement and they set off in the opposite direction from the firefight. The sky was littered with what looked like shooting stars, until they hit the ground and revealed themselves to be nothing but the projectiles of Xank artillery.

James and Andrew had broken into a slight jog when they heard the sound of whistling. Shouting, James pulled Andrew to the ground as the shell hit and detonated, destroying the Marzio headquarters.

‘The Dons going to be pissed,’ Andrew commented facetiously. James almost chuckled but realised that this was not the time for snide comments.

The Troopers and their reinforcements had been pushed back and were drawing ever closer to James’ and Andrew’s position.

James could now see the Zangorians in detail. They were short, barely up to his waist. Who could think such small creatures could be so violent? Resembling birds, they possessed talons and beaks which they used highly effectively in slaughtering civilians and Troopers. James could not be sure, in the current light, but the Zangorians seemed to have an orangey coat of feathers, but that also could have just been the fires.

The Zangorians pressed their advantage and leapt onto the Troopers, clawing at their faces. Only two Troopers were able to reload in time and kill the leaping creatures.

They decided to cease wasting time as they stood up and broke into a sprint down the road. They turned at the end but stopped to see many more Zangorians fighting Troopers and other civilians. Some of the civilians were Marzio associates and made-men; others were from a variety of different gangs - nothing like an alien invasion to help bond with your foe.

The Zangorians had a simple tactic; they would fire with their alien energy weapons and leap into a melee when given the chance, shredding the armour-less civilians to decapitated limbs and organs, leaving nothing but gore and puddles of blood and faeces from the evacuated bowels of their victims. The primitive and disgusting strategy was basic but effective. Even James saw that, but his slight obsessive tendency towards neat tactics was itching unpleasantly.

Seeing that there was no way to pass down the shortest route to the safe zone, they headed down another road to see the exact same scene, and then turned to face but another. The Troopers and militia could not stand the en masse violence and death. The Xank had practically taken Galis already, taken it in a wave of blood and screaming. James knew that the Xank had attacked Galis in the past, but never on this scale. He knew that the city wouldn’t be able to hold.

Without any other choice or routes of escape, Andrew darted into a nearby building, trailed by James. He shut the door swiftly after James entered. James spotted a sofa and pushed it in front of the door, adrenaline giving him an extra boost of strength. Hopefully it would slow down any Zangorians or opportunistic looters. Though, somehow, James doubted that it would even slightly perturb the former.

The shooting and screaming continued outside. The clicking and bangs of the human weapons contrasted with the zipping and electrical sounds of the blasters, creating an abstract symphony.

Every so often, the sound of a bomb or Xank projectile could be heard, destroying a building and a whole livelihood with it. It was much easier to destroy than to create and the Xank were proving that. Galis had taken many fortunes and decades to build and the Xank were crushing it in a night. It was not the wholesale destruction that concerned James at this moment, but more the unpleasant prospect of a shell hitting the building they were currently hiding in.

A woman screamed but was suddenly silenced as the sound was followed by the nauseating squish of a human head being severed from its torso, just to hit the ground with a thud. This went on for what seemed like hours, but finally, all noise ceased; only the artillery in the distance could be heard, firing their projectiles in a strident melody.

They waited for a few more seconds. These seconds of bleak soundlessness seemed to drag on forever, even if they were more pleasant than the violent screeches of before. Without hearing anything for what seemed like an age, Andrew let out his breath, seemingly using the action to try to rid himself of what they had just experienced.

Before any of them could react, there was a flash of electric blue which pushed James and Andrew backwards, crashing them into a wall. James hit the surface with a thud, winding him as he keeled over onto the floor, panting furiously in exertion, shock and anxiety.

The wall behind Andrew had seemed to explode to reveal a Zangorian, appearing in a cloud of ash and dust. Before any of them could react, it lunged at Andrews’s chest. Blood sprayed as the Zangorian pierced Andrews’s lungs with its foul talons. His eyes glazed over as he stared at the claws buried in his body and then he looked at James. James could only look back as his friend gave one final cough as his life ebbed away and then was abruptly extinguished.

He knew he had to react; he had to avenge his friend - his brother’s, death. He tried to move, to draw his gun, but his hands were shivering and would not listen to his mind.

The Zangorian released Andrew’s lifeless body from his grip. James had just managed to draw his pistol and flick off the safety when the creature lashed out, forcing him to drop the pistol that had saved him so often in the past. The creature then shoved James back onto the floor and advanced.

It moved slowly, as if savouring the moment. The creature evidently enjoyed killing and, at that moment, James knew that if he survived by some divine miracle, he would spend the rest of his life killing every single one of these vile monsters. They killed for sport, no other reason but the brutal and savage reason of violence itself. They were an atrocity to existence. They had taken all that James cared about; his family and now his friend, now they were about to take his life. The Zangorian raised its blood splattered claw to strike. James knew his time was up and closed his eyes.

The claw didn’t reach its target. Instead the sound of a loud gunshot echoed around the room. James opened his eyes. Standing behind the mangled corpse of Andrew’s killer was a masked Trooper with a shotgun lowered at the Zangorian’s mangled corpse.

He looked at James and asked, ‘Need a ride?’



James did not speak for the hour that followed. After retrieving his pistol with shaking hands, the Trooper had led him to his buggy where he drove him to the safe zone. On the way, he could see the Rusty Trooper burnt to the ground, leaving nothing but smouldering rubble. A pang of fear ignited in James’ belly. If Billy had died there, then James would have lost everything. If Billy was dead, James would have nothing to cling onto anymore. It wasn’t fair, but James then recalled the greatest tenet of existence: Life wasn’t fair.

The Trooper finally asked for his name.

‘James,’ he answered in barely a murmur. The Trooper nodded and replied, ‘Nathan.’

They reached the safe zone gate. On either side of the steel and titanium door were two automated point-defence turrets; each was capable of filling the air with a hundred rounds per second from each of its multitude of revolving barrels, tearing apart any Xank who tried to make a move towards the last refuge for humans in the now-besieged city.

He exited the buggy and thanked the Trooper who sped off out of the camp after he disembarked.

The safe zone was a cramped walled settlement; on one side were the Trooper barracks and medical centres, on the other were any shacks or tents people could build to shelter themselves from Zona Nox’s unforgiving sun. Safe Zones were the only planned infrastructure in Galis, besides the original starport. Everything else was just up to whoever could assert their claim on a plot of land.

Surrounding the camp was a tall and thick grey wall. If James looked at the walls for long enough, he could see a shimmer in the air above the walls. The camp was being guarded by a disruptor field, a piece of technology capable of sending even the most accurately aimed artillery shell heading in the opposite direction. The refugees were safe, for now.

James looked down from the sky and walked away from the driveway, where he was no doubt disrupting traffic. It was then that he noticed Billy limping towards him. His one leg was missing, leaving nothing but a bloodied and bandaged stump. Cuts marred his arms and he looked barely to be able to hold the crutch. Even with all these injuries, the jolly man whom James, in practice, saw as a father was smiling - making the news that he had to tell him ever more painful.

Once Billy was in talking distance, James gawked at the stump and asked, ‘What the blight happened to your leg?’

‘Damn Xank bit it off at the saloon. Couldn’t hold it properly with all of Marzios men up at the warehouses. You may have seen the rubble. The wound ain’t septic, so I won’t die. Well, that’s what the doctor told me at least. He gave me some good drugs though, so I can hardly feel a thing.’

Billy babbled on quite cheerfully, probably a product of the anaesthetics. But as James feared, Billy broke eye contact with him and started looking around, eventually his eyes returned to James and he asked, ‘Where’s Andrew?’

James stood there, silently. The pause grew longer but there was no need to speak. Neither of them spoke; they just shared that look and held it. That look conveyed more understanding and more information than words ever could.

Tears started to fall from Billy’s eyes as the truth dawned on him. His son was dead. James could never come close to ever feeling Billy’s anguish. Billy felt that this was his failure. Of course it was not his fault, but logic had no place in a world where a person’s child could die. To Billy, he was a failure, to Billy, his own life was forfeit.

James stood there while Billy fell to his knees, weeping. While the saloon owner wept, James’ face showed little evidence of his turmoil. James wanted to cry for Andrew, but he knew that crying would not bring Andrew back. Weeping never accomplished anything, and it never would.

“The walls shake at the blows of the Voroz, but they do not splinter. Kragon was not built to fall!” – Emperor Mereel of Kragon, an hour before the last free city of Kragon was conquered

Chapter 4. Siege

James wandered around the camp, trying not to trip over gravel, debris or the wounded. Every so often, he would misstep and be answered by a groan. People lay injured in every tent, some with minor scratches, which may or may not have been septic, while others lay dead. Too many attendants were preoccupied to dispose of the corpses and many were left to rot.

Sounds of gunfire and explosive bombardment could still be heard and seen around the city. The warfare never stopped as safe zones fell and Troopers constantly tried to retake the city.

It had been about a week since Billy had committed suicide with a stolen revolver. The murder of his son and the destruction of his saloon were too much for him. Everyone James cared about was dead, his parents, Andrew and now, Billy. He tried not to dwell on the fact that for once there was no one to go to. No one was alive who could share his past and whom he could share their future. James was truly alone.

Nathan had been quite supportive. James wasn’t one to throw his life away so easily but he had been depressed, anyone would have been. Nathan had allowed James to use the firing range and said that he was a great shot and should practice with more advanced weaponry. The shooting allowed him to relieve his tension and forget his troubles. On the range, it was just him, the rifle and the mark. James had always been a good shot in Marzio’s gang. He had been seen as the main shot in the gang, being reserved for important surgical missions. Perhaps it was because he actually realised how expensive bullets were or maybe it was just an innate skill. This near-inhuman ability to aim on the fly and hit a target with fatal accuracy earned him a reputation in Galis. On a number of occasions, he had been hired by gangs other than the Marzios to kill a number of targets. He had always declined. He may have been an opportunistic Galisian mobster, but he was loyal to whatever group he joined. Don Marzio had treated his family fairly, and at one point, had saved them from certain death. James was content to repay that debt.

James halted his walk and frowned. Another messenger was talking to the commander of the safe zone, and that seldom meant anything good. News had already come earlier today that Red City had fallen, and James didn’t want to hear anymore news of new exploits of the Xank. Red City was a free-city, run by Warlord Dreg Tosh. The city was home to many gangs who preyed on Red Sand and the Tundra. The Warlord had been ruling the city state with an iron fist since before James was born. At one stage, he controlled the entirety of the Titan Mountains and was even capable of conquering half of Zona Nox.

This news was truly troubling, as not only did it prove the Xank’s capacity for warfare, it also meant more troops would be redirected to Galis.

After the anti-spacecraft cannons at Fort Iron and Steel had fallen, Xank forces were able to pour troops into the northland of Red Sand and the Troopers could do nothing to stop the tide. Without the fear of being shot out of the air, the Xank had been capable of fielding hundreds of thousands of troops.

It was the third month of the siege of Galis City and the Xank artillery had never ceased for more than ten minutes apiece. Trooper reinforcements from Fort Nox had been reported to be trying to advance into the city, but neither land nor air vehicle could pass the alien horde of the Empire. Day and night the Xank Battle Walkers barraged them with all manner of explosive projectiles and energy waves. Communication uplinks had been shut down by incessant EMP strikes, leaving the city isolated and unaware of the outside world. News was limited to handwritten letters which would be carried by the one-man patrols of Red Sand Rangers.

James stumbled over another cinderblock as he noticed Nathan walking towards him, clutching a metal box in his left arm. James stopped and smiled slightly. Nathan could do that to him. The young Trooper was always smiling his infectious smile and it seldom failed to rub off on the people around him.

‘I have a little present from inventory,’ he stated, excitedly.

Even though James liked Nathan, he was still somewhat unsettled by the man. In Galis, you had to fight for everything. Only those close to you were to be spared even the slightest friendly gestures. Nathan was not accustomed to this. He was a Martian by birth.

He passed James the box and James opened it to find a bolt-action sniper rifle. Engraved on the side were the manufacturing details, ‘Aegis FireBolt series .338 Bolt-Action, 3546 T. C.’

James stood, speechless as he stared at the firearm. The manufacturer itself guaranteed quality, but the series was truly astounding. FireBolt rifles were military issue, and much more so than what gangsters managed to smuggle. They were one of the greater firearm achievements of the already prestigious Aegis Corporation.

‘Sure you didn’t pinch this from the arsenal? I’ve heard of arming the militia, but this is a bloody FireBolt. It ain’t no gift for Galisian street urchins,’ James replied, sceptically, while he admired the rifle.

‘All trigger fingers are needed, and you happen to be a very skilled one. I’m a Sergeant, I can choose what weapons I think will be best for my squad and acquire them accordingly.’

‘I only turned seventeen two days ago. I doubt I’ll be much help in a battle,’ James muttered, not liking where this was going.

‘Nonsense, you’re an excellent shot and the minimum age for the army is fifteen. We need all the fighters we can find to get ourselves out of this city. Oh, and don’t think I don’t know about your involvement in these local gang wars.’

‘Fight ourselves out of the city?’ James repeated, surprised, ignoring the hint at his criminal dealings.

‘The reinforcements from Fort Nox sent us a message this morning. We need to get as many people as we can muster and break through the Xank lines,’ Nathan replied, now sounding serious.

‘It sounds like a suicide mission to me.’

‘Yes, it may very well be that, but it's the only chance we have. Sector Beta and Alpha are coming to our position so we have a better chance of busting through.’

As Nathan finished, James heard the rusty clunk of the gates to the camp open.

‘Speak of Terra,’ Nathan recited, as he noticed the entry of the other sectors, ‘And she will appear. Excuse me; I have to go co-ordinate accommodation.’

Trucks drove through, carrying injured and feeble civilians. The trucks were civilian issued; things really were bad for the Troopers to have resorted to civilian transportation.

A few healthy Troopers marched next to the trucks. They were armed with Zerian SMGs and looked relieved to be in friendly territory, as their ammo reserves were most probably depleted.

Sitting on the third or fourth truck were two unusual humanoids. On closer inspection, they were revealed to be the Exanoid and the Gray from the Rusty Trooper. Having nothing better to do, and having the prospect of gaining some first-hand knowledge of a species, James went to greet the aliens.



The Exanoid was an interesting creature, always willing to chat. His name was Quok; the Gray’s was Molok. The Gray didn't talk at all and seemed to either be in a trance, or asleep with his eyes open. James discovered that they were both Grag-Tec Officials. Quok was an Overseer of an iron mine near the Dead Stone ruins and Molok was his assistant. To James, that seemed like an absurd notion as Molok would obviously be better suited to a position as a bodyguard.

Grag-Tec was a mining corporation which had been in an alliance with the Troopers since the Glotos III Uprising in 3247 T. C. They mined minerals and metals on the Titan Mountains and around Lake Galis, not being able to enter the market in the Southern Tundra due to the human corporation’s monopolies there. The Exanoid had come to the city to find a replacement generator for the Titan Mining Base. An X51 battery, if James had heard correctly. According to Quok, they were right at the wall when Xank attacked and Molok had to carry Quok while fighting through the hordes of Zangorians with a .45 Magnum, to the nearest safe zone.

James had discovered much of Exanoid culture, and very little of Gray. Quok was born on Eran-lar, a planet in mid-space known for its orbital drop air fighters. They acted commonly as Trooper auxiliaries due to a long standing alliance between the Troopers and the Exanoid race.

According to Quok, Exanoids were quite secular beings, and he was slightly uncomfortable with all this talk of ‘Terra’ and the Imperial Council. James somewhat knew how he felt, he had never really been religious either.

After eventually glancing at the time, James realised that it was very late. So he bid the two aliens a goodnight and walked off to his tent.

Tomorrow he would be training the citizens to fight. Should be easy, half of Galis were murderers and gangsters to begin with.



James awoke to the sound of gunfire and irate drill instructors as they shouted orders to trainees.

He pulled himself up from the rag, which he had been calling a bed for the past few months. He rubbed his eyes till the blur of exhaustion was bearable. Then he got dressed. Nathan had ‘found’ him some ‘extra’ recruit clothing. It was dirty and stuffy but better than what many of the less fortunate citizens had to wear. The recruit uniform seemed to just be a cheaper and lighter version of the normal Trooper gear. The only noticeable difference was the lack of a gas mask. The jacket was the typical Red Sand variety - a muddy-red texture with red and black markings on the shoulders. The pants were dark khaki and it seemed the quartermaster was generous enough to provide kneeguards.

As James exited the decrepit tent, he was lucky enough to be narrowly missed by a stray bullet. He continued walking while gesturing rudely at the culprit who was already being chastised by his instructor.

Nathan was one of the instructors. Fortunately for him, he was training the gangsters and mercenaries who already knew how to wield a firearm.

‘This band of ruffians knows what they’re doing. If I was the High General, I would have started recruiting from Galis a long time ago,’ a voice spoke, causing James to jump, an action which he berated himself for as it meant he was getting lax.

Recovering quickly from the surprise, James replied, ‘They won’t be able to get through. If Troopers can’t handle it, these ‘ruffians’ sure won’t.’

‘Stop being such a pessimist. We are going to get through this. The Xank are arrogant, they won’t know what’ll hit them. And you also seem to underestimate your countrymen. The Troopers leave the gangsters alone for a lot more reasons than a mere pre-occupation with the Xank.’

‘I hope you’re right, I really do,’ with that, James and Nathan split up to train what would hopefully be the survivors of the Fall of Galis.



James had spent most of the day training a multitude of gangsters and civilians how to fire from cover as well as work as a cohesive group. He didn’t know how he knew the latter, but it seemed that he was doing a good job. Every once in a while, a trouble maker from a gang opposed to the Marzios would try mess with him, to which he would always reply with a snide comment or suitable punishment. The others had no qualms with listening to his advice, and many even seemed to respect him for his knowledge, finding it much easier to learn from a fellow Galisian than a Trooper.

According to Nathan and many other Troopers, James showed remarkable skill with a sniper rifle, better than most of the current snipers in fact, and should definitely consider joining the Troopers when or if they got out of Galis. Apparently, he also had a good grasp of field tactics, and would go far in the Mars Academy. James had no desire to go that far, but he accepted the comments graciously.

The only other people that knew their way around a gun were the local gangsters. The rest were useless and would be better off as decoys as James has muttered to the dismay of Nathan who then proceeded to lecture him on the Troopers’ oath to help all of Humanity.

Thankfully, most of the Reapers had survived the attack and that would play a major factor in this operation. The Reapers had fought off the many Xank raids on the camps without taking a scratch. Their heavy Gatling guns spun while delivering deadly lead to any Xank who dared try to harm the survivors of Galis.

The only problem was debris. The route that they would, in all probability, take would not allow Reapers easy movement and they would have to be used for another purpose.

If I was in charge, James pondered, I would use them to subdue the forces near the major infrastructure. They could take the hits and lure away aggro from the refugees.

James’ silent pondering was interrupted by a call from Nathan. ‘James, can you come here, please?’

He excused himself and left one of the better trained gangsters to take leadership over the trainees, a Marzio associate named Leroy.

James walked to where Nathan was standing at ease, clutching his Trooper helmet under his arm. This was one of the few times that the Trooper had taken his helmet and mask off. He was quite plain looking for a Zona Nox Northerner, but that was probably due to the fact that he was not a local. A tan face and brown hair to go with thin features, but one thing that made him unique was a silver streak of hair on his head; a birth mark of sorts.

‘Yes, Sergeant?’ James answered, trying to sound dutiful when he would much rather be sleeping.

‘As you know we are fighting ourselves out tomorrow morning.’

James nodded, already sensing that he was not liking where this was going.

‘We may very well need all the firepower and support we can get. You are by far one of the best riflemen here. As a field officer you would do well, but we need rifle support more than we need leadership. We want you to help the sniper squad cover us while we fight through the streets.’

James gulped, barely hiding the action. Snipers would have to be at the front, clearing the way for the rest of the troops. They’d have minimal backup and could easily be captured and tortured. He didn’t want to be cannon fodder on the streets, but taking the lead was not on his agenda, either. If he had his way, he would be sneaking at the back, making sure the Xank were cleared ahead of him.

He replied hesitantly, ‘What if I refuse? I don’t fancy torture that much, if you don’t mind me saying.’

‘Then I would say that you are under arrest for theft of one X51 Battery.’ He smiled, amused.

‘And as punishment you must serve as a sniper in the Galis City Trooper Squadron Delta.’

James cringed at the knowledge that his past job had not been as low-key as he would have hoped. He sighed and asked, ‘So I don’t really have any say in the matter?’

Nathan smiled and answered, ‘Nope.’



The morning air was still crisp with the freshness of dawn, while the sky promised a lovely clear day, making James much more regretful that he would be spending it in slaughter.

Two other snipers were with him, a rat faced man who seemed to hiss while he spoke and a tall stern woman who seemed to have a bone to pick with the world. Their orders were to reach designated buildings of strategic importance along the route and pick off patrolling Xank forces while the main force advanced. When the way was clear they had to move to the next building and repeat the process, hopefully minimising human casualties. Basic instructions, but easier said than done. The Troopers had little to no Intel of what type of Xank and how many were in the area and James’ squad could soon find themselves little more than cadavers like the thousands that already littered Galis in piles, ashes or puddles.

The squad exited the safe zone by a postern gate hidden behind a conveniently crashed Battle Walker. They checked the area for patrols and, when it was deemed safe, they entered the first building on the route out of the city. James watched for patrols as the stern sniper silently opened the damaged single door to the concrete hovel.

They entered like ghosts, without sound or breath. This was where James’ skill as a sneak thief really paid off. The entry hall of the hovel was looted of all valuables and only featured one door to another room. Entering that, they found two Zangorians, who were most probably meant to be keeping watch but had instead decided that sleeping on the couches of the now dead owners would be more productive.

By appearances, it would seem that they would not have had to be so careful in opening the door after all. It was a wonder how the Xank military got so far if this was their soldiery. He then answered himself: sheer numbers and sheer ferocity.

James grimaced at the thought. The Xank didn’t need tactics or discipline; they just fell like a wave, crushing everything.

He drew his ka-bar after being signalled to do so by the rat faced sniper. James watched as the sniper silently strapped a piece of metal wire around the Zangorian’s beak. This would stop it from shouting, or squawking, warning others of its impending death. He didn’t know exactly how the Zangorian didn’t feel the tight grip of the icy cord but assumed that it was mainly due to the beak containing no nerves. He did the same to the other Zangorian and then slit the creature’s throat. He held it down as it silently thrashed, its life blood squirting and its life ebbing away, eventually leaving a lifeless corpse, just like Andrew. James didn’t feel ashamed at the killing, it was justice. These creatures had killed his kin, so he would kill theirs.

After the silencing of the watchmen, the stern sniper signalled for James to check the roof as they secured the ground floor. James softly ghosted up the stairs, rifle pointing towards the gleam of light which resonated from the roofs entrance, blinding him till he reached the top.

He arrived at the top of the stairs to find a mangled corpse of a Trooper sniper. The helmet had been bashed in, revealing the contents of the corpse’s head. Its arm had been ripped off and dried blood trailed off the side of the building. The corpse was buzzing with flies and had already decomposed. He had been killed on the first night.

Fighting down revulsion and feeling thankful for his gas mask, James scanned the roof area and to his dismay, spotted a Xank sniper, with his sights on the Troopers and civilians who were trying to escape.

The figure was taller than James by quite a bit. It was clad in grey combat armour to blend into the buildings. It was the shape of a man but you could never be too sure when something was that clad in armour. One defining feature was two thick antennas flanking the creature’s helmet. They were too thick for regular antennas though, maybe ears?

This was definitely not a Zangorian and James could not help but remember some old saloon gossip. The gossip had been about a story that a Trooper ship had been destroyed by Xank. This was quite usual but the catch in the story was that the attack force was made up of one Xank. The Troopers called them the Elites; other races and civilians called them ‘Immortals’.

No one knew their race or what they even looked like without their armour on, and for one to be in Galis was truly a mystery, and an almost dooming one at that.

He couldn’t be absolutely sure, but with all his prior knowledge, which he prided himself on greatly, this was a Xank Immortal. He needed to act swiftly as the refugees and Troopers were relying on stealth. A Xank sniper of any kind, much less an Immortal, would tip off their position.

He assessed his choices: shoot it but risk calling attention to the escaping civilians and even worse, missing, or stab it, risking that it might turn around before he could strike. James also did not know the strength of the creature but presumed it was strong seeing as it was able to take down an entire Trooper vessel. While he had been busy pondering his choices, the Immortal began readying its strange energy weapon to fire. The weapon was an energy rifle, commonly used by Xank. The difference was the size and appearance. This weapon resembled a .50 Sniper Rifle, such as the type used by the heavy Trooper recon units. This was an odd weapon for the creature as Xank weapons were normally the size of a Trooper SMG or smaller. Power-wise, Xank energy weapons were feeble, but arm about one-hundred-thousand Zangorians with the cheap mass-manufactured weapons and you have yourself an effective fighting force capable of taking star systems.

The Immortal began to pull back the charger on the Energy rifle, allowing whatever fluid he was using to seep into the firing chamber. Knowing that he had no other choices that would not risk civilian casualties, James chose to utilize his knife against the Xank Elite, hopefully silencing him in a definite and effective close attack. He knew that if he failed, his life was forfeit, but for some reason he didn’t care about that anymore.

What has become of me? James contemplated; normally I would never help anybody, much less risk my life doing so. Maybe Nathan is rubbing off on me? Maybe I feel that if I take a job, I must fulfil it properly, or maybe I just don’t care about my life anymore?

He moved forward, knife at the ready. Its sharp edge glinted red in the rising sunlight; the reflection of some stars could be seen on the flat of the blade. Stars which refused to yield even if the dark had since abandoned them. It seemed like a lifetime, but eventually he arrived behind the Elite who had not spotted him or was attempting a cruel prank where he gave his victim hope before crushing it and them. Regardless, James would need to act. He assessed his target, looking for signs of weakness in the armour. The armour had to be the thinnest at the nape of the neck, allowing the wearer to move their head. Then it was decided, he would stab it near the tip of the spine where the knife would hopefully penetrate.

Readying the knife, he took aim and plunged it into the Immortal. The blade found its mark, but instead of burying itself within the creature’s flesh, it glanced off of metal and scraped down the armour plating, embedding itself there. James backed away, stunned that he had failed. The Immortal released the firearm and stood up. It towered above him and as it brought up its leg to kick him, James could do nothing but wait for the impact.

The foot came and hit James in his stomach, making him fly across the roof to hit the side of a broken wall. The Immortal pulled the knife out of its armour and examined it casually. It seemed…offended. It then glanced at James, the culprit, and charged at him, drawing its own curved blade.

The Immortal fell on James with ferocity. James had a second to act and he did so by using an old technique he learned against city guards. He raised his legs a split second before impact. The power of his legs managed to keep the creature from cutting his jugular with the strange blade.

His legs formed a triangle, barely allowing him to keep the Immortal some distance from him. He would have to deal with the Elite now, so he went for the first thing he spotted - the ears. Grasping its ears, he started to pull. The Immortal was too busy trying to kill him to defend his own body and it paid off as James heard a satisfying crack – and then its ears were snapped off, followed by a fountain of blood.

The Immortal screamed, almost humanly so, as blood squirted from its ears. It backed off, clutching its head. James picked up its dropped knife and drove the blade into the side of its head.

The stern sniper arrived just as the Immortal drew its last breath. The sniper gaped at the fresh corpse.

‘Did you kill this creature?’ she asked.

James nodded, still shaken.

‘A great feat, I would pat you on the back but Delta and Beta are pinned down.’

She took up the space at the far side of the roof, readied her rifle and fired.

James set up his sniper rifle where the late Elite’s one was previously situated. Looking down the scope, he assessed the battle.

A Zangorian gunner had captured a fox hole and was using the cover to avoid Trooper fire as it tore through the civilians with the captured LMG. The creature was in his sights. He fired and hit his mark. The Zangorian’s blood sprayed from the bullet wound, it stumbled back, hands over the wound, trying to stem the blood as it fell to the ground. The civilians cheered and advanced.

He set his sights on another target; a large feather-capped Zangorian, which seemed to be an officer, was directing a large contingent of blaster-wielding Xank towards the refugees and Troopers. The attack would be devastating but, as history had taught him, subordinates worked badly without direction. He shot the officer cleanly between the eyes as he was shouting orders, leaving the last details of his command unuttered. His troops glanced back at him as the shouting halted. They seemed to lose their nerve but still went on; without direction, they were cannon fodder against even the civilians.

One shot after another, all bullets found their mark. James did not waste time picking off mundane troops. His bullets would have meaning. Every time he pulled the trigger, he brought the militia and Troopers closer to the outskirts of the city.

He was in a dream. His body seemed to be controlling itself. He was able to analyse which enemies were of strategic value and pick them off accordingly while only semi-conscious of doing so. He would kill all his targets and then move to the next building. As he moved to about the tenth building he realised that he hardly noticed what was going on. All that mattered was that he killed Xank in the most profitable manner possible. All that mattered was that his people survived, and that the Xank paid for what they had done. James wanted justice

Before he knew it, they were on the last district before the rendezvous point. The sun had risen and so had Xank reinforcements. Buildings were getting higher as they had entered the tenement district and that meant that getting to the top of buildings would take too long.

As they exited a two-storey shop on the outskirts of the tenement and third shanty district, the rat faced sniper passed James an assault rifle and told him to back up the main squad. Apparently, the ground forces needed more support.

James groaned as he jogged to a Trooper position overlooking the street. He would not be able to be as much use on the ground, no matter his skill as a rifleman.

He crouched and crawled into available cover behind the remains of a burnt out car. Too many Xank were firing on their position; they would not be able to get a good shot in.

He then noticed how some of the Troopers under too much fire would fire over their heads, avoiding projectiles while scoring some blind kills. James typically disapproved of the waste in ammunition, but if he had learnt anything about combat of this magnitude, it was sometimes more important to fill the air with aimless bullets than save on ammo. So he duplicated the actions of the Troopers until he had emptied half the cartridge and then realised that it was safe to aim.

Peering over the top of the concrete half wall, he saw Gleran Chargers. Not worrying as individuals, but in a group as large as this, they could prove to be difficult. Chargers were the Xank cannon fodder units, smaller Xank who would wield spears powered by electricity and chemicals to sear through flesh and bone. He had never seen a Gleran before and noted how they were not so different from Zangorians in stature but, instead of resembling birds, more resembled insects. They had six pitch black eyes and carried the spears with two of their arms while the other two carried shields.

Row after row of Chargers advanced, and just as swiftly, they were cut down by the Trooper fire. Some Chargers would fall over their dead comrades and crack their skulls on the broken asphalt. These creatures were weaker than the Zangorians. Gleran lay with lead and concrete lodged in their heads and body. The blood of human and alien flowed over the streets like a river, melding in a way that their races never would.

‘Forward!’ he heard a Trooper captain shout. James rose up from cover and charged down the street.

The way was clear. Militia, gangsters, Troopers and civilians all ran as one, shouting their defiance to the Empire. James joined in the infectious battle cry,

‘GALIS! GALIS!’ Words repeated over and over again.

Then they were halted as a line of armoured Zangorians appeared down the street, ready to fire. The humans were pinned but fought on, adrenaline pumping and battle lust filling the now violence-dredged air. James knew they didn’t stand a chance, but he didn’t care. He continued to shout his defiance, firing at the lines of bird creatures who had taken all he had ever cared about.

How could I lose, he thought, when I have already lost everything?

Just then, a building practically exploded to reveal the gigantic metallic form of a Reaper, whose pilot immediately opened fire, killing the Zangorians and allowing the civilians to pass.

James was about to move forward when a body collapsed in front of him. The man had been shot down early but hadn’t been able to fall due to the tight wad of people congregated in the street. The man was covered in blood and as James noticed that, he also noticed all the other blood. Blood was everywhere, on the roads, the walls, corpses, others and on him. He couldn’t distinguish which of the red splattered on his shirt was uniform or the life blood of his people. Terra, he didn’t even know if any of it was his.

Shaking his head, he stepped over the man and moved with the squad as it finally fanned out into a more cohesive force again.

They reached cover in the form of a destroyed house which had thankfully left some good half-walls to use as firing points. The sun had risen to its zenith and James realised that lunch wouldn’t be at one today.

They had been fighting for hours and making good progress but these Zangorians seemed infinite in number. They were a tide of death and blood, a legion of horror in the form of midget bird men.

Xank squads poured out of buildings, alleys, gunships and holes in the ground. Like a swarm of locusts, they surrounded the humans until there was only one way to go.

‘INTO THE TENEMENT!’ he heard the familiar voice of Nathan shout. He complied and followed the mass of humanity into the dilapidated structure.



‘James, Charlie - secure that position!’ Nathan ordered hastily as he struggled to repair his jammed shotgun.

James jogged to the indicated location and began opening fire on any Zangorian foolish enough to advance on the tenement. Charlie arrived soon after and aided in picking off the vile bird creatures.

They had been trapped in the tenement for about an hour and had only managed to maintain a small foothold against the expanding Xank forces, much less being able to care for the wounded; they just didn’t have enough hands. Every finger was needed to pull a trigger.

Times had changed since their push at dawn. They were no longer facing scattered watch posts or wandering patrols, they now fought a concentrated assault by the Xank. The only reason that they had survived this long already was due to the building more than anything else. It was one of the few non-cramped tenements in a sea of dense uncomfortable shacks. Clear ground stretched around the tenement allowing anyone within to easily spot any trespassers and deal with them accordingly. The only entrances were also useful as chokepoints as only a limited number of Xank forces could move through at a time.

Besides this, they had not brought any essentials besides ammo and water. They could not last in a prolonged siege. Blight, they couldn’t last a short one either. Ammo supplies were growing rapidly thinner, and many Troopers and militia alike had already been forced to resort to melee weapons. James was not worried due to his frugal ammo spending but one loaded gun couldn’t stand against a horde.

The building shook as if under an earthquake but then subsided almost as quickly as it had started, then resumed. James risked a glance outside the window to be rewarded with a few missed plasma shots and a glance at the cause of the hammering.

The Xank were utilizing broken-off artillery barrel as a battering ram. The metal doors of the building were strong and the barricade made it more so but civilian architecture could not stand raw power such as that.

About eight Zangorians manned the ram and used it with smooth efficiency that James was not used to seeing in the bird creatures. Charlie shouted something inaudible and then lifted a broken piece of shield above James’ head. With the new cover, he aimed his shots at what he felt were the non-slackers of the siege team and fired, felling the two in front and the pair at the back. The shock of the sudden weight forced the rest of the team to drop the ram and flee to friendly lines.

Groups of Zangorians occasionally managed to sprint to the cover of the tenement and scale the walls, climbing to the occupied floors and attempting to wreak havoc; instead, they were cut down or kicked out of the window, plummeting to their deaths.

Contrary to his earlier sentiments, he was running out of ammo and had received a cut from a Zangorian. Nothing that could be bragged as a scar, many had lost their arms or legs after all. James frowned as he remembered Billy, and the stump he had lived with until taking his own life to meet his son, in whatever after world would accept them. So James moved onto happier thoughts as he slaughtered the orange bird beasts.

In the Marzios, he had always been known as a good gunman and that was one of the reasons that the gang tolerated many of his actions. He had always been a valuable trigger finger, but never thought that he would ever measure up to the skill of Troopers, much less kill a Xank Immortal. Another Zangorian attempted to climb through the window just to be dispatched by Nathan, wielding his un-jammed combat shotgun. The creature fell, screaming, as it descended at a speed way swifter than its climb, to simply hit the asphalt, leaving a bloody and crumpled corpse of feathers and flesh. James did not feel remorse, these creatures had done worse to his friends, family and fellow Galisians. They had taken their futures, they forfeited their own.

James reloaded his assault rifle and continued to fire upon the Zangorians who had decided to make a dash for the tenement once again.

He fired a single bullet at a time, a burst at most. Filling the air with lead was only useful if the air was filled with enemies. That was one of the reasons that many militia and troops went dry of ammunition so quickly. You would think that a trained Trooper would know how to conserve something as basic as bullets. As James thought about the ignorance of his peers, he also thought about that of his enemies. The Xank were a mystery in how they had become so successful. They didn’t have an ounce of tactical skill within their ranks, it seemed. No cohesion and no discipline. Their tactics and strategies were limited to throwing bodies at the enemy.

James idly pondered this as he slaughtered Zangorians. He barely heard the crackle of the squad radio, followed by the radio attendant speaking,

‘Sergeant, come listen to this.’

At first, James could only hear static, but the static soon cleared and he could hear the guttural and screechy voice of what he presumed was a Zangorian.

‘This is the Lector of War,’ said the Zangorian at the opposite end of the radio. ‘Your puny city has been defeated by our righteous horde, and all who oppose the Avenger will be eradicated. Surrender now and die knowing you made the right decision in allowing fate to take its course.’

After that short and harsh statement, the voice halted and the radio returned to static.

The squad just stared at the radio until they were interrupted by the Trooper who had not stopped to listen and was instead gawking at something outside the tenement.

‘Sergeant, they're releasing Sylith!’ the Trooper yelled, so hysterical that he sounded as if he was on the verge of a panic attack.

James peered out the window to confirm the Trooper’s claim and was dismayed to see the forms of hundreds, if not thousands, of insect-like creatures being released from pods and set loose on the building.

Recalling a conversation between hunters on the outskirts of Galis, he remembered how Sylith were a violent race of insectoid creatures that inhabited all of the Extos system. They stood at about a metre high and two metres long. They were vicious hive creatures that were commonly hunted by the heavily armed or extremely foolish. They possessed a circular mouth, equipped with two rows of razor-sharp teeth capable of shredding through a full-sized male mozar. Their arms were gigantic scythe-like blades that would be easily capable of severing a man’s torso from his legs to his forehead. The Troopers had always kept them out of the city, but all across Red Sand and the Southern Tundra, they were numerous and culling of the vile creatures was paid for handsomely.

‘Put as much lead into them as possible!’ a veteran shouted.

The sounds of gunfire could be heard throughout the building. The noise was almost deafening and James was thankful for the ear protectors that Nathan had provided.

The Zangorians had hastily retreated to allow the Sylith to break through the building. The Sylith, who were not involved in breaking down the door, were climbing up the steep walls of the tenement with ferocious persistence. James opened fire at one of the climbing Sylith with no result besides a smaller magazine and a few scraped exoskeletons. One mag down and still they climbed relatively unscathed. They had enough natural armour plating and fat to absorb a lot of damage and, if not killed in the correct way, could sponge a gunner’s ammo. He reloaded and fired again. Blood sprayed out every time a bullet hit but it showed no other signs of injury, it continued its climb as if nothing had happened at all. Then one of them started to slow down, the yellowish blood spraying out in fountains; it fell to its doom upon the concrete ground.

It must have run out of blood, James thought cheerfully.

His slight elation at the single enemy casualty was short lived as screams echoed from below.

‘They've taken the ground floor,’ James heard Nathan shout, ‘By Terra, get to the roof!’

The Troopers and militia fired the last of their magazines and then headed towards the stairs as if their lives depended on it, as for a matter of fact, they did.

Each floor had been populated by refugees, militia and Troopers, there was not nearly enough space to fit everyone into one floor but hopefully the roof would manage to hold them all.

James arrived at the top of the stairs to spot a Sylith attached firmly to the exterior of the tenement, using its scythes to fight a combatant above. Its belly was showing clearly and James did not pass up the opportunity. He lifted his leg and delivered a shattering kick to the Sylith, dislodging it from the wall and sending it to its death like so many before it. The Trooper with the radio backpack was trying desperately to get a signal, ‘This is the Galis Garrison; we need immediate extraction!’

He repeated this and would occasionally say the coordinates. There was no answer but static. The EMP fields were still active.

There’s one more floor to go till we reach the roof, James surmised. He mounted the stairway to hear a thump and groan. He turned around to see a wrestling match between both a Sylith and the bloodied form of Racist Ryan Rebeck, the brawler from the Rusty Trooper.

James shot the Sylith to no avail, so instead went in for a melee, beating the creature’s eyes with the stock of his rifle. The creature just seemed slightly irate and continued its melee with Ryan. So James pulled out his FireBolt and aimed it point blank at the centre eye of the creature. He fired the round directly into the insect’s brain. Its head exploded and the rest of its body slumped onto the brawler.

‘Are you ok, relatively speaking?’ James asked, aiding him in removing the corpse. He was covered in blood, both the red of his and the yellow of the Sylith.

‘I’m fine if I get to kill more of these things,’ Ryan answered with a thankful grin as he picked up the large magnum he had dropped when he had been tackled.

They continued moving upstairs shooting at the Sylith coming from the windows and floors below. They both ran into a room filled with other Troopers and militia. Two Troopers tried to shut it behind them but it was jammed due to a Sylith sticking half its body through the crack of the door before they could successfully close it.

Ryan started beating it with the back of his gun until it gave up and retreated so the Troopers could close the door.

‘We can rest for about a minute but then we need to keep moving,’ Nathan exclaimed, ‘James, use your rifle and pick off some Xank outside the window. Keep them nervous, and their numbers falling.’

James nodded and did as he was told, dispatching each Zangorian that was stupid enough to get out of cover, until Nathan informed him that they needed to move on.

The building had quietened down; the silence was only broken by the occasional sound of a person being sliced open by a Sylith, screams and pleading for a quick death always ceased with the smooth slice of a Sylith blade or the crack of a spine. James began to feel the desire for cracking snide comments diminish as hopes of survival were fleeting. How could they face such a foe with what they had?

But then, the noise on the radio turned from a crackling static to a person’s voice. These voices sounded human and not like the other screechy voice that had belonged to the Lector of War.

‘This is Echo Firefox Niner. Give us your coordinates,’ announced the voice on the radio.

Nathan answered, ‘This is Sergeant Kunz of Galis Delta Squad. We have civilians pinned down at X247, Z56. We need immediate extraction.’

The voice on the radio replied, ‘Copy that Delta Squad, we are en route to your location. Five mikes.’

That gave them all a glimmer of hope. The gunships could already be heard coming to their position. A noise echoed from the door. The Sylith were breaking through.

‘To the roof!’ Nathan shouted once again.

James ran up the stairs and caught a glimpse of a Sylith blade penetrating the door. Before he reached the top of the stairway, he fired a few rounds into the hole in the door.

The gunships were getting closer. Natural light could be seen from above. The roof was near and air being pushed into the building signalled that the gunships had landed or were hovering above.

Nathan and a few other Troopers were ahead while Ryan and James were at the back, guarding the rear. Many militiamen had collapsed; all unarmed civilians had been killed. Only the gangsters and Troopers survived.

James had almost reached the satisfying embrace of the outside world when he heard Ryan screech in pain. He turned around to see a Sylith clamping down on Ryan’s foot with its insectoid teeth. The flailing melee was too chaotic to risk a shot from this distance so James charged at it and attempted to stab it with his knife.

The beast took the knife like a bullet, which meant it didn’t even notice. Pulling the knife down its chest, he finally found its equivalent of a heart and pierced it. With a squeal, the Sylith backed off and expired.

The air being pushed down was getting stronger which meant the gunships were getting ready to lift off.

James helped Ryan up and they both ran up the stairs. Ryan managed to break into a run and leapt onto the hovering gunship, the bite wound only slightly hindering his jump. James was about to do the same when he saw Zangorians coming up the stairs. One was carrying an anti-air weapon of alien design. James knew that if it got on the roof they would all die. He took cover and started shooting.

Zangorians returned fire with their pulse guns. He had gained a clear shot at the Zangorian carrying the large weapon but had to take cover again as another pulse blast splintered the door next to him.

He could hear Nathan shouting, ‘Get on the gunship!’

James hesitated, for a second, but then looped the gun around his back on a strap and broke into a run.

The gunship was already hovering, just a few metres away from the edge of the building. He knew he had to make the jump or fall to the ground thirty floors below.

So he took his leap of faith. The ground and wind whizzed around him and buffeted against his ears. Time seemed to slow down and he began to feel that he wouldn’t make it. He was going to die here, not by bullet, pulse or blade but by failing to jump.

His hands caught on the edge of the gunship; he barely believed the feeling until he confirmed it by opening his eyes. Nathan pulled him up, patting him on the back with respect.

Some Zangorians had arrived on the roof. A Trooper gunner in the gunship opened fire and slaughtered the squad before they could get their bearings.

A medic was treating Ryan’s wound. He had told him that Desert Sylith were not poisonous, so Ryan did not have to worry about amputation.

Nathan was busy talking to an officer that was on the gunship, ‘I thought that the border was too dangerous to launch an extraction team.’

The officer replied with a grin. ‘They had to call in troops from the perimeter to reinforce the city. Your bands of ruffians were causing a lot of the trouble for the Xank.’

As they talked, James watched as the only home he had ever known, burned and crumbled beneath him.

A Trooper with an assault rifle was sitting on the side shooting at any Xank he could find. What was the use? They were infinite. No matter how many you killed, ten more took their place.

It was almost night time. After about three hours of flight, the city of Galis could be seen on the horizon with an aura of fire surrounding it. Nathan sat down next to him.

‘Where are we going now?’ James asked.

‘To Fort Nox, we will make our stand there.’

Nathan took a drink of water from a canteen and offered it.

James accepted the offer and drank. Nathan stood up. ‘We’re going to land at an outpost to refuel and rest. A little more vigilance, then you can get some sleep.’

James nodded and gazed out onto the landscape of the Red Sand desert, still shining a blood red, even in fading evening light.

“Relish peace, prepare for war.” – 6th tenet of the Trooper Order

Chapter 5. Outpost

They arrived late that afternoon. James had slept most of the way but had taken his shifts to watch for pursuing Xank. Only the occasional Xank craft was spotted, but none were able to survive under the hail of Trooper fire.

The outpost was situated within a flat basin, constructed upon an offshoot of the Red Sand Highway. Surrounding the outpost was a long wall constructed of scrap metal and James could see a sea of shacks within. In the centre of the settlement was a concrete building which had been transformed from, what James surmised was once a gas station, into a military garrison. James spared the eastern horizon a glance and noted how even the dying embers of Galis were now out of sight, replaced by a sea of red. The gunship proceeded past the walls, landing in a designated field. Red dust was flung up by the engines. James was thankful for his goggles and mask, which kept him from coughing.

At closer inspection of the area, James could see a sign resting on the concrete Galis style building which read: “Red Sand Gas.” The refugees varied from fortunate Galis survivors to native Red Sanders, the tanned accented occupants of the northern hemisphere. Red Sanders typically stuck to themselves, living in small holdings scattered across Red Sand. It would have taken a lot of convincing or terror to push them into a Trooper camp.

One refugee stood out and seemed not to fall into either category. He bore olive skin, an off-worlder, and wore a fine white and pale blue robe which covered both his torso and legs. The man was bald and his head shone in the setting sun as he preached to a large group of refugees who had been misfortunate enough to take an interest in the speech. The whirling of the gunship engine shrouded the sound of the man but James could see quite clearly that the audience disapproved. Then the man looked at him. Even with the distance, James could see the man’s thoughts as clearly if they were painted on canvas: hatred, fanaticism and…ambition. Then the man called for him. Before he could react, he felt the reassuring squeeze of Nathan’s hand upon his shoulder. He ignored the preacher and walked off with Nathan towards the adapted gas station.

The gas station was separated into a multitude of buildings. Garages, offices and storage houses were but just a few. The building they walked into was what James presumed to be the main office. The opening room was large and had been converted into an open planning room. Trooper administrators jogged from table to table, shifting supplies and dossiers to their appropriate positions and handing out the relevant documentation or items to the relevant personnel. A stairway rested beside a pile of rockets to the left. Nathan mounted the stairs and indicated for James to follow. He complied and trailed Nathan into a windowless room illuminated purely by unnatural light from a small electric lightbulb. An armoured man, bearing the symbol of a spearhead upon his shoulder, was looking through maps and dossiers neatly laid out upon a metal table. James and Nathan entered as an officer left and an overweight and sweaty man burst in behind them.

‘I don’t care if the entire Xank fleet is coming this way. This is my gas station and I want all you tin men to get out!’

The strike leader, who was subject to this tantrum, continued to ignore the man, calmly sorting through the sheets on the table and re-arranging some tokens.

‘The Troopers have taken over many buildings such as this all over Red Sand,’ Nathan explained to the man. ‘They are paramount in the defence of Red Sand and your survival.’

‘I don’t care how many places you scrap covered bastards have taken over. You know how much money I’m losing keeping you here?’ replied the man, half sobbing.

‘Without us you would be losing much more than money,’ Nathan said, ‘I will make sure High Command compensates you if you co-operate.’

That didn’t convince the man, but at least made him leave the room to go and disturb an unfortunate guard. The strike leader finally looked up, smiling,

‘By Terra, this is a pleasant surprise indeed, Kunz. I haven’t seen you since the academy.’

Nathan returned the smile and shook the officer’s hand vigorously, ‘Nice to see that studying Logistics instead of History paid off. Strike leader already? A great feat!’

‘And who might this be?’ the strike leader asked, glancing at James.

‘A trainee, he showed some real promise back at Galis. Send him to the academy after this is all done and he’d probably make captain, if not higher.’

The officer’s expression saddened. ‘If only the chances that we’d survive that long were good. I’ve seen the reports and it’s not looking good.’

Nathan took that as his cue to dismiss James. He handed James some Galis notes, calling it his paycheck. James was never one to reject cash and thanked Nathan.

After exiting the office, James could see more detail of the camp. Most of the shacks must have been built way earlier than the fall of Galis, meaning that the Xank had invaded many other settlements before it. They were crafted of plastic and scrap metal and seemed even more uncomfortable than the concrete shanties of Galis.

Arriving at the make-shift market which had popped up near the gunship courtyard, James noted how many enterprising refugees were taking advantage of the situation and had proceeded to hawk their wares to the desperate populace.

Food merchants were selling mozar meat at a stall near the courtyard of the camp, others were selling weapons and trinkets – even a book seller was hawking his wares. It had been a while since he had read a decent book so James strolled to the book seller and started browsing. He had found an intriguing book by the name of “Wealth of the Galaxy by Jherin Kura'kaia” when he spotted two armoured assault Troopers, both armed with Trooper issued sub-machineguns, arrive at the stall next to him – the mozar meat stall. All Troopers received rations at the mess hall so they were obviously not there to enjoy a Red Sander delicacy.

‘This was your last chance, citizen,’ announced the first Trooper while pointing an accusing finger at the merchant. He wore the symbol of three stripes, a sergeant within a squad and not of a squad like Nathan. ‘Stop putting narcotics in your meat.’

The Merchant was a thin stringy man who sported a dirty and patchy beard. He replied angrily, his accent enhancing his emotions. ‘You don’t have any proof, tin-man!’

The accent suggested that he was a native of Red Sand, a people of which were characterized by the colour of the land they called home.

‘People are dying of overdose. All victims were reported to have been eating mozar meat from this store and showing the effects of Tren. We will not take no for an answer. Terra demands that you will have to pay for those deaths.’

Tren was a pleasure drug popular in the streets. It was cheap to make and created a sense of elation. It was often used to mask rotting meat. Overdoses usually resulted in heart failure.

‘I ain’t got to have to listen to you, tin-man’ the native spat.

One Trooper moved forward. The native looked agitated, but stood his ground.

‘Do not resist, citizen.’

‘I been resisting my entire life. Not going to stop now.’

The Trooper moved in to grab the native, but in a flash was shoved backward. The native pulled a revolver and levelled it at the closest Trooper.

‘Put down that firearm!’

‘Fuck you, tin man!’ the native shouted, making James think that he wasn’t entirely mentally stable. He fired and killed the Trooper instantly. Before the other Trooper could react, another Red Sander killed him from behind with a blow to the head from a make-shift club.

James had already been backing away and finally jumped for cover as the merchant spotted his armour. A bullet whizzed past his head and implanted itself within a pile of grain. He drew his sniper rifle and took aim. He fired and the round hit the merchant in the chest, felling him instantly. That, unfortunately, did not cease the fight. It seemed that tensions had grown and almost all the Red Sanders in the square had begun attacking Troopers and Galisians.

The fighting was getting heavy and Troopers were pouring out of buildings to try and quell the fighting. James continued to fire upon any aggressor he could see until his cartridge ran dry and he had to reload. Just as he had managed to insert the fresh magazine and was about to bring back the bolt, a large Red Sander swung a tire iron in his direction, hitting his FireBolt and knocking it out of his hands. The man pulled back for another swing but James dodged just in time, followed up by kicking the man in the groin and hitting him with his own weapon, knocking him out. Besides the small victory, James was now unarmed.

He quickly surveyed the area and spotted a pistol at the foot of a dead Trooper. He darted towards the firearm and reached it just before a Red Sander, who had also been pursuing it. The Red Sander snarled and tried to pull the weapon away from James. He was too slow, and James released a round into his chest. The native fell with a thud as James wheeled around to face another combatant.

Troopers and Red Sanders were fighting with gun and fist all over the courtyard. The number of Red Sanders was higher than that of the Troopers. This was showing as the fight was tipping in their favour. Firepower meant nothing as a Red Sander was typically just as well-armed as a Trooper. Then James heard thuds. Loud mechanical thumps hitting dirt and concrete. James turned to see a Reaper walking into the market. He sprinted for cover as the Reaper opened fire upon both Red Sander and Trooper alike.

About five seconds later, James raised his head and saw that the whole courtyard was the scene of a massacre. Puddles of blood littered the area, gore stained the asphalt and the stray limb decorated some of the shacks. Stalls were reduced to splinters and both books and drugged meat were ruined.

Some people near to death groaned for help and did not find any. The Reaper had spared no one.

‘For the love of Terra, why the hell did you shoot all of them?!’ James could hear Nathan shouting at the pilot of the Reaper.

‘It was the only way. You city guards don’t know what these people are like! They won’t listen to reason. Only a show of force will stop further infringements,’ answered the pilot.

Nathan stalked away from the pilot, swearing under his breath. James picked up his sniper rifle and walked off to the make-shift mess hall, accompanying Nathan who was busy clutching his necklace: A silver T.



The sun was crimson as it rose above the red dust clouds of the barren desert of Red Sand. Just a day before, James would have thought himself lucky to have seen even a glimpse of the sunrise within the menagerie of humanity and shanties around the gas station. Now that the camp had been taken down, he had a clear view of the sun as it crept up from the horizon; painting the sky blood red.

James was distracted from his brooding by the radio obscured voice of a Trooper next to him,

‘You’re on Gunship X12. This is X59,’ the Trooper said, indicating to which ship the man was supposed to be boarding.

It was the following morning and the outpost was preparing to lift off, much to the relief of the gas station owner who still refused to acknowledge the existence of the Xank invasion. Despite the begging of his family and insistence of the Troopers, he refused to go with the evacuation fleet.

James had sympathised with the expropriation of his property, but didn’t pity him anymore. He was refusing to acknowledge a very real threat. His life was forfeit by his own hands.

He was leaning leisurely against the used gas barrels of Gunship X59; the gunship he was to take as a guard. Even though he didn’t remember signing any forms, it seemed that he had already been inducted into the Troopers.

Fine with me, James thought, I hate paper work.

The previously huge stinking mass of refugees had trickled down to just a few stragglers when an officer ordered James to enter the ship.

The Gunship model was an original Trooper design, dubbed simply as the X-series; it was equipped to carry large amounts of infantry over long distances but was not suited to fighting. James had gone inside previously and had seen that the huge ship was equipped with a barracks for about sixty Troopers, room space for two hundred people and rooms for storage and eating.

James pulled himself up onto a small offshoot of the vessel. The emplacement was built as a watch post and snipers den. James was to spend the first eight hours on board watching for Xank pursuers or outposts. Luckily, he wouldn’t just have to just watch, as the emplacement was suited with a .50 hydrogen-propelled rifle. The rifle was manufactured to be able to punch through most types of vehicles. If aimed correctly, it could even fell a Xank craft in flight.

He watched as the last passengers entered the ship. He had already seen Molok and Quok enter as they had to be put in first to avoid any ‘accidents’. Ryan had also waved to James as he entered the ship. The man seemed to have changed, and for some reason, James was feeling somewhat of an attachment to the previously disorderly and vicious brawler.

James didn’t watch for Nathan, his official mentor, if the terminology was correct, as he had caught a glimpse of the ship register and saw no signs of a Nathan or a Kunz.

The last passenger entered the gunship and the large rear door slammed shut, sealing mechanically afterwards.

‘Good morning, I am engineering Captain Anthon Sonand and I will be piloting your ship today. This ship is X59 and is set to land in Fort Nox in forty-eight hours. Please co-operate with Trooper personnel on-board to ensure a safe flight,’ a voice said over the intercom as the ship began to rise.

First, it rose only slowly. The revving of the engines simmering at a low pitch but then the exhausts practically exploded as the ship shot away from the outpost.

Before James knew it, the outpost was but a speck and the gunship had stabilized and slowed. It seemed that the rapid acceleration was merely to get off the ground and that the travel by air was to be quite tedious.

‘Well, no matter,’ James said to himself as he prepared his assigned rifle. ‘More time to shoot some Xank.’



To James’ delight, it was now midday and the glaring and obscuring sun had risen to its zenith, out of his view. He had been given a scope capable of piercing the harsh sight but it was still unpleasant whenever he was forced to look away from the scope.

The Xank had yet to make an appearance and he was completely and utterly bored from being forced to stare at rocks and sand all day. The sight was monotonous and the requirement of alertness slightly inconvenient, but once his replacement sniper came to take over, he felt something he had hardly ever felt: the feeling that he had done an honest job.

His relief sniper was the same rat faced sniper from Galis. Before replacing James, he congratulated him once again on his kill back in Galis and said that James was going to go far in the Troopers.

James stood and dismounted the platform, stretching to rid himself of a cramp from leaning over for too long. After the appropriate amount of stretching, he sauntered towards the mess hall, where he found the somewhat amusing sight of Ryan manning the kitchen.

The giant of a man was wearing both a white apron stained with gruel and a hair net (despite his baldness) - both were too small for him. James chuckled and entered the queue to be served what seemed to be heavily processed zot meat. When it was his turn, he managed to contain his laughter to just a grin.

‘So, how many Troopers were sent to the medic-bay when they asked you to man the kitchen?’

Ryan chuckled in response. ‘None actually, I’m doing this willingly. Blight, I volunteered! I’ve decided to spend the rest of my life doing honest work.’

‘You’ll have to get a new nickname. Racist Ryan doesn't really fit the part of an honest do-gooder.’

‘After I got to know those aliens a little they became quite likeable but I’ve already got an idea for another nickname already, Overseer Ryan,’ he answered using hand gestures for emphasis.

‘You want to become an overseer?’ James sniggered.

‘Crime is getting boring. It’s always been my dream to become an Overseer for some mining corporation: administrating finance, managing workers, keeping stocks up and ore on the trade ships. Quok has even offered to tutor me. What do you think you’re going to do when this war dies down?’

James looked thoughtful for a second, what was he going to do?

I hadn’t really thought that far, James pondered, I’ve been too concerned with staying alive these past days and before that I had expected to live the rest of my life in the gang. That was obviously not an option anymore. Would he go back to crime? He was good at it but being in the Troopers brought him something more: A sense of…obligation.

‘This war is going to last a long time, Ryan. I think I’ll remain with the Troopers. They seem to have a sweet deal here and it appears I’ve already been recruited.’

‘Suit yourself but I’m going to get as far from this fighting as possible when I get the chance. I might have been a brawler but if I have my way, that life will be history by the time we evacuate Zona Nox.’

‘You really think that the Xank are going to be able to boot us off the planet?’ James asked, but before Ryan could reply James was angrily shoved out of the way by an irate passenger. He didn’t blame the obviously hungry refugee and instead took his tray to the only people he knew on board - the aliens.

Quok was talking his native tongue, Eral’a, to Molok when he spotted James and waved in greeting,

‘That was some fight back in Galis and the gas station.’

‘Oh yeah, I didn't see you in Galis, where were you?’

The old Exanoid was quite excitable today, as a trade negotiator he probably never saw any real action.

‘Molok and I were holding the rear at first but were forced ahead of you. Those Sylith are a blood thirsty species.’

Molok revealed a large scar on his leg to prove the point. Obviously Molok was the one holding the rear as Exanoid weren’t exactly built for combat. James was surprised that they were even able to run with their anatomy. He didn’t reveal his sentiments, of course, and instead asked another question, ‘What do you think they wanted with Galis?’

Quok frowned in thought, a strange expression coming from a humanoid with a snout.

‘If by ‘they’, you mean the Xank, then many things. Galis is a vital strategic point on Zona Nox, as it holds the only civilian space port on the planet. Not even Titan City is equipped to take proper starships. They would need the infrastructure to bring in troops on a mass scale.’

Quok frowned, deep in thought, ‘There is a problem with that theory, however, and that is that they destroyed the space port. That could have been a move to prevent trade but they still wouldn’t have had to destroy the port as occupied cities tend not to be traded with. Galis is not known for its highly valuable resources or minerals but it does have a good location in Red Sand. I’m just a financial expert, but I’ve read enough history books to know that a ruined city makes very good cover for moving troops. My guess: The Xank are using Galis as a drop point for minor forces in large quantities so they can mount an offensive against Fort Nox. They take Fort Nox, they take the planet. But overall, I haven’t a clue about their true intentions. All I know is that they are here, they are shooting at us and we must shoot them.’

James enjoyed listening to the Exanoid. He was obviously highly educated and even though James had always been good at accumulating much more knowledge than his peers, Quok had access to a great deal more information than him. James’ philosophy was, after all, to utilize all sources available to him.

They continued the discussion, Molok listening intently but still refraining from speaking, when a bald man in white robes mounted a table in the centre of the mess hall.

As everyone turned to gaze upon the oddity, he spoke,

‘Hear me, my fellow citizens, children, and people of Zona Nox! You have been through a miserable string of events these past few days. You have lost your homes, property and very lives to the demons of the Outer Reach. You are weary, hurt and desperate, but in that very desperation, you have believed the Trooper’s false claims of protection! You vested your confidence in men of mask and gun and they have allowed the Empire of Xank the freedom to take your lands and lives. The Troopers and the Empire of Xank will stop at nothing until all you hold dear is destroyed and you are better off as a slave. Your only salvation is in the Imperial Council. The Council will guide and protect. Even now the Council and its holy Martyrs pledge themselves to you! Pledge themselves to those they know nothing of! Is that not true charity? Is it not true faith? Pledge your loyalty to the council and the Empire of Xank will be defeated. Follow my teachings and our faith will conquer the stars!’

He continued to preach the word of the Imperial Council until some Troopers irritated with his preaching decided to tell him to shut up.

‘Off-worlder, many of these people have just lost everything. They are already depressed enough without your preaching. Please refrain from upsetting them further,’ a Trooper said, irritable but polite.

‘Do not chastise me, heathen! I am a god among you who oppose my lords!’

He then turned to his audience and said, ‘Do you not see, my children? The men of steel still seek to destroy our freedom and cut off our tongues. The Imperial Council would never allow this!’

A man put up his hand to speak, the preacher signalled that he accepted the man’s point.

‘Isn’t it the Council which actually bans freedom of speech? You seem to be speaking out of your arse, my dear man! Please halt your lies so we can get on with our lives,’ a smartly dressed man, probably a merchant, exclaimed as James started feeling a new found respect for his profession.

‘Lies spread by the tyrannical Troopers. The Council wishes only to guide and protect,’ the preacher answered, spitting as he spoke.

A woman with child in arm spoke next, ‘Why do you serve the Council? They are the reason for our Great Poverty! Or have you forgotten the teachings of Terra?’

‘TERRA! You speak of lies and demons, woman! You do not deserve the child you hold as you risk corrupting! There is no Terra! Humans descended from the seed of the Council. They are our gods; the stars are our birthplace. Not Terra, the word itself sickens me.’

One of the Troopers brought his hand to his face while he shook his head in disbelief.

‘You are aware that you’ve just pissed off pretty much this entire vessel.’

‘If ‘pissed off’ means enlightened; then yes, demon.’

The Preacher spat the last part, some spittle landing on the boot of the Trooper.

The Trooper looked to his partner and after sharing a glance, his partner nodded. They then turned back to the Preacher.

‘Sorry, off-worlder, but by my rights as a soldier of the Trooper Order I place you under temporary confinement for disturbing the peace.’

‘Have a nice nap,’ another Trooper added, advancing towards the preacher to restrain him.

As they dragged away the preacher, who was continuing to shout the word of the Council, James turned back to Quok.

‘What do you think they are going to do to him? The man’s obviously an idiot but, for the Troopers’ sake, I hope they don’t beat him.’

‘They will just stun him with some type of drug for a while. The Troopers aren’t savage enough to lower themselves to beatings. But also remember something - that man, in all likelihood, is not an idiot but in fact a very well trained con-man.’

James raised his eyebrow at that. ‘He just looks like a fanatical preacher to me.’

Quok smiled, amused. ‘Religion is but the biggest con of life. Those who preach it are merely members of the pyramid scheme.’

James didn’t understand Quok, to be honest. He was no expert in theology and the only religions he had ever even heard mentioned were the Imperial Council, Terra and a few cults. So, he finished his gruel and excused himself to go and rest in the Trooper barracks. Quok fared him well and Molok acknowledged his exit with a nod.

James entered his barracks room. The walls were a very dark green, much like the rest of the ship, and the room was adorned with about ten bunks and a table where some off duty Troopers were gambling with cards. He decided that some gambling would be good to get his mind off things.

‘Ganymede Showdown, how many chips you want, trainee?’

James answered, ‘One hundred Galis dollars worth.’

‘Ok, if you want to risk that much, fine by me.’

The other players put their money on the table and they began to play. The cards were put down and some more betting ensued. James raised the bet after the others had all checked, forcing one Trooper to fold. The rest looked peeved at having to risk their pay checks but they matched the bet.

Another card was put down and James raised the bet once again, forcing two more Troopers to fold. They seemed very irate but were probably too afraid of losing to risk playing even decent cards. The last card was put down and the player’s hands were revealed. The one Trooper had a pair of twos but James’ almost equally useless pair of fours beat the hand and won the pot. The rest of the Troopers who had folded grumbled as they realised that they had been duped by James’ bluff.

The Troopers reluctantly handed James the pot and started the next hand. James grinned at his pair of aces when no one was looking.



The game lasted for another few hours and after about three, James’ pocket was weighed down with the combined wealth of the now sour faced Troopers. Galisian gamblers were somewhat of a legend on Zona Nox, not because of cheating or any real skill but purely because of raw luck. Luck probably accumulated in theft, but even without luck, there were tricks that could be learned to aid any player in a game of cards. James had made it his goal to learn those tricks. Being a criminal meant more than knowing how to break a shopkeeper’s kneecap with a bathroom tap and gambling was one of them. As long as there were people out there willing to risk their money for your money, there was always a chance to win some spare change. As James was about to deal, the siren began to sound the change of guard shifts. James’ wasn’t on the roster, but as he was about to continue his dealing, an officer appeared in the doorway,

‘Trainee James, please report to your previously assigned sniper position. It seems that some off-worlder knocked Corporal Jirn out cold and she won’t be able to take the watch.’

James nodded and stood, much to the relief of the other Troopers.

He saluted the officer as he left and jogged towards the sniper emplacement where he hoped that the shift would be shorter than his morning endeavour.

On the way, he passed the rat faced sniper who filled him in on his watch.

‘First hour was clear of any Xank sightings. After that, I started seeing some crafts trailing the fleet at about three kilometres. I radioed them into command which hopefully wired them to the rear ships. About a kilometre back, I picked off some Xank infantry - besides that, no prominent activity.’

James thanked him and waved him off as he strolled off to the barracks where he would soon realise that no one could afford to play cards. Grinning smugly to himself, James took his place at the emplacement. He readied the rifle and strapped himself in, preparing for a long early evening of staring at sand.



James had finally managed to fall asleep when the alarm rang. Red lights were flashing and the infernal noise forced even the most hard-core slumber to consciousness.

His early evening duty had luckily been quite short at only two hours where he was relieved by the now conscious Jirn who spent the time swearing about seemingly harmless old men. It had gone off free of any oddities, to James’ disappointment, as staring at the rolling ‘countryside’ of Red Sand was quite boring. Jirn had reported no dangers when she got back, and neither had the sniper after her. This attack was a surprise to him, and he guessed the same of everyone.

‘All Troopers and militia report to combat positions. Multiple Xank fighters are attacking the ship and risk of a landing crew is very likely,’ the pilot announced over the intercom.

James hastily jumped from his bunk where he opened his footlocker to put on his new and official Trooper apparel. His old uniform had, in fact, not been that but more a thrown together militia uniform fashioned from second-hand Trooper armour. Nathan had managed to negotiate for him to be given an official snipers uniform. It was pitch black and fashioned of mozar hide. Protection pads rested upon the knees and shoulders, adorned with a thin red stripe which would identify him as a Trooper. Best of all was the flat nosed gas mask. It was less cumbersome than the assault gas masks and provided all the practicality of the heavier variants. It also made sure that he looked the part, as the gas mask was the Trooper’s trademark headpiece.

Luckily, he had gone to bed wearing the under clothes of his uniform so getting dressed took very little time. After putting on his armour and uniform, James bent down to take out his FireBolt rifle and pistol, including the pistol he had retrieved at the Outpost. The quarter master couldn’t spare weapons, so militia and trainees were encouraged to pick up anything they could find until they received extra supplies at Fort Nox.

Screams and gunfire could be heard all across the ship while James was loading his pistol – his rifle would have to be neglected as this was to be a close quarters fight. A Trooper left the room, SMG at the ready, to soon rush back inside shouting,

‘They’re in the ship! Xank contacts in the ship!’

Proving James’ sentiments that this was to be a melee, he proceeded in hastily loading his pistol. After doing so, he joined the other Troopers as they left the room.

He was by far the most ‘unarmed’ unit in the squad so he would have to put extra skill into his fighting. Upon exiting the room, the squad split into two, firing at Zangorians which appeared from both sides of the hallway.

Behind the mass of Zangorians firing their strange pulse weapons, was a single Zangorian mutilating the still thrashing corpse of a human whose features had become too damaged to identify. James aimed and fired, hitting the creature on the beak, shattering it. James fired again, hitting it between the eyes and piercing its brain with heated lead. It dropped the human as it fell. But it was already too late - the human was dead. This mutilation is even worse than at the outpost, James thought, trying not to throw up as it would be quite disgusting to have his own insides sloshing around in his mask.

To the squad’s credit, the Zangorians were beginning to thin to a manageable amount. Sadly, that gave them room to manoeuvre and this forced the Troopers to scatter to find their own cover.

The firefight continued and the hallway once again began to fill with Xank, only for the Zangorians to move onto other parts of the ship. Crouched behind a metal table was a Trooper under heavy fire from plasma and pulse attacks. He glanced at James and shouted, ‘I need cover, trainee!’

A thought occurred to James and instead of firing aimlessly he turned down a different hallway and ran.

‘What do you think you’re doing?’ the Trooper shouted after him, his voice accusing yet desperate.

James turned at the end of the hallway to see the Zangorian firing squads who were pinning down his allied Troopers. They hadn’t seen him yet, so James picked up the assault rifle of a deceased Trooper and placed some carefully aimed shots into the heads of the Zangorians. He killed only three until he ducked around the corner, concealing himself.

The deaths of those three Zangorians were all the pinned Troopers needed to emerge from cover and open fire on the remainder.

James returned to the squad to receive thumbs up from the Trooper who had asked for cover, just to watch a pulse blast collide with the man’s head, shattering the Trooper’s skull and spilling blood from every facial orifice as James watched in horror. Just a few hours ago, James had beaten the guy with a governor high-straight and now he was watching as the man’s life was drawn to an abrupt close.

James turned and fired on the remaining Zangorians, killing every single one in hope that the killing would somehow make the now dead Trooper happier in death. He felt no different as the last Zangorian fell, a bullet wound splattering blood onto the wall behind it. Death only brought more death and killing only brought reinforcements. The man could not come back and James didn’t know why he felt the sudden need for vengeance. In Galis he had watched allies die and shrugged it off. It had been so long since another’s death had shaken him so much except that of Andrew.

All James could think about at that moment was vengeance and hatred. In Galis it was just a matter of business, but this…this was slaughter. James didn’t just hate the Zangorians he killed, he hated all of them. He desired the death of every single one of the vile monsters in the galaxy.

The squad had dwindled to a measly three Troopers and as a larger group passed, they combined and jogged towards the mess hall which, by the sound of screaming, was the place of even more carnage.

The squad advanced cautiously. The screaming intensified and the alarm was drowned out by gunfire. Every so often, a lone Zangorian would pop up, just to be killed by the squad. By the last hallway, the screaming stopped but gunfire could still be heard from the opposite end of the ship. The sounds of violence had halted, but as they moved towards the empty doorway, a blanket of foreboding fell upon the squad. They were right to feel it, as even with the sounds, they couldn’t have expected such a sight.

The mess hall's floor was covered by the corpses of civilians and Troopers. The counters where Ryan had only worked a day before lay splattered with gore and bodies as limbs were scattered metres away from the owners. The gas masks could only just block the revolting stench of burnt flesh and death.

James felt a splash when he entered the room to notice that he had stepped in a puddle of blood. In fact, it was more a lake. The entire floor of the room was soaked in crimson. This blood bath made the fight at Galis look like a paper cut. James tried to make light of the situation, but instead had to repress some bile.

A person who did not know better could mistake the floor for actually being red. At the sunken level of the mess hall, bodies floated and Troopers seeking to retrieve the dead had to wade through the depths of blood and evacuated faeces.

At this point, James could not help himself. He removed his gas mask and vomited onto the floor. No one looked at him in disapproval as they were doing the same.

‘How can any creature be so violent? How could they do this much damage to something already defeated? All this blood, it doesn’t seem real,’ a Private whispered just loudly enough for James to hear.

‘This is the Xank we’re talking about. They’re the epitome of brutality,’ replied an obvious veteran.

A Trooper with an air of authority and the sergeant insignia to match stood up from examining a dead Trooper to give commands.

‘Ok, Troopers, there’s been a lull in the attack. Take this time to check your guns and tend to the wounded.’

The squad did as he ordered and, once that was done, proceeded to secure the area. Some Troopers did that by clearing out the corpses and piling them onto the entrances, utilizing the naturally dense corpses as already dead cannon fodder.

This action was halted by a younger Trooper who blocked the path of those enacting the deed.

‘Cease this sacrilege! These are the respected dead. Not your cannon fodder. Terra would want better of them.’

‘We need everything we can get to barricade these doors,’ one of the Troopers replied, obviously irritated but also too weary to express it.

‘Even if that means disrespecting the dead?’

‘This is not Zarxa, Private. We can’t just throw a pebble onto the ground and wait for it to sprout a wall. We need everything we can get. If we allowed the Xank in because we didn’t want to disrespect the dead, we’d be dead along with them. Above all else, Terra wants us to survive.’

The Trooper who spoke against the piling of the dead bodies pondered a reply but just ended off by saying, ‘I will have no part of it,’ and walked off sullenly.

James personally didn’t have anything against utilising the dead as a barricade but he could see other’s qualms with it. He believed that a human was only valuable in life and nothing of the identity of that person remained in a corpse but many believed that a person’s identity was still sacred after death. Despite James’ other snide opinions, he respected their right to believe that.

James was scavenging for ammo when a group of Troopers rushed into the room - a ‘fresh’ squad carrying a wounded squad.

‘Sergeant, there’s Xank coming this way,’ panted the leader, a corporal who was probably put in charge after the death of his commanding officer.

The Sergeant started to shout orders, ‘All Troopers to defensive positions. Rifleman at the back, shot gunners in front. You know the drill!’

James took cover behind a turned over table and checked his looted assault rifle, hoping he would have enough ammo.

Sounds could be heard from down the hallway. One could hear the noise approaching but everything was dark beyond the doorway. The Xank had knocked out half the ship’s power and they had to rely on the illumination of the emergency lighting.

Even through the gas masks, he could see that the other Troopers were frightened. Who could blame them? Ten Troopers against uncountable Xank were not odds that any of them would bet on.



Contrary to the odds, they managed to hold out for longer than previously expected. That was not necessarily a good thing to many, however; as fatalists, which it seemed most of the people on-board had become, believed that their survival only prolonged the inevitable. James was not a fatalist and fired each round hoping it would bring them a step closer to victory. He saw the validity in the fatalist’s opinion, however, as the Xank continued to pour into the mess hall like a perpetual tide of feathery flesh and energy blasts.

After every wave of screeching creatures, the screams of humans intensified, the previous volley’s casualties ending their screams as they moved onto the afterlife. Eventually, the tide became too strong and the barricade of corpses and furniture collapsed - forcing the Troopers to retreat. Most of the Troopers were dead but the few who remained had heard word of a hold out in the hangar. If they were to have any hope of survival, they would have to rendezvous with those that had taken the tail end of the ship as their stronghold. Groups of two had been allowed to exit at a time to allow others to hold the rear.

Many militia and civilians had sought haven in the mess hall but had been sad to find that they would find none. Within that group was Ryan, who James had been partnered with when making a break for the hangar.

Ryan was taking point, utilizing his heavy magnum against the fresh Zangorian assaults who were drilling through the sides of the gunship. James used his looted assault rifle to pick off any Xank who had managed to avoid the mess hall and accost them.

Upon the way, they had found the corpses of some that had been sent ahead of them. Thankfully, some of the escapees were absent from the blood drenched halls. They had been pushing through the hall for the last thirty minutes. James recalled how this trip took him less than two while he was on sniper duty.

Eventually, they saw the doorway to the hangar. It was open. James almost sank into despair, believing that the Zangorians had overpowered the door and guards, slaughtering the occupants. Then he saw a gas masked face pop around the corner.

The Trooper spotted them and shouted, ‘Quick, in here!’

They did not delay and sprinted into the room. The Trooper then proceeded to fire at some pursuing Xank.

James gazed around the last true haven on the ship. Granted, there was less blood than the rest of the ship, but the misery was in equal abundance. The wounded and dying lay where brooding militia did not, only two Troopers inhabited the room, the one at the door and another trying desperately to heal the wounded.

Leaning upright upon some supply crates, a mother carrying her blood drenched child, wept while her child did not. Across the room, a man was being treated by a medic. A Zangorian had severed his artery and infected the area around it. His leg was to be amputated. The man was screaming all the way through the surgery, his eldest daughter was trying to console her younger sibling. The son was asking for his mother; the daughter couldn’t answer.

A few looked hopeful. Quok and Molok were some of the survivors. The Exanoid looked calm as the Gray glanced around the room, alert.

James felt misery just looking at the scene. He had seen enough death to last a lifetime but it never lost its ability to affect the emotions. No matter how much James tried to force himself to be so, he wasn’t emotionless.

He turned as the firing ceased and three additional Troopers entered, one carrying the captain of the vessel. The man had a bandage draped across his eye and had lost an arm and leg. The veteran was definitely a tough one but no natural man could withstand such punishment for long. This man was near to death.

After they entered, the Trooper guarding the entrance continued firing just to be rewarded with a click as his magazine ran out. Calmly, he moved his hand to his vest to retrieve another cartridge to realise that his supply had finally run dry. The Trooper did not waver and utilized the rifle as a club to break the head of the oncoming Zangorian as Ryan turned to help.

The Captain was propped up on top of a cleared work bench as the medic moved from his best possible treatment of a broken spine to the bench to look over his superior officer. The Captain’s breathing was heavy, lungs most assuredly damaged by a pulse blast. His eyes started to shiver and then open. He gradually gazed at the faces of the Troopers. His stare seemed to penetrate the armour and masks of the troops as he read their emotions, even without seeing their expressions.

Eventually, his gaze fell on James and he sat up, much to the displeasure of the medic.

‘You, sniper,’ he said, ‘You’re a Galisian?’

James nodded.

The captain’s mouth perked up in a slight smile, ‘Kinda obvious actually. You’re the only one here not shaking. Well, it seems, Galisian, that you’re getting a promotion.’

James raised his eyebrow and asked, ‘I’m honoured, sir, but why?’

‘Are you bloody blind or just stupid? I’m losing blood faster than a winner at a Dead Stone poker game. I’m already on borrowed time here. Don’t try and doubt my ill-conceived choices now.’

The Trooper tending to him said tentatively, ‘That is not a certainty, Captain. With the right surgery you will make it out.’

‘What surgery? Martian cybernetics? Last time I checked, we’re quite far from the homeland. I am going to die here, Sergeant, and cry as much as you want; it’s not going to change anything!’ He turned back to James.

‘I always told High Command that they should have started to recruit from Galis years ago. Prove me right, Strike Leader; pick who will survive that fucking desert…’

The monologue was interrupted by a coughing fit, followed by a splutter of blood. The Captain wheezed.

‘And make those fucking birds feel pain!’

His head lolled to the side as the last bit of life slipped from his body. The Troopers around him lowered their heads mournfully for a few seconds but then turned to James, awaiting orders.

‘Why did he pick me? I’m just a recruit,’ James asked, startled and backing away from the limelight as worry set in.

‘None of the Troopers here have lived on Zona Nox. We were reinforcements from Nova Zarxa. And if stories are to be believed, there’s something special about you Galisians,’ the medic answered, wiping his gloves on a towel to rid it of blood.

‘So, I was chosen based on familiarity and legends of luck? Granted, I may have some of the latter, but I haven’t even been to Red Sand before now.’

Ryan spoke up, ‘I was born in a settlement near Galis Lake. It is not much when it comes to Red Sand but it is something. I can help identify fauna and I have a rough knowledge of the geography.’

‘I will need to pick you first then. We need a guide even if it’s an inexperienced one.’

‘Thanks,’ Ryan answered, ignoring the slight insult.

James turned to survey the crowd of people lying or squatting around the cramped hangar area. Some lifted their solemn heads to glance hopefully at the Troopers. These people might not claim to like the Troopers, but they looked up to them for protection. They expected saviours.

This truly was a cruel thing with which the Captain had burdened him. He was literally being forced to choose who would live and who would die. Troopers were meant to be saviours, he was meant to be a saviour, but now he was being forced to kill the weak in favour of the strong.

He did not have the benefit of time and forced conscience out of the way, for now. He walked to the middle of the room where he raised himself upon a crate. The people, who could, looked at him with hopeful gazes as James began to speak,

‘Citizens, as you may have noticed this ship is going to crash.’

A few people, who had not, began to look frightened, more than they were before.

‘I have been put in charge of selecting who will be able to use the escape pods.’

‘Can’t you take all of us?’ the merchant from the mess hall asked, hopefully.

‘No, and even if I could, most of you will definitely die in Red Sand. I hate to do this and if I could change this scenario I would without a doubt save everyone here but I do not have the luxury of god-like powers to do as I like. The blunt truth is that I have to pick those who WILL survive in Red Sand.’

A Trooper looked at James and said, ‘You have ten minutes.’

‘I will be selecting the few who have a chance of survival and may be useful. There are three Troopers left. They will be coming.’

‘Why bring the heathens?! This attack alone proves that they are cursed!’ James heard a familiarly annoying voice.

‘This is not for you or your Council to decide, preacher!’ Ryan spat, silencing the man.

James ignored the Preacher’s ramblings and began selecting the few who would hopefully be the survivors of Gunship X59.



Upon almost reaching the deadline, James had selected all that would be useful. Apart from the three Troopers, he had selected Quok for his ability with logistics, Molok due to his totally un-Gray like strength, Ryan, a few of the more skilled gangsters and a few civilians who claimed skills in medicine, engineering and hunting.

The people being left behind were left with poison from the medic to avoid capture or painful death. Some rather chose to take a weapon and kill as many Zangorians as they could before the ship crashed. A small gesture as it was, they were remembered fondly. James made a note that he would make sure they were remembered. It was the least he could do after being responsible for their deaths.

A few Zangorians had entered the hangar but were dispatched without any problems, besides one less bullet.

The ship started to show the signs of an imminent crash as explosions echoed from along the hull and the incline grew, followed by rushing wind and the halting of the sirens as electricity was totally cut.

The sixteen survivors of X59 entered the escape shuttles with any supplies they could scrape together and prepared to disembark. Those left behind just stared in disbelief, not wanting to accept that their lives were about to end. A few stood, determined, clutching guns and melee weapons as the Zangorians charged into the room, commencing a slaughter. The forsaken civilians didn’t hold out for long. James forced himself to keep his eyes open as the inevitable became reality.

I am responsible for this. This view is my punishment.

As the countdown slowly lowered, James watched. He watched as men and woman he knew from Galis were butchered mercilessly. He watched as a child was killed in front of his mother, the screeching woman hopeless to prevent it.

I chose this, but did I really have the right to choose one life over another?

James stood watching, emotionless on the exterior as he could no longer weep. I should be the one being killed. I had no right! No right not to be killed.

Finally, the shuttle launched, being painted with a splatter of blood on the window before disembarking. A small reminder of what he had caused.

Ryan stood up from his kneeling position and said in a commanding tone, ‘Everyone get locked and loaded. Red Sand is a dangerous place and there’s a more than a small chance that we will land in a Sylith nest or a raider town.’

The Troopers instinctively examined their guns for any sign of damage or error. The civilians first glanced at the Troopers and then repeated their actions. James was too tired to mirror them, too tired to keep on going, or living. His exertions, both physical and emotional, were finally catching up with him.

He tried to stay awake, but the more he kept his eyes open, the more they drooped. Finally, his head lolled to the side, rewarding him with a pleasant sleep that he didn’t feel he deserved.

“Vowls are one of the more common creatures of the frontier; wild canine scavengers which may cower from civilization but won’t hesitate at killing the lone wanderer or even small holding.” – Extract from ‘Bestiary of the Frontier Worlds.’

Chapter 6. Tundra

His eyelids opened slightly but then shut as almost as fast as they had been opened. Again he tried to open them, but the pain was too great. His clothes were torn and covered with the red dust common in the North. Lying on the side of the road, most people didn’t spare him a glance. A misfortunate traveller was a common sight, not worth any attention or effort.

Don Marzio again tried to open his eyes. This time he succeeded but soon closed them again at the intensity of the sun. Groaning, he tried to reach for his water bottle. He lifted it up to his lips to be rewarded by a few drops.

For such a cold place, you sure get thirsty.

Lifting himself from his peculiar resting place, Don Marzio dusted the newly acquired snow off his coat. No one paid attention to corpses in this region. Posing as one was one of the best defences and could allow a person an undisturbed sleep. Looking at the map that he had acquired from a ‘generous’ traveller, he noted the distance to his next destination.

After the bombing of his HQ and the crumbling of his criminal empire, Don Marzio had escaped south, away from the Xank invasion. It was not that hard to get free passage this way. A lot of people were quite charitable with their vehicles when shown a pistol.

The Don had soon found himself in a predicament, however, as some thugs seemed to have the same idea as he, and were in possession of larger guns. As a result, he was not able to get to the settlement of Nev before nightfall. He could live with one night on the street, but he felt guilty for having to waste ammo on shooting some scavenging Vowls. Ammo was expensive and Don Marzio did not have much money to spare.

He studied the map more closely and groaned when he realised that Nev was still a few hours walk away. As he was about to start walking, a buggy of some type stopped beside him and a friendly looking man put his head through the window.

‘Need a lift, friend?’ the cheerful looking man enquired.

Danny quickly pondered if he should hijack the driver but the man seemed friendly enough, so he smiled and answered,

‘Are you heading to Nev?’

The man frowned. ‘I hope you’re not one of those gangers in these parts.’

‘Of course not, friend, I’m a hardworking and honest freelancer heading to down from up north to try my luck in the Tundra,’ the Don replied with the most innocent grin he could conjure.

The naïve traveller fell for it and opened the door to the buggy. Danny hopped on and allowed the man to drive blissfully unaware that he was transporting one of the most powerful criminal leaders in the northern hemisphere.



Nev was not a large settlement, but it wasn’t a hamlet either. In fact, it had managed to expand enough to contain a general store, an inn and a few houses, all surrounding a metal and wooden tower in the centre. If Don Marzio could have, he would have avoided Nev as it was too boring for his tastes. But it was safe, and if rumour had it, was home to someone the Don could receive help from.

The settlement sat on a back road, rarely travelled due to lack of any prominent trade routes. The Don wasn’t planning on staying, but did want to see if rumours about an old friend were true.

After the attack on Galis City, the Don had managed to escape the slaughter and get on a road to Gron. From there, he had travelled the Nev route to Titan. One thing bothered him though. What will I do after I reach Titan?

He had contacts in the city of the south, no man of his calibre would do without, but he had managed to ignore the famous city for a whole decade. A lot could change in ten years. He didn’t truly know what he would find and accomplish in Titan, but he was sure he would find out after his next pit stop. Don Marzio ceased his pondering when his lift reached the turn of the road at Nev.

He waved goodbye to the nervous man and noted that bullets weren’t the only negotiators. The man waved back but the Don could see the trail of sweat upon his brow. The man was nervous.

The Don turned to begin the tiring trudge through the thick snow, but was soon stopped by an armed guard. The man wore a leather coat which covered his torso and legs. Food crumbs marred his hideous beard.

‘What businesses do ye’ have in Nev?’ he asked, looking over the gate. Danny noted his accent as native Tundra Tribal and his gun as a Zerian SMG, not the Don’s favourite make.

‘Just passing through, maybe soak up some local hospitality,’ the Don replied with a friendly grin. He had found that pleasantry could disarm an opponent well. It worked and the guard lowered the gun.

‘What rock have ye’ been living under,’ the guard chuckled. ‘Everyone on this side of the Titan Mountains knows that the Grooks owns Nev.’

Don Marzio quickly searched his memory for that name. Grook, wasn’t that a bunch of street rabble the last time I had decided to check up on the South?

Don Marzio looked up at the guard with an even bigger smile, ‘Then I’m in luck as I can be forgiven for the lack of knowledge. Don Marzio of the Galis Marzios at your service.’

He gave a practiced stage bow and continued, ‘Is it possible if I may see your leader?’

‘Never heard of ya,’ the guard said casually, ‘but I’m in a good mood so I’ll ask Boris if he’ll let ye’ see him.’

Satisfied with the turn of events, Don Marzio waited smugly for his new asset.



‘So you’re one of those Galis mobsters? I imagined someone a little bit cleaner,’ the large man who was named Boris stated in an accent which the Don recognized was still akin to his native Dead Stone.

Boris was a typical thug. Big, muscular and as dumb as a mozar, how he had led this gang of street rabble into conquering a village baffled the Don. In a fight, Boris would have crushed the Don, but Don Marzio was not looking for a fight, in fact he was aiming at making Boris do his fighting for him.

‘It’s quite hard to keep yourself clean when you have to trek from Galis to Nev while dodging an assortment of bandits, Sylith and Xank,’ Don Marzio replied.

‘Sounds like an interesting story. You may need to tell me sometime - right after you convince me why I should not just throw you out onto the street with nothing but that pretty hat of yours’

‘Well, it’s considered quite impolite to mug your own cousin in most circles.’

Boris stared at the Don and whispered in a hushed tone as it finally dawned on him, ‘Danny?’

‘The one and only!’ Danny announced, raising his arms to the side for emphasis.

Boris rushed forward and took Danny Marzio in a tight bear hug.

‘I heard of the Marzios up North but didn’t expect you’d be the Don. Sorry I didn’t recognise you! Been so long. Last time I saw you was at Dead Stone. You said you wanted to start a gang, seems you did just that.’

‘Yes, and that is part of the reason why I am here. Have you heard news of the Xank invasion up north?’

‘A little gossip here and there. What’s really happening? I bet you and your gang are putting those aliens in their place.’

‘Not exactly. They destroyed Galis.’

Boris looked calmly at Danny and replied, ‘Well towns get burnt down all the time in war, nothing wrong with that, just move on to a different town up north.’

‘You don’t seem to understand, Galis was the largest city on this planet. It dwarfed even Dead Stone at its peak. It’s no measly little hamlet. If the Xank could destroy Galis, what could they do to Gron, Nev or even Titan?’

‘Well I see your concern but Xank won’t dare touch here in the South. Damn birds are scared of the snow.’

Boris had a good point. The Zangorians here on Zona Nox were incomprehensibly afraid of snow. He had even seen some at the border. The Zangorians had been chasing after some refugees but just as they crossed the border where it started snowing, the Zangorians screamed and fled. Danny seemed to calm down a bit.

‘Now that you’re not running from Xank anymore, cuz,’ Boris continued, ‘We should discuss what ya’ gonna be doing to help the Grooks.’

‘Well I haven’t lost my skill as a bandit if that’s what you’re asking.’

Boris looked slightly offended. ‘The Grooks aren’t just petty bandits, cousin. We’re one of the strongest gangs in this part of the Tundra.’

‘Humph, forgive my bluntness but you don’t have much to show for it.’

‘Funny,’ Boris answered straight faced. ‘You still have a lot to learn about Southern politics. You might be used to your own little kingdom up north but the corporations are what rule here. Even on the frontier.’

Boris was correct, of course. Gangs in the south were a totally different breed to the north. Danny knew he would have to watch his step, but he couldn’t help but miss the honest, if violent, gang conflicts up north. The South was no less violent, but if rumours were correct, they preferred using a dagger in the back opposed to the more honest shootout in the alleys.

‘Regardless, I have skills of the criminal persuasion that will come in handy.’

‘I would hope so, you running a gang up in Galis and all. Don’t get me wrong, the Grooks still do some good old fashion road robbery but we have found a way more profitable and comfortable venture.’

‘And what may that be?’ Danny asked, not being able to imagine that his dull cousin could do anything but raid caravans.

‘Town holding!’ Boris finally announced, using hand gestures to emphasize what, to him, was a stroke of genius.

‘What?’

‘As you may have noticed, the law is sparse here. People will turn to anyone to stop trouble from brewing,’ Boris gave Danny a wink. ‘Even if they’re the ones causing all the trouble.’

‘So you charge the residents here protection money?’ Danny wasn’t as impressed as Boris expected. The tactic of extortion to gain funds was common everywhere.

‘Not exactly, we charge them yes, but we also have taken residence here and turned the place into our own personal fortress.’

Danny suppressed a laugh. ‘Yeah, that picket fence outside would send a Reaper fleeing into the hills.’

‘Spare your sarcasm cousin, that ‘picket fence’ has kept out its fair share of enemies.’

As if some divine entity had been listening, the sound of an explosion forced both Boris and Danny to jump straight out of their seats.

‘Shit, not now,’ Boris swore, bringing his hand to his forehead in frustration.

‘What the hell was that?’ Danny asked, masking his shock.

‘Damn punks from Titan. They’ve been trying to take Nev from us each day now, with no luck. It’s getting quite tiresome.’

‘Then let’s teach them that it’s considered rude to take other peoples settlements,’ Danny smirked, drawing his pistol.

Boris chuckled.

‘There’s a lot of irony there, cousin.’



The ‘picket fence’ seemed to be doing its job. No attacker had managed to penetrate the crude defences. Bullets flew at the barricade, but the sandbags stopped them from hitting any living targets. The only attacks managing to come through at all were the incessant bombardment of firebombs.

Boris avoided another shot from a pesky Bolt Rifle. Standing up, he fired and hit an additional enemy.

I could get used to this. Fresh air, money, power and no competition, Danny grinned at the thought but while he was thinking he hardly noticed a bullet ricochet off his shoulder pad. The combat armour that he was wearing had been given to him by Boris before they went to aid the defenders. The Grooks used a basic and somewhat weak armour design crafted of even weaker material, which said a lot about the weapons that the Titan Punks were using.

Most of the Grooks were armed with either a sub-machinegun or a rifle. Boris, as the boss, much preferred to use an Aegis HMG which he utilized very efficiently to mow down enemy troops.

A punk was preparing to throw a Molotov but a direct shot to the fiery bottle barred that idea. The bullet shattered the protective glass exterior of the bottle, releasing its ignited fuel all over its bearer. The flaming figure tried to roll on the floor to put out the flames but the agonized screams finally came to a halt when his body could not handle it anymore. Seeing the carnage that his gang had been subjected to, the leader of the attack force ordered a retreat.

The Grook gangsters cheered while taking pot shots at their fleeing enemies.

‘So what do you normally do now?’ Danny asked after placing a shot between the shoulder blades of a Punk.

‘Get drunk and go whoring,’ he shrugged, ‘What else is there to do?’

‘I don’t know. Maybe, go after them?’ Danny suggested as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, as to him, it was.

‘Why would we do that?’

Danny had just remembered his cousin’s stupidity when it came to strategy. In fact, it had cost them their gang in Dead Stone.

‘If we were to give chase and successfully kill all of them, or maybe even find where they are coming from, we could prevent any future attacks.’

‘You have a point there,’ Boris replied, a little embarrassed.

‘So we will chase them down?’

‘Correction, cousin,’ he took a swig of a bottle of whisky and then inclined it towards Danny before continuing, ‘You will chase them down.’



Danny Marzio openly sulked as he led his small contingent of Grooks. How Boris expected a group of seven to take down, Council knows how many enemies, was beyond him. Apparently, this was an initiation ceremony to allow Danny a place on the Boss’s table. More likely, Boris was too lazy to lead an attack and wanted some company when he drank out the bar.

He was not used to this terrain. He had grown up in urban areas all his life and would instinctively dart for a wall if bullets flew his way. That could make things a tad difficult if put in sparsely wooded tundra. His followers were trudging through the snow and snapping the occasional branch. Seeming not to care who heard them.

‘Quiet down,’ he hissed, trying and failing to fight down frustration.

‘Righty-o, boss!’ the one answered cheerfully.

Rob Starkin was quite a cheerful companion, for a bandit. He was the first to volunteer for this escapade and was by far one of the last people Danny would have brought. He was a little too enthusiastic, no matter what threats Danny and the others threw at him, he would not stop his incessant yapping. He had a deluded image of adventure and fortune and that was probably one of the main reasons he had joined the Grooks.

‘So do you think they’ll be any shooting?’ Rob asked, ignoring his earlier promises of keeping quiet.

‘Yes, Rob, there will be shooting,’ another Grook member answered.

Gre’sse was a native Southerner, a calm tribal who seemed to be the voice of reason in the raiding party.

Boris kept his gang ruled well but had still decided to divide the command between Lieutenants who would lead different raiding parties into jobs. Each party contained about six to fifteen men, according to the amount of influence the Lieutenant held.

Danny looked down to inspect his gun. It was a simple weapon. A basic Titan manufactured Sub-Machinegun, it could keep an average amount of about thirty rounds in its straight side cartridge. Its rapid fire would come in handy in case of a close quarter fight.

The group was chatting with a casual volume, greatly irritating the professional Danny Marzio. A gunshot brought the chatting to a halt as a bullet flew past and hit the shoulder pad of Rob Starkin.

‘Get to cover,’ Danny shouted as he looked for the origin of the shot.

Gre’sse inspected Rob’s shoulder pad and concluded, ‘A dent, didn’t get through.’

‘Look for where that shot came from,’ Danny ordered, ‘we’re not advancing till his heart stops!’

Another gunshot echoed through the trees. The bullet sped past into a tree, missing the group entirely. Danny aimed at the origin of the gunshot and opened fire. After using ten rounds on the bush, a Punk stumbled out and fell onto the ground, a puddle of blood forming around him and staining the snow. The rest of the group gave a polite and somewhat sarcastic clap before continuing. Again they were ambushed with no casualty and again they killed all their attackers.

Danny couldn’t help being suspicious, this killing was too easy; it was like these punks were toddlers with sling shots trying to ambush a wiser grandparent.

He stopped his contemplation when a bullet sped past and hit a Grook cleanly in the leg, coming out the other side. The Grook fell to the ground, writhing in agony, as all chaos broke loose. Danny and Gre’sse ordered the scrambled Grooks to get to cover but they were pinned down.

So this was what they were leading us into, Danny thought, ashamed of his lack of foresight.

His head kept low, he scanned the bushes to pinpoint where the attackers were located. Seeing the flash of a laser dot, he fired and hit his mark. The round hit the punk directly in the forehead, splattering his brains on a tree. His companions looked unnerved, but still continued firing. Gre’sse crouched near Danny and shouted to try get over the noise of gunfire,

‘Use whatever you want if it’ll kill them,’ Danny answered hastily, not able to hear what Gre’sse was saying.

Gre’sse nodded then took a bottle of alcohol out of his jacket. Before Danny could reprimand him for drinking on the job, Gre’sse took a lighter and ignited a cloth that had been shoved into the bottle tip. He then threw the fiery projectile at the punk’s positions. Firing ceased as all the punks rolled in the snow trying to put out the fire. Those that succeeded were killed by Grooks. Those that did not, burnt to a scorched corpse.

The Grooks cheered while the Punks either retreated or were dispatched. Two Grooks had fallen, but their loss would only be mourned after the appropriate amount of vengeance. Danny ordered the Grooks to press on the attack. They trailed the retreating Punks, firing at their heels and picking off stragglers. Blood lust filled the air as Grooks tackled down Punks and fought them in vicious melee. A Punk could be seen trying to claw the face of a Grook, but a hard punch to the jaw stopped his attempts, just before a knife plunged into his chest.

After all the pinned Punks had been massacred, they continued pursuing the survivors. The Punks seemed to be tiring, but fear kept them fleeing. Danny smirked: fear was one of the greatest motivators, after all.

They ran for what seemed like an hour. The Punks had disappeared into a gully and Danny was allowing his men to rest. He didn’t want to lead them blindly without someone watching their back.

‘Gre’sse, anyway we can contact Nev from here?’ Danny enquired, perching his booted foot on a rock so he could massage a slight sprain.

‘I have a radio transmitter with me. It might or might not reach Nev. It’s a little old, but snow doesn’t affect it much.’

Gre’sse took the brick like transmitter out of his bag. He adjusted a few knobs then spoke.

‘This is Raiding Party G, we are pursuing Punk forces and wish for reinforcements.’

‘Where are you?’ the voice on the radio asked lazily.

‘We’re near a gully south-east of Nev. Hard to miss, Regg.’

‘I’ll see if some of the boys are looking for some fun.’

With that, Gre’sse hung up. He then turned to Danny and said, ‘We will need to set up a foothold and allow a scout or two to find where those punks are hiding.’

‘Agreed,’ Danny replied, realizing that this Gre’sse was much more dependable than his cousin.

After being ordered to do so, the Grooks erected a temporary camp with the supplies given. Once the barricade had been erected and fortifications made to allow them to survive a basic attack, Danny, with Gre’sse’s help, chose a scout to locate the Punk encampment. The scout’s name was ‘Rat’, obviously not a real name but everyone referred to him as that due to his appearance and overall temperament. After receiving his orders and the proper motivation of a bonus, Rat skulked out of the camp.

Just as he left, jeeps could be heard approaching their location; probably reinforcements from Nev but best not to take chances.

Danny ordered the Grooks to take defensive positions behind the deployable barriers. As the jeeps came into view, everyone relaxed. Boris was standing on the back of one jeep, gun in hand. Following his jeep were an around twenty-five Grooks.

Boris leapt down from the jeep and took Danny in a firm handshake.

‘Congrats cousin, we’ve been trying to put a dent in their forces for months. Thanks to you we may bloody well be able to do just that.’

‘We will do far more than that,’ Danny replied, ‘I have reason to believe this area is the location of their base. With the right equipment and tactics, we can massacre them without casualty.’

Boris gave a triumphant guffaw. ‘You haven’t changed a bit, cousin! When I woke up this morning I would never have thought that we may finally be able to pluck this thorn from our side. When do we attack and finally end those buggers’ miserable lives?’

‘We’ll know as soon as my scout reports back. I sent him out just before you arrived.’

‘My scout,’ Boris corrected, his expression becoming sterner. ‘Don’t forget whose gang this is.’

‘I apologize; I am still trying to accept that my gang in Galis is dead.’

Boris’s expression softened. ‘Apology accepted, cousin. Don’t worry, at the rate you’re going you may very well make the Boss’s table.’

Danny was just about to speak when Rat sprinted into the camp, as if the hounds of dark space were pursuing him. Danny raised his eyebrow and asked, ‘What by the Council happened to you?’

Rat started stuttering incomprehensible garbage. Boris walked over and hit him on the back. That seemed to do the trick as Rat calmed down and his babble became more coherent.

‘I found their base, but when I got there I saw something I hoped I would not have to face ever since I last faced them near Titan.’

‘And that is,’ asked Danny, clearly annoyed by Rats overreaction.

‘Ice Sylith,’ the man stated it in almost a whisper.

Boris gasped and even Gre’sse expressed shock.

‘We have to pull back,’ Boris said anxiously.

‘Agreed, the sooner we can get back, the sooner we can reinforce Nev,’ Gre’sse added.

Before Danny could move a muscle, Lieutenants were barking orders, barricades were being stripped down and jeeps were being boarded.

Boris offered Danny a hand up onto the jeep. He obliged and took a seat at the back. As each jeep was fully loaded, they sped towards Nev.



Half an hour later, the jeeps arrived at Nev. A resident walked up to Boris and offered a bottle of whisky. Boris accepted and chugged it down in one breath. He then wiped his mouth and discarded the glass bottle by throwing it to the wall behind him. Boris seemed to not be in the mood for commanding and left Gre’sse in charge.

The calm and much more professional Lieutenant then proceeded to bark out orders, commanding the Grooks to erect a stockade around the small settlement using jeeps and scrap metal. All defiance or laziness disappeared as the Grooks obediently did as ordered. This must be a very big fright to them, Danny thought, actually growing unnerved.

To be honest, he had never fought a Sylith before. His experience of them was limited to a very badly written book on frontier flora. It had been sold at one credit at a stall outside his butchery. In other words: an inadequate source.

After the co-ordination of the town’s defences had finished, Gre’sse continued to order Grooks to reinforce the weaker buildings and sections of the wall. After being assigned to do so by Gre’sse, Danny placed the groups in their corresponding defensive positions. Grooks with Sub-Machineguns would be placed at the walls. The occasional shot gunner was placed at the weaker sections to splatter any invading Sylith with the kick of a sixteen gauge.

It was nightfall by the time everything was finished. The air was thick with the stink of sweat, caused by human agitation and fear. No one dared utter a word, not even Rob Starkin.

The local residents had been holed in the basement of the town hall, what Danny had previously seen as the tower. A sniper had been placed in the tower. Danny stood next to this very sniper, surveying the settlement and defences. The snipers name was Viper, on further questioning; it could be found out that his name really was just Viper and that he had been a member of a tribe on Grengen where he had won the name in a task where he had to kill a rival tribe chieftain. He sported short gelled black hair and a light complexion. His eyes were slanted like many of the Trooper auxiliaries from Nova Zarxa and Mars.

At first glance, he was an average tempered sniper, but a little talking would reveal that he was a cold killer. Just the type of sniper a gang needed.

Danny continued his assessment of the defences. The main entrances were barricaded. The stockade seemed secure, and all Grooks were in their designated places. The defence plans were falling into place perfectly. Rifles were loaded, pistols were cleaned, and grenades were prepared for detonation.

This gang will be a valuable asset on my climb back to the top, Danny grinned, if this Sylith swarm is overcome.

Viper looked up from his scope and then lowered his eye again, in a motion that showed he was checking if what he saw was real.

‘You see that?’ he muttered.

‘The swarm of Ice Sylith heading this way?’ Danny replied, ‘Yeah. What about it?’

Viper ignored the sarcasm and continued,

‘Better get that pea-shooter of yours ready. Don’t wanna let any bug get close enough to decapitate that pretty head of yours.’

Danny examined his ‘pea shooter.’ It was a Titan Assault Rifle, probably a version three by the look of the cartridge. Not a pea-shooter by any stretch of imagination, but compared to Viper’s rifle, it paled.

Viper’s Sniper Rifle was nicknamed Snake Bite. Officially, it was a spec-ops issued weapon manufactured by Cobra Enterprises. The corporation had been closed down years ago so Snake Bite was one of the last of its kind. The rifle sat at 150cm from stock to the very tip of the barrel. The projectiles were .50 calibre monsters propelled by special hydrogen cells. The words ‘Snake Bite – Venom in a shell’ were engraved on the side.

Viper pulled back the bolt, lodging the shell into the firing chamber. The air was filled with the sound of clicks and bullets being slammed into place by bolts. Then all was silent. It was as if the air around them was holding its own breath. As the swarm advanced ever closer, hisses and the clicking of exoskeletons scraping together became louder, breaking the silence. Viper held his breath, steadied his rifle, and fired. The round discharged from the barrel in an explosion of fire. Speeding through the air and finally hitting a Sylith in the neck, severing it in the process. The head flew into the air, leaving a trail of yellowish blood along the floor. The swarm stopped and all turned to where their kin had been murdered. Insect chatter could be faintly heard among them.

Then, at once they all charged towards the stockade with vile hisses. Grooks fired their sub-machineguns as Boris rained lead with his heavy machinegun. As each Sylith hit the stockade, a shot gunner would execute the Sylith with an accurate shot to the head. But the Grooks weren’t coming out unscathed. The Sylith swarm washed over the stockade like a wave, crushing anyone who couldn’t hold. The human gang had been able to hold, but like the tide, no force could hold something this powerful.

Steam was pouring out of the holes of Snake Bites barrel. Viper paused his slaughtering of Sylith to pour water into a hole on the rifle to cool it. Danny could not do much in the tower but whenever a Sylith came into range, he tore through it with blazing lead. Sections of the stockade had fallen, Sylith swarmed through like an unstoppable plague. Devoured, mutilated corpses of Grooks were scattered the ground. Many Grooks had already retreated into the townhall. The door was closed, leaving a Grook outside. Hammering on the door, screaming for help, he had little time to turn to face a Sylith claw severing his head. Blood sprayed from the stump of his bloodied neck. The man has been the guard which Danny had met when he had first arrived.

This is unbelievable, Danny thought to himself, terrified. My quest will fall before it even began and just because of some fucking bugs.

Another bang, a screech, a click and another bang - Viper’s routine was flawless and his lack of emotion impeccable in a slaughter of this magnitude. Blood transformed the powdery snow into a red and mushy swampland of corpses and severed limbs. Only the wounded, who were quickly executed by slice or stomp of a Sylith, remained on the ground floors.

Danny heard some quiet scuttling on bricks. He turned and applied pressure to his weapon’s trigger, dispatching a Sylith with a fresh scar across its eye. The insect fell back to the floor, blood pouring from its gaping bullet wounds. A group of Sylith, after seeing their fallen comrade, advanced up the walls of the tower.

Danny took aim and pulled the trigger, a click signalled that his magazine was empty. He allowed it to fall out and reached down for another. There were none left in his combat jacket so he bent down to the reserve box. That was also empty.

He groped around the floor of the tower but all he could find were used shells and empty mags. Discarding his now useless rifle, he sighed and drew his knife.

“Maybe I really am insane. The Preachers have told me that Demons lie to my soul. I lay every night, thinking, trying to banish the demons, but every night I grow surer that it is not me, but the world which is wrong.” – Re’lien, the Devil Child

Chapter 7. Dreams

The wind held the scent of metal and petrol as the Xank battle walker drew ever closer to the wall. The metal monstrosity clunked and thundered as it advanced towards the inner wall, flattening both buildings and those unfortunate enough to be under it. Troopers and civilians were still trapped outside the walled area, fighting or trying in vain to scale the walls, just to be killed by Zangorians.

As the scene unfolded, a Trooper anxiously advised the family of three to start heading to the safe zone. The mother of the small family lifted the small boy into her arms and ran, the father followed, clutching a hunting rifle.

They sped down the road which the boy had grown up on. Now it was little more than rubble from the constant bombardment of the battle walkers. Scorched or mutilated corpses of strangers and friends littered the streets. The mother tried in vain to cover the boy’s eyes.

The family reached the end of the street. The father ordered a stop and began to skulk around, rifle at the ready. He spotted something and then commanded the mother and son behind cover. Zangorians and a handful of Troopers were in a melee a street down. The father foolishly went in to help, firing the bolt action rifle as he ran. The fighting was tough but the father survived with only a small burn on his shoulder and continued leading the small family to the safe zone.

As they were jogging down the streets, another building was hit by a Xank projectile. The boy watched in horror as people, still living, walked out of the house on fire. They showed no sign of life or death. No pain or suffering, just a body of flame wandering around aimlessly until the body was too charred to move. They continued running, the mother muttering to herself uncontrollably, until they heard a deafening explosion.

A battle walker had battered through the wall. The mother turned around, the boy in her arms.

She screamed. The father was gone. Looking around hastily she spotted a friend of hers and passed the boy to him. The large man couldn’t run while holding anyone, so he lowered the boy and led him and Andrew by the hand. They reached the sanctuary of the safe zone minutes after, but the boy noted that his parents weren’t there, and never would be.



James’ vision was blurred, as if he had drunk a little too much back at the Rusty Trooper. Unfortunately, he was not in such a pleasant space. This environment felt foreign – hostile. He was feeling the effects of shellshock. He had felt it times before in Galis. His ears rang and the soundless sound seemed to reverberate around his head like a sharp buzz - as if a swarm of insects nested in his head.

He knew he had dozed off in the shuttle and had first assumed this was the effect of waking up after a painful memory, but no bad dream could cause this much disorientation. Little by little, his vision cleared, revealing splatters of blood on the floor of the crashed shuttle. A dead Trooper and gangster were lying near him. The gangster was a Zenite, no one James knew personally, and had seemed to have broken his skull on the edge of the bench. James couldn’t identify the cause of the Trooper’s death due to the covering of his uniform.

He tried to lift himself up but something had fallen on his legs - a metallic rod from the roofing of the shuttle most likely.

That was when he saw a glimmer of movement and shadow from outside the shuttle. First, it was just an adjustment to the lighting, but then he heard noise, scuttling.

He couldn’t lift his head, but he could see and hear that something was entering the shuttle; the clank of exoskeleton upon metal, the quiet chatter emanating from the throat of some creature. His eyes widened as he realised that he was now sharing a crashed shuttle with, what was most probably, a very hungry Sylith. He tried not to panic as a glimpse of reddish chitin was highlighted by the sun. He couldn’t see all of it, but he knew that the vile insect was there.

Now stay calm, James tried to console himself, but it was very hard to stay composed when metres away from something that wanted to eat you. He heard sniffing, a strange sound coming from the insectoid creature that was now inspecting the corpses. James didn’t hear any sounds of chewing or eating whatsoever, but instead only the sounds of snuffling and moving.

Maybe, just maybe, the creatures only eat what they kill. With that thought, James steeled himself and lay as still as he could. To any normal creature, he would be practically dead. It was at this time that the Sylith decided to investigate him. It scampered up to his prone figure, sniffed him and then bared its circular row of teeth. He had failed. It knew that he was faking and was pleased that it was just about to have a fresh meal. Aware that he was about to die, James closed his eyes. He had always told himself that he would face death head on with his eyes open, but there was no shame here. He didn’t stand a chance and he wished to spare himself as much pain as possible.

James braced himself for the impact of death just before the Sylith squealed. He opened his eyes to immediately notice the slumped corpse of the Sylith to his side. Its neck was broken. Ryan stood over the corpse and examined James’ wounds. He finally nodded with relief. ‘You’re going to be okay.’



James opened his eyes to the indistinct image of what he believed to be a fire. The orange blob within the centre of his vision emitted heat and even with his blurred vision, he could see the shadows that it played on the walls. He blinked to clear his eyes and after succeeding, examined the area properly. Sitting by the fire were the figures of Ryan and some of the civilians. Ryan turned as James sat up. They were in a cave. By the look of the light coming out of the entrance and the feel of the air, it was just about dawn. The cave looked quite large from where he was lying. The interior of the cave stretched past his view and it seemed that a few other fires had sprung up around the cave to allow the amount of people they had to stay warm.

‘The sleeper awakes,’ Ryan said with a smile and slight chuckle. James didn’t quite catch what was funny. He offered James a canteen to which he happily accepted. His mouth felt like what this land was named after and the refreshing liquid helped to sate the sand papery feel of this throat.

While he drank, Ryan explained what had happened.

‘While you were dozing, a Xank missile hit the pod and we were thrown off course. As you may have noticed, we hit a Sylith nest. We thought you were dead, but I stayed back to watch after everyone else went to find shelter. It’s lucky that I did or you would be bug food.’

‘Thanks for that,’ James passed the canteen back to Ryan and after glancing around and taking a mental check of the inhabitants of the cave, asked, ‘Where are Quok and Molok?’

‘Looking for food,’ Ryan answered, ‘We have dry rations, but we will need to conserve those.’

James stood up and stretched. ‘Do you have any clue where we are?’

‘Roughly. We’re somewhere on the eastern edge of central Red Sand.’

‘Anything else I should know?’

‘This is bandit country.’

James sighed. ‘Nothing is ever easy, is it?’

Ending the conversation, James walked to where their supplies were on display. A teenage boy younger than James was looking over the supplies and examining the firearms. His name was Tim Herman, one of the few true civilians in the retinue.

While James looked over a pistol, Ryan interrupted him.

‘One more thing you need to take care of before we can think of moving.’

He indicated for James to follow him to the rear of the cave. James’ wounds had mostly healed, but the incessant rocks and bad footing caused a little bit of strain on his ankle, which he found out had been sprained in the crash. He was lucky he could walk this early, apparently. Besides that, he was relieved to finally reach the firelit end of the cave, but that feeling was crushed as he discovered the cause of the trip.

At the very back of the cave, lay a groaning robed figure. It was bound with rope and gagged. At closer inspection, he saw that the figure was a man. Not any man but the Imperial Council preacher from the outpost and X59.

James looked at him disgustedly. ‘How did this…man, get here?’

‘Apparently, he found another pod and escaped by himself, not very pious of him.’ Ryan answered, ‘Leaving all those innocents to die.’

He walked up to the tied up man and nudged him lightly in the jaw with his steel tipped boot. It was not hard at all, but the cold metal must have been unpleasant on bare skin.

The preacher let out a moan and a mumble. Ryan pulled him up roughly and looked him in the eyes, gripping his head to keep eye contact. ‘So - preacher, care to tell James here who woke the Sylith?’

The Preacher stopped groaning and Ryan un-gagged him. The man yelled, just as the gag exited his mouth.

‘Heathens, blasphemers, demons! You dare restrain a voice of the Council then continue to abuse him in such a way. I will have your souls, and your apologies, and maybe only then will the Star Children ever think of redeeming you to the galaxy. The Council will not allow such blatant abuse against its children!’

Ryan returned the gag to its place before the tirade could continue. Afterwards he lifted himself off his knee and shrugged. ‘Maybe later.’

They arrived at the entrance of the cave just as the two aliens entered.

‘Glad to see you’re awake,’ Quok panted while carrying a bird like creature over his shoulder.

‘Thanks,’ James stared at the bird creature for a while and then added, ‘May I ask what that thing you are carrying is?’

Quok shrugged. Ryan answered, ‘It’s called an Avisulan but the locals call them Peckers.’

‘Citation?’ James asked snidely.

‘I told you, I lived on a ranch by Galis Lake.’

‘You never said it was a ranch.’

‘Why does that matter?’

James looked thoughtful for a second then finally answered, ‘I don’t know. Maybe just want to know what I’m dealing with. A guide should state his sources.’

‘Well, I lived on a ranch near the west of Galis Lake. We bred mozar and hunted. We trekked into Red Sand central occasionally. Is that what you wanted to know?’

‘Yes, that’s good enough,’ James finished off.

Quok waited for Ryan to walk towards the cave entrance to inspect the food that the hunters had gathered before moving towards James to speak in private

‘There’s something you should know. While we were hunting. we saw a Xank scout craft.’

James swore. ‘You have any idea why they are scouting this particular area?’

‘They seem to be very interested in the crash site. I suspect that they’re genuinely after us.’

James raised an eyebrow at that. ‘Why do you say that? We’re not even a full Trooper squad. The Xank have bigger zots to trap.’

‘The Xank are mysterious, James. They have their own agenda.’

‘Regardless, we’ll have to try to dodge them for now. I don’t want to risk my men.’

Quok nodded in agreement before leaving to aid in inventory management. James felt a tap on his shoulder and then turned around to see a Trooper from the ship. The marks on his uniform showed him to be a Sergeant.

‘Captain James, I was meant to give this to you,’ the Trooper said in an official tone, handing him a small metal disc with a picture of a Spear head on it. James looked at him for explanation and he answered, ‘If you’re in charge you need the appropriate rank, which requires the right symbol. That symbol gives you the rank of Captain.’

‘Thank you, Sergeant…’

‘Yobu,’ he offered, ‘Sergeant Teraka Yobu.’

James nodded.

The Trooper continued to stand there until James figured out that he had to dismiss him and did so. This was quite a strange feeling, being in charge and all. He found himself finding it uncomfortable. He suppressed those feelings, however. He owed his men that much.



The airborne search light almost reached them that time. James gave a sigh of relief, and after the light was at least ten metres away, Ryan and him signalled to move up. They took the chance and bolted to the other collection of assorted shrubbery. They reached the cover just in time as the search light hovered over their previous positions.

They had been dodging search lights from Xank crafts for the last few hours. They had thought that the darkness of the dawn would conceal them from the alien aircrafts but were wrong. Already, a person had been caught and shot down by a rain of concentrated energy blasts.

The cave was too far back by the time that they had discovered that it was not safe to be outside. Their only choice was to keep on moving. James hoped that this circumstance wouldn’t result in any more deaths. He had caused enough already. He knew there was no turning back, so instead relied on Ryan to lead the way. The man had already proven to have been a well-chosen asset as he dove and bolted to shrubbery safe to hide in, while making sure people avoided the poisonous variety.

James never doubted that he would need a guide. This land was strange indeed. The sand was blood red for one, in accordance with the location’s name. The plants appeared to be large mushrooms, ranging from about as tall as a grown man to the size of a Reaper.

Another projectile narrowly missed him just to ricochet off a rock. He didn’t even know how energy blasts could ricochet. He was almost in a daze. His body moved but his mind was asleep. Instinct had taken over. He heard someone scream, he fell to the ground before hearing the splatter of plasma hit the ground where a person had been standing. The screams stopped, abruptly.

He crawled along the ground, his rifle at the ready.

‘We’re pinned!’ James heard Ryan shouting. ‘Shoot it, Shoot it!’

At once. everyone began shooting at the scout craft. This gave away their cover, but no one seemed to care. They knew they were pinned and sitting mozar in their current positions. The only choice was to fight.

They sent lead at their hovering enemy, reloading when needed. James would pull the trigger; feel as the force of the recoil collided with his shoulder and then re-adjust his aim and fire again. The shots accomplished nothing.

He was down to his last mag. They were losing too much ammo with too little gain. He was about to hopelessly command everyone to ceasefire but then noticed something loose on the bottom of the ship.

He squinted, trying to make it out in the dark. It revealed itself to a loose hatch. He did not want to waste the object in his front pouch, but in an effort to save time, ammunition and all their lives, he opened his front pouch and withdrew the object. In his other hand he held his pistol. He aimed and pulled the trigger. The shot glanced off of the metal plating just a few centimetres away from his target. He swore and fired again, this time the projectile hit and the hatch fell clean off. With unspoken triumph he charged, dodging shots from the Xank and from his allies as they desperately tried to survive.

He pulled the pin on the frag grenade, calculated the throw. He released the frag while praying to whatever deity that was listening that it would get through the opening. Something must have been listening, for the frag grenade went through the hole.

One second they were all pinned by Xank fire, the next, they were cheering at the sight of a smouldering wreck. The grenade had made it through and turned their potential murderer into a fireworks show. Nearly a third of the group had fallen. James didn’t want to think of the numbers, and he felt guilty for that. It had been his choice that they had died; he should take the responsibility. James turned as he heard footsteps. Ryan stood with grim expression crossing his bearded face. He smelt of perspiration and adrenaline. His shirt was stained with the blood of his allies.

‘That problem’s over, but at great cost.’ James stated, trying to be leader-like as he turned away.

‘Yes, we will definitely need to find a settlement now.’ Ryan answered. James doubted that he could empathize with the muscular brawler. James had always been a sneak-thief and a loner, Ryan on the other hand was always around to socialize with his fellow gang members. He knew the people who had been shot down.

James nodded his agreement, purposefully acting as if he didn’t notice Ryan’s mourning. That was his business, and James didn’t feel it appropriate to intrude.

It was at that moment that Sergeant Yobu appeared. His gas mask was off and James could see a bead of sweat glistening between a face drenched with perspiration.

‘The men are spent, sir,’ the Sergeant exclaimed. ‘We need to rest.’

‘Very well, we shall rest for a bit then keep moving. I want to make it to a settlement as soon as possible.’

Ryan waited for the Sergeant to depart and then continued to speak. ‘The preacher should have been properly frightened by that mess after we dropped him in the ditch. Do you want to interrogate him now?’

James nodded and followed Ryan. Lying in a puddle of mud, rare to an area this dry, was the preacher. His robes were stained and torn from being carried through the harsh fields. He was still gagged but the mumbling showed his opinion of being bound. Ryan moved towards the tied up Preacher and dragged him out of the puddle. He then lowered himself to the preacher’s level and spoke.

‘I am going to un-gag you now, I want you to cooperate. If you do, we might just untie you.’

Ryan waited for a few seconds then took the gag out of the preacher’s mouth. As the material was removed, the preacher began to scream. It was a high-pitched inaudible sound which made James wince. He then kicked the screaming man in the belly.

The preacher halted his screaming and froze for a second and then started gagging, finally hurling onto the sand. James fought off disgust and took the front of the preacher’s robe between his hands and held him up to his level.

‘I’m fucking tired of this, preacher!’ he snapped, ‘now cooperate or I will consider wasting our rope on showing you some real Galisian justice.’

‘How dare you…’ the Preacher stopped as James hit him in the stomach. The blow was not meant to damage, but to shock. It seemed to succeed as the preacher didn’t speak unprompted again. James spoke again, this time in a calmer tone.

‘My associate and I are going to ask the questions and you are going to answer them, capisce?’

The Preacher, defeated, nodded. James let go of his neck and allowed him to slump to the muddy red floor.

‘Now what’s your name?’

‘Gretswald…Preacher Gretswald’ he stammered, trying to suppress arrogance while also maintaining it.

‘What are you doing on Zona Nox?’

‘I am here to educate heath…er, delightful locals such as yourself.’

‘Educate them in what?’

‘Why, in the ways of the Imperial Council, of course! I was trained on my homeworld to bring the light of the Imperial Council to all.’

Ryan then interceded. ‘Where are you from?’

Taken aback, the preacher replied, ‘Glaris Imperia.’

Ryan showed a look of disgust and shock. He allowed James to continue the questioning. The preacher seemed unscathed by the unspoken insult and even seemed prouder.

‘Now, when I was exiting the gunship at the outpost, you called for me,’ James began, ‘why?’

‘I could see your eyes, my boy,’ the Preacher started, ‘You are no Trooper, you have a sort of innocence rare in this blighted plain. I wished to save you! Save you from yourself and rash decisions you are going to make.’

James laughed out loud. ‘It seems you should retire, Gretswald, I lost my innocence eleven years ago.’

He turned and walked away from the preacher. Ryan picked up the gag and was about to return it to the preacher’s mouth when the tied man shouted. Ryan, surprised, stopped.

‘You said you would release me if I cooperated,’ the Preacher exclaimed, ‘fulfil your oath, heathen!’

James signalled for Ryan to back away. ‘We did create such an oath, but an un-gagged mouth requires food. How would you benefit us?’

‘I am a man of speech and pen; I do not partake in physical labour!’

James smirked. ‘Then we have no reason to untie you.’

‘Wait!’ the Preacher cried out, sweating profusely. ‘I may not be skilled but I can pull my weight. I can help cook food or scavenge if that’s what you wish.’

James nodded. ‘Ryan, untie him!’

Shocked, he replied, ‘Release a Glaris? Are you mad?!’

‘Impudent heathen!’ the Preacher cursed, ‘You know nothing of the glorious colony of Glaris. Which our saviours, the divine council, freed from the barbarism that the Trooper’s had bred and allowed to flourish.’

James interrupted before the preacher could continue his rant, ‘Regardless, we need extra hands. Release him.’

Ryan grumbled as he cut away the bonds.

‘Now go and pick up used shells,’ James said with a sneer.

Gretswald walked away sulkily, grumbling words which sounded awfully similar to ‘heathens’ and ‘slavery’.

The muttering was sort of ironic actually, seeing that the Imperial Council were the largest slavers in known space.



James and his retinue marched through the blistering sand. Food was starting to become a problem and the water would last them another day at most. But to them, the biggest concern was ammunition.

Another fight was no doubt coming their way, and currently they were not prepared to defend against any attackers. Red Sand had always been known to be a dangerous location. Bandits, Sylith, pirates, rogue corporations and now Xank were numerous across the vast blood-red wasteland. Bullets were valuable in the wasteland. Rumours stated that they were even currency in some of the societies.

Sweating profusely, James once again checked his mag, hoping that the contents would have magically jumped from five to thirty in the five minutes from when he had last checked. Sadly, the magazine remained at the measly contents of five rounds. Frustrated at the lack of a miracle, James re-inserted the magazine and continued marching to be stopped by one of his company’s scouts. Gerald Grugo was a member of the Zenites but all conflicts between gangs would have to subside if they were to survive against the bigger threat.

‘Cap’n, I spotted a village just over there,’ he said, mumbling and making motions to his right. Gerald still had hard feelings against the Marzios and their associates for the killing of most of his gang. James chose to ignore his rude manner.

‘Got any more information, Grugo?’ James sighed.

‘Looks uninhabited, I might’ve seen a dog chewin’ on a bone but it could’ve been a stray for all I know.’

‘Thank you for your contribution to the workforce, Grugo. Dismissed,’ James remarked with gritted teeth.

Trekking towards the now partly setting sun, the retinue marched warily towards the settlement which Gerald had spotted. Over a few dunes and hills spotted with the occasional shrubbery, it was revealed that Grugo was not messing with their heads.

The settlement indeed looked like a ghost town. Three dilapidated two-storey buildings lined one side of some imaginary road while a crumbled down concrete building faced them. The two-storey buildings were wooden, a rare sight in Galis but not in Red Sand and the Tundra.

As Grugo had reported, a mutt was indeed chewing on what appeared to be a mozar ankle bone. What Grugo had neglected to mention, however, was the figure standing next to the dog with a rifle levelled at their position. The figure was two hundred metres away but James saw the glint of steel and polished wood as easily as if it was ten.

Before the echo of the bullet even sounded, James shouted for everyone to duck. The soldiers immediately hit the hard ground. The gangsters hesitated then complied. Some civilians were dragged down by their companions. The bullet flew and a shout of pain answered it. Grugo lay on the floor clutching his leg, a shell lodged just below the knee.

Seeking to avenge their fallen comrade, some of the company aimed and readied to fire until James commanded them to halt.

‘We can’t afford to waste bullets. Gunfire from natives is understandable. Let us try to make the most of their apology on hitting a non-Xank.’

Sidling up to Ryan, he whispered, ‘What is the Red Sand pose for peace or parley?’

‘Just point your gun at the sky and hold your other hand out to show you mean no harm.’

James nodded then rose slowly, making sure that his intentions were obvious. Rifle pointing towards the sky, and hand to his side, he waited.

No one in the company dared move or complain, except for Grugo, but that was understandable with the lead lodged in his leg.

Eventually, two figures emerged from the shadows of the hovel. The dog ignored them. The man looked in his forties and was carrying an iron sights rifle which was unfamiliar to James. Next to him stood a boy of thirteen clutching a cudgel, both were well-tanned and looked to belong in this land. The man duplicated James’ pose and then signalled for the group to come closer. The ragtag group of Troopers, gangsters and civilians complied and advanced down from their position to the settlement.

The boy and man were standing outside the perimeter of the ruined building. As James got closer, it seemed they had been playing cards in the shade.

‘You,’ the man said, pointing at James, ‘follow me.’

Ryan showed distress but James reassured him.

‘I will play along. We are guests after all.’

James followed the man as he walked into a wooden shanty constructed against a damaged wall. The boy looked sceptically at the group but remained silent.

James entered the shanty and allowed the man to shut the pathetic excuse for a door. It was more of a hatch placed vertically. It was riddled with holes and mould. One hinge barely kept it in place. The man was standing next to a small table and poured some dark liquid into two cups.

‘Coffee,’ he offered.

James stared suspiciously at the cup and then accepted.

‘Sorry that we can’t provide any milk. Mozar were shot a month ago.’

‘Sorry to hear that,’ James replied.

James took a sip of the beverage while he quickly assessed the man. He wore a beard and his hair looked largely unkempt and dirty. A thin white vest revealed that he was well muscled under that tanned and leathery skin. He had hard eyes, cold and hollowed, from which James could tell that this man had seen a lot in his life.

‘So let me get to the point. Who are you, why are you here and why shouldn’t I shoot you?’

The man patted his holster which contained a revolver of sorts. James sighed, put down his coffee and replied,

‘We are a group of survivors from a Trooper transport on the way to Fort Nox after evacuating Galis. We were shot down and are looking for shelter and a way to our objective.’ James took a sip and smiled. ‘And to answer the last bit, well, that would be quite rude.’

The man chuckled and then broke into a cough. James stood up to help but the man put up his hand to stop him. It seemed that the coffee just went down the wrong way.

‘Well, seems plausible enough, I just need one more confirmation that you’re really a Trooper.’

James reached into his front pocket and withdrew the spear emblem representing his rank. The man put his arm forward to request a more thorough inspection. After playing around with it for a few seconds, he handed it back and said, ‘Haven’t seen of those since I was an assault strike officer myself.’

‘You were in the Troopers?’ James asked.

‘Yep, and will be glad to help shelter my comrades.’

After exiting the shanty, they walked towards the group where the boy armed with the cudgel was watching the company, carrying an aura of misplaced authority.

‘Ralph, go and tell Mag that we have guests,’ the man ordered. The boy scuttled off and once he had disappeared around a corner, the man turned to James.

‘My Mag will get some rooms for you and your boys. We don’t get guests often.’

He then turned to Grugo and winked. ‘Sorry about the slug, no hard feeling?’

Grugo growled but the man didn’t seem to notice or care. He then turned to face the entire group and announced, ‘Welcome to Rekkie Homestead. I’m Marshal Rekkie - Proprietor and ex-Strike Officer of Dead Stone Division.’

Many of the company members seemed sceptical but a few relaxed. Ryan was one of the people to relax and seeing this, a few more also did the same. Ryan knew what he was doing and many of the company members already looked up to him.

Marshal continued, ‘Sorry for the inconvenience. I’ll be glad to accommodate any friends of the Troopers. Dinner’ll be at six.’

And with that, he walked off towards the main building and allowed the group to conduct their own affairs. After the group had relaxed, some were lying down in the shade. James sat next to Ryan and spoke.

‘So what do you make of him? Feller seems nice enough, besides the shooting part.’

‘I’ve heard of a ‘Marshal Rekkie’ before, used to be a Ranger from Dead Stone. He was more than a Trooper. He’s a bloody hero!’



Marshal had lied; dinner had in fact been finished at ten to six. The group had been invited into a large hall, which had been previously overlooked. It was carved straight out of the brown crimson coloured rock. Upon entering a metal doorway which appeared upon the rough and harsh exterior, they discovered a lavish hall decorated for both comfort and practicality. Within the centre of the room rested a long wooden table adorned with food and drink ranging from mozar steak, vegetables, bread, roast pecker and fruit to juice, beer and whisky.

Mag, Marshal’s wife, seemed to be in her forties, the same as Marshal. She was a somewhat plump lady possessing dark chestnut short-cropped hair. She seemed to always possess a wide grin and emanate an aura of all round friendliness. She welcomed the group with open arms and doted on the younger members. James had mixed feelings about that. He felt that the youngsters needed the attention and some motherly care, but he also knew that they needed to be hard to survive this desert.

Marshal looked surprisingly good for a Red Sander in his forties. Even with his unkempt hair and tanned skin, his muscle still seemed fresh, hinting that he could and still did look after himself.

There were about six residents living in Rekkie Homestead - Mag, Marshal, Ralph and a young couple which James assumed to be relatives. The sixth resident was the most interesting of all and drew many odd looks from James’ retinue. Serving as a companion and cook in the hall was none other than a genuine Grengen Vacaraptor. Standing at the height of a man’s waist and bent over; it strained many people’s necks looking down to view the anomaly. The creature’s skin was covered with crimson scales with spots of camouflage grass green on its back. Razor sharp teeth lined its mouth, just below two yellow reptilian eyes.

Besides these animalistic traits, the Vacaraptor, whose name was Urg’a, was surprisingly intelligent; he spoke in a civilized tone with a tinge of a Red Sand accent. Urg’a was a long-time friend of Marshal and though a human couldn’t tell, he was in his sixties. Apparently, Vacaraptor lived longer than humans.

Ryan, trying to embrace his new ideals, tried to engage Urg’a in conversation but was politely snubbed as the reptilian creature had to patrol the homestead for the night

Polite conversation erupted around the table between the group and the residents. Some had already found things in common with each other and engaged in furious discussion or debate. As the ‘Strike Leader’, James was invited to sit next to Marshal at the head of the table. They discussed subjects such as living conditions on the homestead and in Galis, the Xank, bandits and the lay of the land.

After conversing for a while, James realised that Rekkie Homestead, besides its appearance, was actually doing fine financially. Marshal herded mozar for meat and used his savings from his Trooper days to cover any other costs or damages. Occasionally, travellers would come and purchase supplies and that also kept the homestead afloat. Thankfully, the homestead had not had any sightings of Xank but Marshal was prepared nonetheless. That was where he differed greatly from many Red Sand ranchers who practically had to be forced to evacuate their homesteads. James presumed that it was due to the Xank being responsible for destroying his birth town of Dead Stone. James knew the desire of revenge and gave unspoken encouragement in Marshal’s vendetta against the Xank, as James shared such a vendetta.

Xank were not an immediate threat to the homestead, however. That honour was, in fact, currently held by a nearby bandit posse who had been scouting out the homestead for months now. Marshal had exclaimed that this was the reason for the shooting earlier, giving an apologetic look to Grugo at the same time.

After enquiry, James found that the nearest settlement was a small village flanked by two large free standing rocks. The settlement was called Pebble Rock and lay on the route to Fort Nox in the west. There was only one catch; Pebble Rock happened to be under the control of a bandit posse called the ‘Blood Scorpions’, and having a psychotic group of murderers running a town wasn’t really the best idea.

‘So, if you want to get to Fort Nox, you’re going to have to go through Pebble Rock and to get through Pebble Rock, you’re gonna need some serious fire power,’ Marshal paused to take a sip of whisky and a bite of a Pecker leg. ‘Lucky for you, I’ve needed to clear that village for a while and have the guns and ammo you’ll need to do the job. So what do you say? I supply the bullets, and you supply the trigger fingers?’

‘Thank you for the hospitality and offer but you must understand that I am quite sceptical towards this,’ James replied honestly, ‘It isn’t every day that a stranger offers you enough fire power to knock over a bandit posse. How do I know this isn’t a scam of sorts? What’s the catch?’

‘Understood completely, it is hard to trust in these parts. I cannot prove to you that I am not a scammer, but I may be able to provide something else in the deal. Collateral if you will. In fact, if you follow me outside now, I may very well show you this collateral. You may bring your second-in-command along.’

James nodded and then stood up with Marshal. He motioned for Ryan to follow him. As they walked towards the entrance, James allocated a man named Leroy to manage the group in his absence.

It was chilly outside and James had to put on his gloves to prevent the cold from seeping in and turning previously warm hands numb. It was surprisingly cold at night for a place so hot in the day. On a brighter note, the air was refreshingly crisp and the sky clear, revealing stars and planets in the distance.

While Marshal led them through the homestead, Ryan ducked his head near James.

‘Where’s he taking us?’

‘He wants us to help him break through a bandit posse at Pebble Rock. I acted sceptically, so he is going to ‘prove’ that his offer for support is genuine.’ Ryan acknowledged the reply with a nod and they continued in silence.

The three passed through the homestead in only the faint light of the moons. The only source of light was one small lamp hanging from the doorway of one of the wooden houses. Eventually, they reached a structure built into the rock. A large metal door guarded the entrance. A smaller door could be found next to it.

Marshal approached the smaller door and pressed some buttons on a keypad. The door opened and he entered. Ryan put out his arm to prevent James from entering first and then entered himself. James sighed, slightly annoyed by the act. He knew how to look after himself. He followed soon after. Flood lights fully lit up the room while also emitting an incessant buzzing sound. The floors and walls were smooth and coloured a light gray. Tools and widgets lay scattered on a metal workbench attached to the far wall. Petrol barrels lay in the corner. But what truly astounded James and Ryan was what lay in the centre of the room.

‘It can’t be…’ Ryan murmured in almost a whisper. ‘It’s just like from the stories.’

James was also agape, ‘I must be seeing things.’

Marshal smiled. ‘Nope, this is the real thing - a genuine Earth Manufactured Tank.’

“With this sword, I shall purge the taint in your soul!” – Mantra of the Children of Iron

Chapter 8. Insects

Blood, blood, blood – It was everywhere. The courtyard was drowned in it. Plants choked from it. Bodies bathed in it. Danny was covered in it.

Danny opened his eyes and felt stickiness glue them together. His eyes, too, were masked with blood. He rubbed the gooey substance away and opened his eyes slightly. He couldn’t see clearly, but he could make out one thing. The blood was not human red, but a sticky yellow. Sylith Blood. That’s a relief, he would have sighed, if he could. That was when he noticed a shadow at the corner of his vision. A figure stood above him, staring down intently.

He stopped moving and ceased his breathing.

If this is an enemy, I want to seem as good as dead.

That was when Danny was forced to gasp as icy liquid splashed his face, forcing his vision to clear.

‘That’s better,’ the figure said casually, ‘that goo made you uglier than usual.’

Viper. At this time, he was preferable to any angel. Danny lifted himself up saw that they were still in the tower. Viper turned away to survey the town.

‘The Sylith retreated about an hour ago. You went out cold while trying to knife the bastards. Didn’t make much of a difference, those carapaces are thick. I had to stop shooting the hive leaders to keep them from swarming my position.’

Danny nodded. ‘Do you have any info on the others? Who else survived?’

‘That’s what I want to know. Now that you’ve finished your nap, we can go see.’

Danny sat there expectantly, waiting for Viper to indicate the way down. The sniper just crossed his arms and eventually pointed downward. Danny looked down and saw that he was sitting on a trapdoor. Only slightly embarrassed, he moved out of the way and allowed Viper to enter. He followed. Whilst descending the ladder and reaching the floor, Danny was greeted by a vile slosh as his nose was invaded by the putrid smell of corpses and sulphur.

What a surprise, more blood. Danny rolled his eyes and suppressed an irritated sigh. Viper’s face was emotionless, but Danny suspected that the sniper truly had no qualms with the violence. He, personally, could barely handle the display. He fought down the rising bile in his throat, then proceeded to traverse the swamp of mutilated corpses.

Light shone through an opening in the wall and like a bullet, hit and ricocheted off a metallic surface. The object was clasped in the hand of a Grook whose face was now unrecognizable. Danny bent down and pulled the corpse’s fingers off of the firearm. A Zerian Handgun, 9mm; not his favourite manufacturer, but it would do. After surveying the area, Danny found two extra magazines and pocketed them.

Viper was wielding a blade that he called a ‘kukri’. He wore Snake Bite around a strap on his shoulders. He was leaning over a Sylith corpse when Danny heard a crack and a snap. Viper stood up and was holding one of the mandibles which he had severed from the Sylith. Danny raised his eyebrow to which Viper replied.

‘See the ones with red stripes?’

Danny nodded.

‘They’re venomous. Mandibles can fetch three thousand credits raw at the market.’

Danny whistled, impressed, and continued scavenging. Time progressed and he had found three more magazines for the Zerian pistol and a tactical vest. He had also started cutting mandibles from the red striped Sylith with a machete he found lodged in the head of smaller Sylith. Three thousand credits alone could allow him to run a small gang.

As they descended into the ground floor of the town hall, Danny heard moaning. Propped up against the wall, Sylith corpse pinning him to the ground, was Rob Starkin. The young man was lying prone under the heavy light blue figure of the Ice Sylith and was verbalizing his discomfort. Pitying the poor young man, Danny helped move the Sylith. Viper continued scavenging.

‘Thank you, Da…Don Marzio,’ Rob stated, breathlessly.

Danny didn’t delay with pleasantries. ‘Do you know anything about the others? Any survivors?’

‘No, sir, I was pinned here early. Gre’sse said I was getting in the way so he put this guy on me.’

‘I see, well, go get a gun and then help us look for more survivors.’

Rob gave a clumsy salute and then did as ordered. Just then, a gunshot sounded from outside the town hall. Danny tightened his grip on the Zerian Pistol and raised it, ready for combat.

Viper sheathed his kukri and picked up a Tundra Hand-Pistol. Rob was oblivious of the possible danger and was busy sitting cross legged sorting through bullets for a revolver.

Viper indicated for Danny to cover him. He nodded and did as he was told. He walked softly and took position by the side of the door. Viper took position on the other side. Danny took in a deep breath and waited.

Three…Two…One - Viper slid his gloved hand onto the handle and opened. As the bolt slid from its resting place, Viper slithered through and took place at a column to use as cover. Surveying the area, he signalled for Danny to advance. Crouched down, Danny moved forward.

Crow eaten corpses scattered the area, both human and Sylith. A huge gaping hole could be seen in the wall of the stockade. Smoking wreckages from exploded gas lines and petrol tanks left scorched patches around the parameter.

The courtyard was clear of any living assailants; only Viper, Danny, a few hundred mutilated bodies and the crows. The gunshot had not sounded as if they had gone off within a building, so that left one area. As Viper and Danny surveyed the courtyard, firearms at the ready, another bang erupted, this time from outside the stockade of the settlement.

They broke from cover and jogged to the stockade, sticking close to cover. Their feet crunched through blood drenched snow and squishy corpses, emitting a sound which would have made any normal person cringe in disgust. As they climbed the ladder onto the makeshift platforms of the stockade, they could now hear incomprehensible shouting.

From atop the stockade, they saw the source of the commotion. Standing between two piles of charred Sylith corpses, brandishing a shotgun and a whisky bottle. was Boris. He was staggering from side to side, swearing in the Dead Stone dialect. Blood stained his shirt and beard. His boots were dyed red and yellow from blood and gore. Another swig of whisky and another shot into the air before Boris spotted the pair and shouted at them, half-sobbing.

Danny had seen this before. Just after the fall of Dead Stone, where the Xank had wiped out the local Troopers and then the local gangs. After all lines of defence had been broken, the civilians had been slaughtered. Both Boris and Danny’s parents had been killed in the fall. Boris had gone bonkers and drowned his sorrows in booze and bullets. His friends could not restrain him and it had taken Danny a day of incessant manipulation to convince him to leave the charred gates of the ruins of Dead Stone.

Danny stood up and jumped off the side of the stockade. Viper showed a flicker of worry but his mouth stayed shut. Boris fired but the shot missed, the bullet pelting harmlessly at Danny’s feet. Danny didn’t stop or flinch. He advanced.

‘COUSIN!’ he shouted. ‘You going to let this little set-back defeat you?’

Boris stopped short of releasing another round, the statement catching his attention.

Danny continued. ‘The Boris that I knew wouldn’t let some bug slaughter crush him.’

Danny was lying now, but Boris didn’t need to know that.

‘Finish your booze and let’s get going. There’s punks to punish. You going to let them get away with this?’

Boris dropped his almost empty bottle and swayed from side to side. His mad grimace turned into a face of dread. Danny reached him, and whispered.

‘Some of your men are still with you. Don’t let them down.’

‘I know…cousin. Just…it was all mine.’

He gazed at the broken down gate of Nev. Precariously, he shambled closer.

‘It was all mine,’ he muttered quietly. Viper had joined them, they both stood behind the gang leader, waiting out this scene. A tear fell from Boris’ eye just to fall to the frozen ground. ‘I slaved for ten fucking years for my kingdom and now it’s gone.’

He hit the ground with his bare fist. ‘All because of some fucking bugs!’

Danny went forward and crouched next to his cousin.

‘Do not forget the catalyst of the bugs, cousin. The punks are still out there. We still gotta kill them!’

‘What can I do, cousin?’ Boris peered up, tears dribbling freely from his eyes to disappear into his beard. ‘My empire is destroyed, my lieutenants killed, my resources snapped!’

Danny drew a piece of cloth out of his front pocket and offered it to Boris, after which he replied. ‘But not mine.’

Boris looked up, surprise making itself evident.

‘I was the head of one of the most powerful crime families on Zona Nox. I still have friends in high places. My hold on Titan City may not be as great as Galis, but I may be able to rebuild your manpower to its former, if not greater, glory.’

‘Nor are all your lieutenants killed,’ a figure stated as it appeared through the doorway. Arm resting on Rob Starkin’s shoulder, other arm clutching a rifle as a crutch, was none other than Gre’sse.

‘Boris, the northerner is right. We cannot allow this to go un-avenged. I suggest packing up as soon as possible and heading to Titan City. We have friends there.’

The last tears and signs of defeat wiped away, Boris’ face broke into a grin before he allowed Danny to aid him in standing.

‘These are the makings of the greatest leader!’ Boris announced, ‘The skill and loyalty of his subordinates. So be it, we head to Titan City in the morning!’

“A world’s prosperity is classified in three categories; the ‘first’ worlds are the bastions of wealth and well-being, second are the colony and nation worlds which may not be as wealthy as the first worlds but receive enough attention to somewhat thrive, the last are the Frontier planets; poor and developing worlds with lacklustre technology. They are destitute, but they are often the future and the focus of many galactic conflicts.” – Extract from the ‘Wealth of the Galaxy’ by Jherin Kura’kaia

Chapter 9. Armour

The way ahead was obscured and often blocked completely by the darkening sand storm. James found himself thanking the standard issue dress of the Troopers, as without the goggles, he would have no doubt been blinded. The roads of Red Sand were generally dusty but the sand storms could make unprotected skin and eyes almost fatal.

Only James, Marshal and a Private McCallister stood atop the steel and titanium war machine - the Earth Tank. James still couldn’t believe that it even existed. Earth was a fable, told to cheer up children, or sometimes scare. After seeing the tank, and finally closing his gaping mouth, he agreed promptly to Marshal’s request; and now here he was, standing atop a machine of legends – technology closely guarded by the central Trooper authorities to prevent proliferation.

As Ryan had cryptically stated earlier, Marshal was a hero. James did not know the details, but this tank alone proved much more than words. The beast was crafted from a number of hard metals, painted the reddish brown of the wasteland but some peeling of dried paint revealed the original colour to be white. It was a monster. Ranging at about twenty metres long, housing a huge swivelling dual turret and kill holes for infantry to fire from the safety of its interior. The vehicle was a moving fortress. Two rapid-fire railgun nests flanked the turret but were designed so the barrels of the artillery turret would not harm the occupants. Upon the top of the main turret rested a spotter’s nest. This was where James and Marshal sat.

James recalled eavesdropping information about tanks from some arms traders back in Galis. According to their discussion, the only human owned tanks were in the Great Terra system and were mostly manufactured on Mars and Titan where they were kept as mobile artillery. To be honest, tanks were outdated. Modern militaries could employ anything from walkers to flying energy bombardiers. But nothing could beat the sensation of manning one of the hulking beasts.

Marshal was speaking to him, something about the neighbouring homesteads crop output two months ago, James nodded once in a while but generally ignored him. It was when Marshal quietened and stiffened that he finally started paying attention. James lifted his binoculars to his goggled eyes and gazed in the direction of Marshal indicated.

At first, he saw nothing in the sand, but as the storm miraculously subsided, he also saw it. Standing in the middle of the road, donning masks and orange capes were a horde of Zangorian armed with assorted weapons from blasters to armour busters.

‘Xank!’ Marshal shouted.

Bullets flew from some of the killing holes on the side of the tank, as the railguns opened fire. As they drew nearer, the horde of bird-creatures fired, releasing a barrage of electricity and searing blue. Led and steel rounds collided with the charging horde, shredding bone, feathers and clothing. Lines of Zangorians fell. James relaxed, as it seemed it would be an easy fight against a routine patrol. That mentality was shattered as a projectile hit the ground at the foot of the tank, lifting it off the ground and taking them off course and straight into a ditch. The jolt threw the gunners off balance which gave a Zangorian just enough time to fire a shot and disintegrate Private McCallister.

James swore, but didn’t waste any time in replacing the fallen gunner. He darted towards the emplacement, keeping his head low and halting before he hit the metal railing on the edge. He took position, aimed down the sights, found his targets and fired. The rail-gun was almost a total opposite of his rifle. It was fully automatic and was not meant to conserve ammo. It was not meant to be elegant and quiet. James didn’t like the bulky gun, but used it proficiently to slay the orange horde surrounding the tank.

Bullets tore through the weak feathery bodies of the Zangorians. Some were flung with the bullets into nearby ditches or rocks, splattering and painting the terrain a darker shade of red. As the Zangorians fell, more swarmed from concealed areas around the canyon. The orange bastards were everywhere! As James ripped them to shreds, the gun halted its firing and clicked. The bullet chain had been spent.

‘Marshal! We need to get out of here or kill these things, both if possible,’ James shouted, drawing his rifle and firing.

‘We’re only moving after we get rid of these things. There’s a system built-in for getting out of ditches, but not a crevice this deep, and not when we’re under this much fire.’

‘What about this?’ James indicated the huge barrel of the tank.

‘Only decent from afar. This is not a close combat tank. Would need to be reworked at an engineering bay as big as Fort Nox’s to fire effectively at this range.’

James swore as an energy blast narrowly missed his head.

‘Well, then it’s time to unload and fight these bastards the conventional way.’

James opened the hatch and gave orders to prepare for battle. The previously mellow atmosphere of the tank interior transformed into a storm of clicks and pre-battle cries. Those not firing out of kill holes ascended the ladder and took cover on top of the moving fortress. Another energy blast hit the side of the tank. Luckily, it only shook the vehicle and didn’t leave any lasting damage. The faces upon his retinue were hard and dirty. Not even the generous baths at the Rekkie homestead could get rid of the grit in their bones. James was probably blessed in a way, out of any group he could have possessed for this mission - Galisians were most probably the best. The gangsters poured out of the two tank openings, guns blazing and slaughtering the Zangorians who were climbing up the sides of the tank.

Marshal had replenished their supply of ammo, but it wasn’t infinite. The group would need to conserve the ammo if they are to ever get to Fort Nox, James thought irritably, opening fire on a Zangorian who had approached too close for comfort.

An energy blast whipped past his head, striking the gun of an attentive gangster who had used his shotgun as a shield, his gloves were scorched but he had survived. Within James’ opinion, bullets beat the Xank energy blasters any day. Yes, the blasters could be charged but the lack of power couldn’t be forgiven. Another blue blast passed James and dissipated on the barrel of the tank. James was more accurate and greeted his potential killer with a bullet to the eye. The bird squawked in pain and tumbled to the ground.

The humans and their two alien allies didn’t need to aim. The aliens were bunching up in an effort to mount the tank. If they relied more on shooting, and less on melee, they could win, James thought as he kicked a Zangorian off the edge of the tank, just to watch it disappear into the mass of its comrades.

Heat was emanating from James’ right. He turned and saw Ryan wielding a Molotov cocktail. The man launched the projectile with trained accuracy into the horde, burning and killing a large swathe of them. The flames remained long past the natural length of fire, burning the Zangorians who tried to take the place of their fallen.

‘Naphtha,’ Ryan answered without being prompted, ‘Found some in storage and thought it would come in handy.’

‘Better make more cocktails then, I don’t want it setting off in the tank when we sleep.’

Ryan nodded then moved back into the confines of the tank. Moments of mindlessly firing into the incompetent horde of Zangorians later and Ryan appeared, clutching about ten bottles of naphtha with cloths rammed in. He divided the explosives between James and himself and then the two of them proceeded to fire bomb the hordes, killing at least twenty with every hit. James took his share and bombed the opposite flank. The naphtha upheld its reputation and never burnt out, no matter how many bodies the Xank grunts threw at it, the flames just rose higher, but remained contained in the confines of the splashed liquid. Fire surrounded the tank and its crew on either side, but the Zangorians were beginning to slow their assault to a trickle and then the attacks stopped as the remaining Zangorians retreated.

James stood up from his crouching position and wiped his forehead. Some of the crew exchanged victory fist pounds and congratulations. But Marshal and James looked concerned. They had only lost a single crew member and the damage to the tank was minimal, but that was not the problem. Marshal sidled up to James and spoke, ‘I see you share my concern.’

‘And what would that be?’

‘This was no ordinary Xank patrol. Xank will normally only attack groups in small shock teams. They only send in this many Zangos as cannon fodder to weaken a fortifitication. And why so many? A smaller, more skilled, group would have been more effective?’

‘That is one of my concerns, but I have another, as the Xank are known for excess on occasion. What is concerning me is that one of them was armed with an armour piercer that could have flattened us, but they didn’t use it. Why?’

Marshal looked quizzically and frowned. ‘That is worrying. Maybe they meant to capture the tank, or us? If so, we have a lot more than bandits and Zangorian patrols to deal with. Why would the Xank have a special interest in your group?’

‘We shot down one of their patrol vehicles and escaped their attack on our transport ship.’

‘Very peculiar,’ Marshal frowned. ‘Xank haven’t been known to care so much about such a force, regardless of their harming the Xank war effort. For them to be diverting resources away from the Steel Wall is very odd.’

James mirrored Marshal’s expression. ‘Well, let’s just hope that they were just an ill-trained patrol. I would rather not think about Xank hatching conspiracies.’

‘Yes, that would be the more cheerful option,’ Marshal chuckled. ‘Now please excuse me. We need to get this hunk of metal out of this ditch. Tim!’

Marshal called for one of the crew members as he went to examine how deep they were lodged in the crevice. James left the inspection of the squad to Ryan and the examining of supplies to Quok. For once, he didn’t feel shame for allowing others to do work for him. A leader knew how to delegate. Besides, he was truly worried by this event. Why would a force of hundreds waste their lives on his force of tens? And why would they purposefully waste those lives? As the tank was hoisted back onto the road, James continued with these thoughts.



‘Twenty, Twenty-Five…Yes, about thirty,’ Grugo reported.

‘Thank you for the report, dismissed,’ James said lazily. He waited for Grugo to leave the tent and then turned to Marshal and Ryan.

‘So what do you think? Grugo didn’t have accurate weapon details, but as long as they don’t have armour piercers, we will be fine.’

Marshal spoke first, ‘I don’t like it. The Blood Scorpions might be violent psychos but they’re field smart. They would never have set up their forces in such a predictable manner.’

‘I tend to agree with Marshal. It doesn’t seem right. A normal force would only keep out a few guards at night, not the entire force conveniently laid out around the courtyard.’

James frowned. ‘Well, what do we do then? Not like we have any more reliable information. Think we should just barrage them from here?’

‘Absolutely not!’ Marshal protested. ‘Pebble Rock might have been taken by bandits, but it still has innocents in it. As a Trooper, you are obligated to defend humans and their allies.’

‘Ah, so we must kill the Scorpions without flattening the settlement. Got it!’

‘Yes, I advise sending in a small sniper team to pick off the guards from afar. Then allow infantry to take the courtyard.’

‘Then we will do just that. I haven’t looked through a scope for awhile. Been missing rolling heads from a thousand metres.’

Marshal smiled slightly at the macabre jest. ‘You will have to settle for about a hundred. Pebble Rock is surrounded by a natural wall. You will have to climb it to snipe the occupants.’

James mumbled something but then realised something.

‘Ryan, have you seen Gretswald anywhere?’

‘Yes, unfortunately. He was keening during the firefight. I told him to pick up a gun but he looked like he was gonna piss himself.’

‘Useless cur, takes all the goodness inside me to not just slit his throat or leave him for the Sylith.’

Marshal cleared his throat, gaining their attention. ‘May I ask who this Gretswald is?’

‘Some Imperial preacher from Glaris,’ James answered, waving his hand dismissively. ‘Not that important.’

Marshal’s eyes widened. ‘You’re keeping a traitor like that in your retinue? Imperials should be shot on sight!’

James’ posture on the seat was casual but his expression changed – questioningly.

‘He’s roughly responsible for the deaths of nine civilians, so I do plan to make him pay, but as Trooper law warrants, he deserves a trial. Hell, he may even convert.’

Marshal’s mood seemed to sink and a shadow descended over him. ‘An Imperial is beyond conversion; the only cure is lead. They hammer their beliefs into one so heavily that death becomes the only cure. A trial is just prolonging the inevitable.’

‘Exactly!’, Ryan added, glad to have someone of the same sentiment. ‘Listen to the man, kill or at least abandon the Glaris!’

‘What is with all this hatred of Glaris?’

‘They’re traitors, son!’ Marshal stated, dumbfounded, ‘they have forsaken humanity and are now slaves of that…that…Council!’

He literally spat after saying the simple word.

James was a bit taken aback. He knew that the Council was generally disliked but didn’t understand this vast hatred. Ryan almost had to be physically restrained from striking Gretswald. Many humans actually followed the Imperial religion, Billy and Don Marzio for example. The Troopers even had truces with the Imperials, but did occasionally succumb to small conflicts as political entities such as them often did.

‘C’mon, lad, you must know why we hate the Imperials,’ Marshal said aghast.

‘I know that humans generally didn’t like them but presumed it was the normal racism.’

‘Boy, the reason why us Red Sanders hate the Imperials is quite simple.’

‘Then please state so. I am intrigued.’

‘You know about the Fall of Dead Stone?’

‘Yes,’ James answered, quickly recalling the events. ‘It was about ten years ago, one of the first Xank raids on Zona Nox. It resulted in the destruction of the Zona Nox capital and the deaths of three million humans.’

‘Correct, except for one thing.’

James raised his eyebrow but remained silent. Marshal continued, ‘It was not a Xank raid.’

James adjusted his sitting stance and then replied, quoting dossiers and news reports. ‘All the Trooper Intel pointed at it being a Xank raid. But if it wasn’t, who did it?’ He already presumed the answer.

‘The Imperial Council! The Troopers were forced into hiding the truth as we cannot risk a full scale confrontation with them. The High Command won’t risk open conflict; no matter how much blood is spilt!’

‘Wait, wait, you said ‘we’. You’re in the Troopers?’

‘Yes, I’m still a Red Sand Ranger, 1st Planet Division.’

James recalled his knowledge of the Trooper ranking system that Nathan had taught him back in Galis. He gazed up, shocked.

‘That would make you a three crescent wraith, equivalent to an Assault Forces Colonel.’

‘Your knowledge of Trooper ranks is good, strike leader. I almost made General but didn’t feel like having to leave Mag or the homestead.’

‘Wait, back at the homestead you said you were out of the Troopers and held the rank of Strike Leader.’

‘Never said I was out; said I wasn’t a Strike Leader anymore. After joining the Red Sand Rangers, you don’t see many combat officers.’

‘Ok, so you know that the Imperials were the true culprit…how?’

Marshal’s mood continued to darken as he took a seat.

‘I was there. I was firing shells every second that those bloody bombs were dropped on the city - every second that the Imperials sent in their own vile Zangorians against us.’

James frowned as Ryan hung onto Marshal’s every word. The brawler positively worshipped the man. Marshal was genuinely upset but masked it under a veteran’s façade. James had to admit, the story was strange. All reports, official and otherwise reported the attack to be a Xank siege. James also recalled witnessing Xank at the attack. But he didn’t wish to upset Marshal further, so decided to believe him for now. Couldn’t hurt and didn’t really change his goals. James still planned to kill every Xank he saw.

‘I believe you, but what do we do with Gretswald? We can’t just leave him out for the Sylith.’

‘As much as I want to, it’s not his fault that he’s a mindless peon, we shouldn’t risk becoming our enemies by punishing him for his beliefs.’

‘We could leave him here, allow him to fend for himself,’ Ryan suggested.

‘He could very well be a spy, wouldn’t put that past the Imperials. I say you continue to drag him with us to Fort Nox for trial. He can’t do anything if he’s under our watch.’

‘That’s settled then! We keep Gretswald as a prisoner, conduct a stealth attack on Pebble Rock at dawn and drink hearty before then,’ James concluded with a grin before tilting back and gulping down his beverage.

“Some ask me why I call myself the Avenger. That is a good question. Why do I name myself after the concept of vengeance? The real question is quite different, as what else could I be when my people lay slaughtered and my homes burned. What they should have asked is ‘How can we stop you?’” – Avenger of the Xank Empire

Chapter 10. Watchers

‘The Project has made contact with Capture Force 5. Skirmish estimated to last between thirty to sixty minutes. Inclusion of extra defensive assets may shorten period to fifteen. The vehicle is unable to engage troops with battery. Infantry combat inevitable.’

The deep voice stopped and its owner continued banging on the terminal keys - sending an ambience of clicks throughout the vast hall. Vast was just the adjective to describe the room. Laid with black marble flooring and crystal columns, it truly was opulent. The columns ascended from small pools to the high roof, disappearing in shadow. The door to the hall was small in the distance. The hall had two floors to it, the lower being lined with terminals manned by bluish multi-armed creatures, the higher being populated by a podium crafted of dark wood, flanked by two large armoured guards. On the floor of the great hall rested the emblem of the Xank Empire, an orange diamond floating in a sea of turquoise, flanked by the images of photon spears thrusting but breaking on the impenetrable shield of the Xank will. The flag was merely a symbol but it invoked a sense of duty in the soldiery, so the Lectors encouraged it to be used as much as possible. Morale was important in battle, especially when a force relied on numbers opposed to actual skill.

Alas, that was the problem with Zangorians. The Peace Lectorate could churn them out like mating zots, but couldn’t train them to efficiently operate a simple firearm. Only blasters could do.

The creature at the terminal closest to the podium stopped typing and looked up. The deep voice emitted from its small mouth, ‘The Project and accompanying expendables have engaged Capture Force 5. Fifteen troops are down, many more expected. Target heavy infantry weapon has depleted its projectiles.’

Once again, the voice stopped and its owner continued typing. Why did it type so much? Not like its job had anything to do with typing, a figure mused, probably just one of Network games popular in Central space.

The figure rose from its position located on the plush armchair behind the podium and advanced towards the terminals, descending the stairs with practiced grace. His ‘Krugar’ were trained well, they sensed that they were meant to keep working and did so, ignoring his observation. The figure whistled at the image on the terminal. ‘That’s a real beauty, haven’t seen armour like that since Ganymede.’

Continuing to watch, his eyes strayed from the tank to his real target - the boy. Well, he could be called one but he had the eyes of a fighter, maybe even further than that: a killer. The boy was armed with an assault rifle. Ah, if only the Zangorians were competent enough to use slug weapons.

The boy had pale skin, a city dweller, and dark hair. He donned a Trooper sniper uniform, but pinned upon his left shoulder was the spearhead of a Strike Leader. In such a short time he had risen from an enigma to one of the highest combat ranks in Trooper Order. It had taken years to accomplish but the figure’s plan had almost come to fruition. The boy’s powers continued to grow, but he had to watch a little longer. Further observation of his powers had to be seen, no matter what the cost to his soul or others.

Sparing a glance from the visual terminal, the figure peered at a personal terminal where the Krugar was playing a word game. The game looked simple enough. The player was given a group of letters and had to place them on a grid to form words using other words as starting areas. The Krugar called it ‘Bethya’ meaning ‘word creator’. Imperials called it ‘Uoysyua’. Humans used to play it but interest had subsided in the Terran systems.

The symbols were not Krugarian or Xank; the Krugar must have been playing in, and against an, Imperial. The figure recalled his knowledge of the curvy symbols and letters. After digging through his memory, he found the knowledge he needed and spoke to the player, ‘Don’t write that, it will leave an opening for them to score, instead go under the ‘urzelak’ by placing ‘h’ above the ‘u’ and continuing with a ‘z’.

The Krugar tested the figure’s advice and then thanked him.

‘No thanks needed. Any way to hurt those Imperials...’

Looking back at the security terminal, the figure continued watching the boy and the humans around him. A large man was now standing next to the boy, wielding a flaming beverage.

Ah, so they have naphtha, the figure realised, that will most probably shorten this match and result in their victory. A sad turn of events but not unforeseen, this was merely a test of strength after all and the true gambit was about to be unveiled. The battle was concluding and was beginning to become quite boring.

The figure vacated the lower area where his Krugar worked and mounted the steps up to the podium and his beloved armchair. Reclining comfortably, he picked up the book that he had been reading earlier and began the next chapter. It was an old book that he had owned for a really long time. The leather bound cover was fading and the title was just barely legible. From what could be seen through sun damage was cursive lettering. It read: ‘Leviathan.’

“As there are too many planets and factions in the universe for a centralized currency, many refer to a currency called 'Credits'. This is, in fact, not a currency at all but more a system of value where any object with some sort of collectively accepted value will be accepted between traders.” – Extract from the ‘Wealth of the Galaxy’ by Jherin Kura'kaia.

Chapter 11. Titan

The smell of crude oil and the buzz of the cheap engine permeated the air. The normally crisp and pleasantly cold air of the south was marred by the fumes of the hastily repaired pickup truck. Danny seemed to be the only one that minded or maybe the others were too busy trying not to throttle Rob Starkin.

After Gre’sse appeared, they managed to find only two other survivors. The group was made up of Boris, Danny, Viper, Rob Starkin, Gre’sse, Rat and a mechanic named Regg. The rest were slaughtered. As far as weapons were concerned, there were many, but ammo was a problem. Transport was another issue. The previous fleet of jeeps and trucks had been decimated to just a single, barely usable, bakkie. So after lying awake on the blood soaked sheets of the dining hall, they packed the small flatbed car with the weapons, ammo and goods to sell for extra funds. After allowing Regg to give some final repairs to the bakkie’s engine, they set off on the twelve-hour drive to Titan City, capital of the Southern hemisphere of Zona Nox.

Besides his connections and power in the north, Danny’s influence in the south was limited to a few old friends and contacts. At most, he would be able to hire some mercenaries and private investigators, but getting real help would be a problem. Business worked differently in Titan City than Galis. The city was not controlled by the Troopers or any gangs; instead it was run by an elected commission called the ‘Board of Directors’. The Board was elected from the leaders of the current ruling corporations. The status of ‘Ruling Corporation’ was an abstract one, as there was no official ‘legal’ justification for it. Instead it referred to wealth, influence and who had the largest private military. Crime didn’t exist in its obvious form, but the society was just as violent as Galis. Rather than a shiv in the alleys, the denizens of corporate Titan preferred the more elegant kidnappings and disappearances, or a sniper-shot through the window fired from kilometres away.

The dreaded CEOs of Titan City were not feared in Galis, but this was their turf. Danny would have to watch his step to not risk being sucked into the complex machinations of the corporate world. Danny might have been ruthless, violent and deceitful as sin but he had always preferred that strange concept of robber’s honour that was so prevalent up north.

Rob Starkin had moved off the subject of photon knives and their superiority to steel blades and had begun talking about warp drives. Council knows why. Danny listened for a few seconds and then closed his eyes and allowed himself a few minutes of respite.



It seemed like a minute later but the shade of light showed that he must have been sleeping for hours. Shaking him awake was Rob, who was practically shaking with excitement. Pointing towards something, Danny followed his finger. For once, he understood the excitement.

The bakkie was driving along a road carved out of the mountain, which finally ended at the base of a large circular valley carpeted with frosted grass and the occasional tall fir tree. Streaking down from the sides of the snow covered cliffs were three ice white rivers which flowed towards the centre of the valley. But the true wonder was what rested in the centre. Towers, fashioned of material Danny could only imagine, touched the sky. Lights twinkled like stars as flying cars raced between the tall connected buildings. As Danny lowered his view, he began noticing a more familiar and incongruous sight: shacks. Underneath the vast metropolis of Titan, lay a hovel town, so different from Titan that it could have been a part of Galis.

Viper noticed Danny’s frown and sneered, ‘Better try being more optimistic, that’s where we’re staying.’

Danny turned to him and replied, ‘I worked out of a butcher shop for five years. Galis was known for its shack yards. But even so, why aren’t we staying in, you know, a cleaner abode?’

‘Citizenship.’

‘Excuse me?’

‘Only corporate citizens and sponsored outsiders may enter the city. How they keep out criminals and terrorists.’

‘So how are we meant to track down the Punks if we can’t even enter the city proper?’

‘There is much more to Titan than the towers. A whole society rests under its shadow.’

Viper ended off and retreated to his corner of the bakkie, where he peered at the shanty town with a pair of binoculars. The bakkie had finally reached the floor of the valley to begin the drive to the shanty walls and Danny was happy to realise that the wind was pushing the smog of the engine away from him instead of towards, allowing him to enjoy his surroundings a bit more.

The sky was beginning to darken to reveal the stars and Nova Zarxa in the distance. The lights of Titan seemed to blend into the sky. Along the silver cliffs surrounding the valley were signs of minerals, it seemed that the only place the corporations didn’t exploit were their homes. As Danny had seen enough of his natural surroundings, his view tilted towards the Underbelly of the glittering city. The shanty town was shorter but more expansive than its taller, thinner cousin. Surrounding the massive stretch of tin and scrap was a makeshift wall peppered with the occasional entrance. The wall seemed to be a ceremonial barrier more than a defensive structure, any able bodied person could jump it and a normal car could crash through it with ease. As the bakkie neared the east entrance, Danny began to notice more detail of the settlement. Besides the rough exterior, the settlement seemed to possess some skilled and hardworking craftsmen, as the beauty and functionality of some buildings became apparent. Many businesses could be seen and the people didn’t look to be in as bad a shape as in Galis. The only problem was the material of the buildings, which was mainly cheap scrap metal and tin. Upon the wall of the settlement were the words ‘Titan City Underbelly – East Entrance’ written in red paint. Flanking the entrance were two rag tag thugs carrying sub-machineguns. They wore cyan coloured shirts with crimson arm bands around their right shoulders. Upon their shirts were crudely drawn pictures of fists.

As they drew closer, Rat took one look at the guards, squeaked and ducked into a corner, hiding under a blanket. Danny raised his eye brow at this but decided to only question it later. Rat seemed to know these men, or at least their gang. He also seemed to not expect a warm welcoming.

One of the men put out his arm to halt the bakkie. Regg stopped and one of the guards walked to the passenger seat, where Boris sat.

‘So Boris, how’s that little place holding up, Neb right?’

‘It’s Nev, Yurg. And we’re here to kill the punks who unleashed a Sylith swarm on it yesterday.’

Yurg whistled. ‘An entire swarm; sounds more like a corporation than Punks.’

‘Their infantry was shit; no self-respecting corporation would send that many peons to the grave for some little nowhere town.’

‘Times have changed, Boris. The corporations will do anything to get what they want these days. Zerian wiped out Jursh Co. Last month.’

‘Doesn’t surprise me, Jursh were too honest for their own good. You can’t afford to have morals in a place like this.’

‘That’s for sure; now, don’t be making trouble in East-Side Fist turf.’

Yurg waved them off and they began moving once again. The streets weren’t much different than Galis, but there was a different feeling. The prominent gang tags and hoods were also prevalent, just of different name and appearance. A few ‘Fists’ looked sceptically at the bakkie but let it be after taking a small glimpse at Viper shining Snake Bite. The crime was like that of Galis, but the cold air and the shadow from above made the city look much darker, even if it was cleaner due to the lack of sand.

They came to a stop outside a dingy looking motel with a neon sign which read: ‘East-Side Booze and Bed’. Boris exited the car and looked at the sign with a smile. Good memories, Danny presumed. They all dismounted the bakkie, stretched and then started unloading the vehicle. Danny carried his Zerian SMG around his right shoulder and a box of ammunition at his front; slung over his left shoulder was a carry bag where he had brought some mementos from Galis and Red Sand: his hat, compass, pistol, the bullet which he had to pull out of his own thigh after a failed assassination by the Zenites and a photo of the Marzio family back from Dead Stone. Viper carried nothing but Snake Bite and allowed Rob to carry the two large boxes of .50 shells. After them came Regg, who carried a short-nosed shotgun strapped to his side and box of mechanic’s tools. The man didn’t delay his checking of the vehicle for even a second and immediately bent down, wrench in hand, to examine and repair the bakkie’s cumulative damages. Rob Starkin stumbled his way to the entrance of the venue, which warranted some irritated hisses from Viper. Last came Rat, who had drawn up his hood, and was trying to keep as low as possible. He avoided making eye contact with any passers-by, especially those wearing Fist markings. Danny would definitely have to question him or Viper about it later.

Boris was still looking lovingly at the neon sign when a woman of about twenty-five appeared in the door way of the motel and spotted him. Her surprised expression changed to one of joy as she spotted Boris. Running towards him, she leapt into his arms, where he accepted the embrace with a more delicate version of his typical bear hug.

‘Boris, I haven’t seen you for nearly a year. Where ya been you big oaf?’ she asked teasingly.

Boris’ expression saddened. ‘Nev, darling.’

Her expression became worrisome. ‘Why the face, Bori’ and who are these?’

She indicated at Danny and the group.

‘These are the Grooks, Donna, or what’s left of them.’

She frowned at that. ‘You always said that your gang had hundreds of gunmen who did whatever you said.’

Viper snorted but didn’t speak. Boris didn’t seem to notice and replied, ‘That’s why I’m here. Someone from Titan sent a Sylith swarm that killed most of my gang and destroyed Nev.’

‘A whole Sylith swarm?!’

Boris nodded.

‘Well, daddy will know what to do, don’t worry, I’ll get your boys some rooms.’

She skipped back inside the motel. Boris turned and trudged to the bakkie’s flatbed where he helped unload his HMG. No one spoke as an uncomfortable air fell on the group.



‘Viper, do you know why Rat’s been afraid since we got here?’ Danny asked whilst reading a book about the Glotos III uprising, that he had borrowed from the bookshelf in the hall.

They were sharing a room at the end of the hall. The room was quite cosy in comparison to the grim exterior of the settlement. Danny wondered if the somewhat nicer quarters were courtesy of Boris’ female contact, as he was sure the lower floors were not as nice as this. The girl’s name was Donna; she was indeed in her twenties and was the daughter of the proprietor of East-Side Booze and Beds. Her father was what she referred to as ‘Upstairs’ sorting out his liquor license with the Titan alcoholic beverage corporations and was not seen that night.

‘You haven’t figured it out then, eh?’ Viper replied, without opening his eyes. ‘He used to be a Fist, a lieutenant actually.’

‘Why’s he so jittery then?’

‘Gangs don’t like it when you quit, you should know that - Don.’

‘Hmm, so why is he not a Fist anymore?’

‘I don’t know the whole story, but from what I heard, he killed some Fists or stole from Zerian and was caught. He ran away in shame.’

‘Zerian? The arms company?’

‘Not just weapons, they’re divided into planetary departments. Crystal mining on Zarxa, thermal energy on Gleza,’ Viper frowned. ‘Slavery on Grengen.’

Danny sighed, envying the Zerian planetary CEO, Mark Dresner’s empire here on Zona Nox.

‘Really made a name for themselves besides all the Imperial Council intervention. Who could think a pure human corporation could get so far in a place where half the population want us dead.’

Viper mumbled and turned over. Danny took that as a sign to shut up. He turned off his light. He lay awake for many hours after that, however, pondering his situation. He had never been to Titan and the only contacts he had were old friends which trustworthiness and value as assets were questionable, to say the least. Luckily, he knew the general gist of the upper city. It was styled as a corporate run ‘utopia’ which was funded by the mineral resources of the Titan Mountains and the rich ore veins which scattered the Southern Tundra. The surplus resources could have supplied five hundred thousand Trooper armies for three decades but the corporations had decided to hoard the money, using a little to hire enough fire power to discourage the Troopers from asking for a protection tax.

Titan City was a marvel, Danny had to admit. The tallest buildings in Galis were tenements and radio towers, and the average buildings were all about two storeys high. Titan City loomed above the clouds and the very tips seemed to be lost among the stars. But besides the beauty and majesty of such a place, the masterpiece of modern architecture cast a depressing shadow over the higher populated settlement of the Titan Underbelly. Crime, disease and violence flourished in the darkness, and in this case it was not being metaphorical. The shanty city was just like Galis but with tin substituting concrete and a general lack of Xank raids.

The Underbelly seemed to be divided between four major gangs, with smaller gangs either acting as retainers or as opportunistic hooligans. Danny’s group was currently staying in East-Side Fist territory. The Fists were the average protection gang. You pay them; they don’t kill you, with the occasional added bonus of actual protection. To the west were the Brexus; smugglers and con-artists. The Fists were currently at war with the Brexus as they both tried to wrest control of an area surrounding a bridge which regulated traffic between both sides. To the south was some cult-like group which reminded Danny of the Purgers of Filth; they called themselves the Children of Iron. They seemed to be total loonies who walked around wearing gas masks and carrying swords to accompany their shotguns. But they were not to be underestimated. They currently controlled a monopoly on weapon smuggling and manufacturing and could most probably stock an army if they wished it. Lastly, to the north were the Crystal Legion, a racketeering gang which dealt with drugs, prostitution and gambling. As a vice provider, they were the favourite gang in the city. Danny had to admit that they didn’t have the best choice in weapons. Oh they had a lot of weapons, but not really the best ammunition to stock it. They were armed to the teeth, but with laser carbines, the worst type of carbine. As a normal bullet could take a person down in one shot, a laser carbine had a limited range and could only take down an opponent after slowly searing them to a crisp. The weapons were powered with crystals and may last much longer than conventional weapons, but the lack of stopping power was unforgivable in Danny’s opinion. They were at war with the Children of Iron and a minor gas corporation.

Besides these criminal gangs, the Corporations also had a say in the underworld politics. In fact, they controlled the conversation. No gang could live or run without prior consent of the Board of Directors.

So the biggest question was: which gang were the punks who assaulted Nev? The Fists obviously had Boris in their good books and the Brexus didn’t care much about anything which didn’t relate to smuggling. That left the Crystal Legion and Children of Iron.

In the morning Danny would contact his informants, call in a few favours and confront some gangsters, but before then - he would be sure to get a good breakfast.

“They destroyed our home, they killed our families, they stole our history and even had the audacity to demand thanks for doing so! I am here to say that we have had enough! We will take back our honour, we shall avenge our families and we shall reclaim our history!” – General Winston at the Re-Taking of Ganymede

Chapter 12. Pebble Rock

Passengers and their belongings were thrown into the air as the truck hit a pothole in the war-torn stretch of the Red Sand Highway. Their rumps had since numbed to the feeling as they harmlessly fell back onto their seats.

Andrew was playing with some wire he had found by the depot. James was watching his fellow passengers. James knew most of the occupants of the truck. Some were young, some old. Some female, some male, some parents, some single. Many were crying, but others were eerily quiet. One thing was clear though, no one was happy. The children might have laughed, but the sounds were forced. Only the young infants were truly blissfully unaware of their circumstance.

All of them were confused by recent events. James no less. All he knew was that he would never see his parents again. For some reason, he didn’t feel as upset as he should have been. He felt ashamed for not weeping, but he couldn’t help it. Andrew, despite being his best friend, looked at him askance. Even his mother had been worried about him. James wasn’t a usual child. Rather than play, he learned. Rather than talking, he listened. He was an observer.

James sometimes wondered about his ability to observe and comprehend. While most five-year-olds were playing with scrap toys or working menial jobs, he was observing. He watched craftsmen, listened to experts, and while he may not have understood everything, he had gained a rudimentary knowledge of many things that others his age would not even recognise. By five, he could recite the entire Dead Stone charter and half of its laws, history of the laws and which politicians were taking advantage of, or outright breaking those laws. James definitely had an above average intelligence, but did not flaunt it. He didn’t need to. He had everything he needed; food, a bed and a family. That was until all those were stripped from him. All he had left was his friend and his father. And even that was uncertain.

The truck stopped with a jolt and the hydraulic locking system disengaged and allowed the door to open, revealing an armed Trooper who signalled for the occupants to exit.

Andrew stopped playing and Billy led both of them outside of the truck where they were herded to a checkpoint. Troopers with clipboards manned each checkpoint, jotting down names and information. They were in a courtyard, surrounded by large grey walls and topped with barbed wire. It didn’t seem to be a prison, as the windows were not barred. It was reminiscent of the Trooper safe zones in Dead Stone. People were being unloaded from other trucks. The Troopers maintained an air of dignity in the situation, maintaining order while minimising abuse.

Billy stated their names, lying and registering James as a fellow ‘Roman’. James didn’t care much; it would be simpler that way. He reported that he was a freelance entrepreneur, true to an extent. Billy had run a small convenience store back home, until it had been bombed by Walkers.

Once the registration had finished; the Trooper looked up from the clipboard and said, ‘Welcome to Galis.’



‘Wake up, it’s dawn.’

A rough hand shook James awake. He opened his eyes, and after rubbing the dust out of them, he sat up. Ryan had been the one who woke him and was already strapping on his own equipment.

James lifted himself off the ground and unwound himself from his sleeping bag. His equipment was already set to go, as he prepared it before he had gone to sleep. His equipment comprised his trusty FireBolt Rifle, the pistol he had looted back at the outpost and a Trooper tactical outfit. Marshal had also given him a flash bang, which would not affect his flash resistant goggles. Ryan’s load-out was much simpler - a Titan assault rifle and his Galis Magnum; he wore his gray vest, jeans and an ammo pouch. After equipping their arsenal, they exited the tent as it retracted into the tank.

Grugo was standing at the edge of the cliff, armed with binoculars.

‘Isn’t it a little too dark for binoculars?’

‘No, sir, bandits aren’t expecting trouble, they’ve got their lights on real bright-like.’

‘Ah, so what is your report?’

‘There’s about five out now but they seem to multiply that by day. Best time is now, kill the watchers and slit the rest while they sleep.’

‘Charming,’ James nodded in thanks and trod off in the opposite direction. Grugo would continue to watch for any changes in the settlement.

Five was a little too easy, even during the dawn they should have had more. James’ brooding was interrupted as Marshal sidled up next to him.

‘You thinking what I’m thinking?’

‘That would depend on what you are thinking, but I do feel that this is suspicious.’ James answered.

‘I agree, like the Xank ambush. Zangos are stupid, but not that stupid. That attack was a ploy for something more…subterfuge.’

‘Hmm…I sincerely hope this is just a thought and nothing more. Open warfare is bad enough. Xank using deception is too much to believe, they seem to struggle with the concept.’

‘Agreed, but regardless, I advise caution this dawn. Something seriously doesn’t feel right.’

‘I’ll take that to heart, Marshal, war is unpredictable. Bullets take lives, skill saves them.’

‘Wise words - tenet seven of the Trooper creed, if my memory isn’t too hazy.’

‘A sergeant named Nathan taught them to me during our hold up in Galis. Said they would help me somewhere along the line.’

‘He speaks truth. Remember them; they will take you far in this gods-forsaken system.’

And with that, he walked off to allow James some last minute preparation.

His sniper rifle had been adjusted to allow a larger calibre. Marshal’s workshop had all the amenities to change the firing chamber and necessary mechanics of the rifle. The smooth Aegis design made the customisation possible – allowing the FireBolt to be upgraded to receive .50 calibre rounds. They would be needed for firing at the required distance.

His retinue was mobilizing to surround the settlement, setting up attack positions from both rock formations. Upon reaching the wall, James equipped his climbing claws and ascended the cliff. Marshal was doing the same upon the northern wall. The climb wasn’t as hard as it looked. The rocks were rougher than the smooth concrete walls of Galis, which made finding holds easier.

As James ascended to the top, he had attached a bipod to his rifle and set it into position. Glancing through the scope, he surveyed the settlement. Five guards were patrolling the base as Grugo had said. Two were standing guard near a hall, while another was smoking by the east entrance. That was his mark; he would kill the isolated smoker, signalling Marshal to fire on one of the patrollers.

Three…two…one.

He applied pressure to the trigger, releasing a round which sped silently through the air to land with a wet smack into the unsuspecting bandit. The man fell from the suppressed shot. None of the other guards noticed; the same went for Marshal’s shot, which felled a patroller who crumpled from the hit, collapsing into the shadow of a large barn.

James pulled the bolt of his rifle, dumping out the empty casing and allowing a fresh round to take its place. Only the two guards at the hall were still alive. This would be more difficult, and required co-ordination. He did not doubt Marshal’s skill, however, and knew that once he made a move, Marshal would reply to it appropriately. He locked his sights onto the guard on the right. The man was yawning – bored. He wouldn’t be for much longer. James pulled the trigger and the man fell; within a second, his partner did the same.

The night went quiet. James realised it was always this quiet, but the lack of guards allowed him to note it. Faint sound still emitted from the hall, but no sign of alarm. The patrol shift was only in another hour - more than enough time for the hall to be surrounded and breached. James smirked. Everything was going according to plan.

His troops moved into the settlement, sticking to the shadows. Once everyone was in position, he dismounted from his perch and descended to the ground. The plan was simple. The hall had two entrances, one on either side of the building. The squad would be halved in order to orchestrate a breach from both ends. Surprise was on their side, and hopefully that would be enough.

Everyone was in position when James and Marshal arrived; they made way and allowed them to join the formation. Two people flanked either side of the doorway with the spares ready to take their place. The door would be kicked in, a flash bang thrown and the occupants restrained. Hopefully deaths would be minimized as bullets were expensive.

Everyone was ready and waiting. James nodded to Ryan, who was manning the other door, and they counted down with their fingers. At once they signalled their men to kick down the doors. The assault went off without a hitch and both doors toppled with one blow. The flash bang was thrown in and James’ retinue poured into the room. The flash subsided but no sound of struggle erupted. James entered the room hesitantly but ready, rifle levelled.

The hall was empty. James stood, mouth agape. Everyone seemed to be as puzzled by the situation as he. The room was bright, as it looked from outside, but the sounds of boisterous merry making had dispersed and been replaced by absolute silence. Only the breathing of the squads on either side of the hall filled the void.

‘By the Council?!’ Leroy muttered, being awarded with a glare from Ryan.

Besides the Council, James agreed with the man’s sentiments. This was, of course, worrying.

‘Split up and search, I want answers,’ James instructed in the most commanding tone he could muster. It worked, either due to his rank or that the rest of the group were too perplexed to remember that they were supposed to be lawless gangsters.

The room was mostly bare; only a little bit of furniture dotted the wooden flooring. He didn’t know what he expected his men to find. Molok and Quok had come along; he didn’t know why he thought Quok would be of any use in a firefight. The Exanoid was checking behind the curtains, and Molok was pacing, examining the floor boards. Marshal was peering out the window.

‘James, better come have a look at this,’ Ryan called, ignoring James’ rank due to a casual familiarity.

Ryan was standing next to a rolled up rug which had previously been covering a section of the floor. It had been covering a trap door of some kind. At that moment, Marshal asked a question.

‘Did anyone here confirm the kills of the guards?’

James felt a lump start to develop at the back of his throat. No one had confirmed the kills; they had just rushed straight in.

‘Briar, go confirm the kills.’

Ryan gave the orders once again as if he was in charge. James sensed some irritation at the back of the head, but currently did not care. Briar did as he was ordered, but to his credit, he looked to James for confirmation. James nodded and the man jogged out of the room.

With that out of the way, James turned back to the trap door. It was a small entrance, only large enough for one person to enter at a time. Something told him that he shouldn’t open it, but he had to know what caused the disappearance of an entire bandit posse in minutes. He wanted answers.

Many had ceased their searching and gathered around. They waited expectantly for him to do something. Then it was decided - he would open it. He placed his hand on the flat handle and squeezed. Briar came rushing back into the room as he opened the trap door. ‘It’s a tra-’

Everything went white.

“Nova Zarxa - the jewel (or to be exact, crystal) of the Extos system. Let all who desire fortune know that whoever holds this gem, holds the key to the wealth of this system.” – Gwok of the UEC, CEO of Gwock-Co, Glotos III

Chapter 13. Arrival

Gunships were always overly loud in their landing, and Nathan could see many of the snipers wincing at the breach of sound. He couldn’t empathise with them as he was a close quarter’s specialist. Shotguns and blunt weapons were his specialty. But he could understand their sentiments. They were night angels, silent killers. Even the slightest noise could cost them their life in the field. Most assault Troopers tended to look disdainfully on snipers as dishonourable and sly. Nathan saw the bigger picture. Snipers were the eyes of the army, and without eyes, a person would trip.

Nathan emerged from his day dreaming to realise that he had instinctively marched out of the gunship, saluted the commanding officer and was put at ease. That tended to happen with routine, it becomes so commonplace that you forget about even doing it. He had been flying in that gunship for hours with nothing to do. He was no sniper or scout, so excused from watch duty. Instead, he had spent his time gambling. By the second day, in fact, he had gambled away his entire salary. He didn’t mind. He played the game to keep his mind off things, not to earn any credits. He didn’t know why, but even if he did find a form of entertainment, he couldn’t fight down this acidic feeling down in his belly. Something had happened. He didn’t know what but he knew it was bad. Now that he recalled, the transport ships had lost contact with some of the formation during the trip. Then he realised what was wrong. Slinging his shotgun around his shoulder and tightening the strap, he bolted to the air dockmaster. If something had happened to one of the ships, he would know.

Nathan couldn’t help but shove people away. He needed to know. The crowd was thick and the contesting smells of dirt, metal and sweat created a nauseating combination. Eventually, he managed to wade through and reach the dockmaster. The dockmaster looked up from his clipboard, a grim look on his face.

‘Ah, Nathan, which ship you looking for, we had a lot hit.’

‘X59,’ Nathan panted.

The dock master’s expression became grimmer. ‘I’m sorry, Sergeant, that ship didn’t make it.’

People died in war, Nathan had lost many friends in war, but this felt different. In fact, it hit him like a tonne of bricks. He felt responsible. It was unreasonable of him to take any blame, but he was the one who inducted James into the Troopers. Maybe, just maybe, things would have worked out differently had the boy been allowed to go his own way. Eventually he asked, ‘Details?’

‘Fifteen Xank fighters and five drop ships. Anything under a frigate wouldn’t have survived that. I’m sorry.’

The dock master was sincere, but he didn’t know how Nathan felt. He had no family or connections on Zona Nox - a mere Zarxian auxiliary. Nathan nodded and moved away to allow the next person in line a chance to grieve.

He would need to eat. He didn’t want to, but his stomach got the better of him and he trod sullenly towards the mess hall. He would have to get over this. A soldier was meant to accept death, of his friends and of himself.

The exterior of the mess hall was different from that of what he was used to in Galis. The building was crafted from an artificial metal called geradite, painted a brownish red to match the sand dunes. Common on Nova Zarxa due to the lack of metal but Nathan didn’t understand the reasoning for the material appearing on Zona Nox, as the planet was a metal mining world. Besides that, the mess hall looked more like a commercial dome than a military structure. Sky lights lined the roof and the double doors were welcoming and looked akin to a restaurant.

Upon entering, Nathan realised that the exterior was a false mask for a highly bland and dull looking mess hall. The floor was entirely made up of unpainted cement while the soaring roof mirrored its exterior counterpart. The hall was enormous, allowing eating space for just about fifty thousand assorted Troopers and refugees. Each part of the hall was segregated into forces, platoons and then squads.

Nathan peered around for 3rd Assault, Beta and found it resting between 2nd Assault and Engineering Alpha. Before walking there, he joined a line for the food counter and retrieved some typical Trooper gruel. He sighed and made his way to the tables where he seated himself at his squad, between his corporal and a Veteran.

A few of the Troopers looked gloomy, but many were rowdy and happy to be back in the largest Trooper contingent in the Extos sector. Nathan couldn’t mirror their jovialness. Not only because of James’ death but also that he honestly did not feel as safe as he should have this far into friendly territory. The Xank could strike anywhere. Hell, they crushed the Galis border guards before the walls even got word. It seemed almost useless fighting back.

Enough! Nathan had to snap out of it. He was bringing himself down, he really had to get over this; he had lost battle brothers before. Besides his mental pep-talk, he remained gloomy, even as his counterparts cheered up. Eventually his corporal noticed, ‘Eh, Nathan, how’s it? Why so down?’

‘Nothing, just a trainee death on the way here,’ he replied.

The corporal frowned, ‘Which trainee? Didn’t you only have one?’

‘Yeah, his gunship was hit.’

‘Ah, that would explain the report.’

Nathan raised his eyebrow sceptically. ‘What report?’

‘Just saw a news report when we got off; showed a squad of crash survivors and a Trooper newbie beating the void out of a Xank fighter,’ the corporal shrugged.

‘Wait, what? What did this newbie look like?’ Nathan asked intensely, gripping the corporal by the shoulders.

‘Brown hair…in his teens, city dweller by the looks of it,’ he answered, stunned, but before he could figure out what was going on, Nathan had leapt out of his chair, food untouched, and had broken off into a dash for the news terminal.

He pushed past all people who got in his way, only stopping to apologize to the engineering captain, whom he had almost knocked over in his haste, and only then because he didn’t feel like cutting his Trooper career short due to some avoidable impoliteness.

People stopped to look but no one halted him. He ran clean out of the massive hall and into the windy sand filled exterior of the base.

The sky was clear, for a change, making a welcome change from the scorching gray clouds. Red dust was still flying around the courtyard due to the constant landing and disembarking of gunships from the landing port.

Recalling the direction of the news bulletin board, he continued running. A guard stopped him at the parameter of the courtyard, but allowed him through after a flash of his insignia. He spotted the notice board. It was surrounded by people, so he shoved himself through, much to the irritation of many civilians and Troopers. Finally, he reached the front just to see the Zarxian Crystal Stocks plummet, much to the dismay of a few auxiliaries and civilian businessmen.

Nathan hung his head and was about to skulk back to the mess hall when the bulletin changed. A female news anchor wearing the typical Trooper office garb was reporting the headlines and military reports. A ticker at the bottom read the following: ‘Xank occupy Galis City; Nova Zarxa branch of Grag-Tec appoints temporary Overseer; Grengen culls infected livestock.’

These arbitrary headlines went past till the end where the headline, “Gunship X59 survivors slay Xank fighter.”

Nathan still had hope. James had somehow survived, and was even leading a squad against the Xank, and by the sound of it, he was tearing the Xank apart. He was about to leave when the anchor announced the headline and the screen switched to an aerial view of a squad of civilians and Troopers fighting an airborne Xank fighter.

It was night and the Xank fighter was armed with a spotlight to go along with the automatic energy blaster. Besides the overwhelming odds, the humans were still fighting, taking heavy losses but still fighting. The fight went on until Nathan noticed James leading the group. He was using an assault rifle and was directing the group into scattered positions to minimize casualties.

The tactic worked and the Xank was hitting minimal targets. By the looks of it, the humans were running out of ammo from incessant firing. They would have to conclude fast. Just as Nathan thought they would have used up all their ammo, the fighter exploded and fell to the ground; the shockwave from the wreck disabling the survey drone.

Nathan now knew that there really was hope; the news anchor said that the footage was about three days old, but that was fresh enough. James and his retinue could still be out there. They could need the Trooper’s help.

Nathan left the news broadcasting terminal and marched towards the mess hall. There was a chance that James was already dead, but something told him that he was still alive and kicking; and that James would be needed somewhere along the line.

So by defying all military protocol and intelligence, he changed his course to the mobile Red Sand division officer’s quarters. For some inexplicable reason he knew he would need James, but right now, James needed him.



‘Lector, the target has entered the building. The ruse was a success.’

The man, who held the Xank office of Lector, smiled. Many commanders wouldn’t count on their target taking the bait and would have gone in immediately, risking casualties and losing the opportunity as a whole. He thought otherwise. The Lector knew that the Tetsushisen wielder was too intent on learning and was driven by his insatiable hunger for knowledge to put aside the opportunity to solve this conundrum. He would jump right in if it meant knowing what was going on. And that was exactly what he was about to do. It was his power and vice after all. The power to observe and comprehend, coupled with the overwhelming urge to do so. That is how he managed to know so much and absorb so much information at a pace which dwarfed most. The ruse would go off without a hitch. The Tetsushisen would be captured, and his retinue threatened to invoke his powers, then the Lector would know for sure if he hadn’t wasted a decade of his life on this project.

The Lector felt a little bit of shame. This was a fellow human after all. No, he had to fight down that thought! Morality didn’t win wars; he should be the first to know that after he left the Troopers.

‘Sacrifices must be made for the greater good,’ the Lector said to himself.

‘Sorry, Lector?’ the Krugar asked.

‘Nothing, just thinking.’

The Krugar showed a strange expression; an expression that the Lector had learnt to be the equivalent of concern. He had been working with these Krugar for about ten years. They were his subordinates, colleagues and friends. He would trust his life in their many hands. He knew that he would have to rely on that sometime in the future, if the Avenger had his way. The Lector agreed with vengeance just as much as the Avenger, but intelligence and the observation of your enemy was what won wars, not blind conquest. They would need information if they were ever to avenge what happened all those centuries ago. That’s why he started the Xank Krugar Corp, more commonly known as the Word Lectorate.

The Krugar were by far the most useful workers in the information sector. Their multiple arms and ability to multi-task was invaluable. They were also diligent workers and the Lector had grown an almost brotherly bond with all of them. It would be regrettable indeed when he had to sacrifice them all for the greater good. But as always, he never dwelled on that fact. As he had told himself earlier, it was necessary; all lives were nothing when it came to avenging that vile act.

That, at the end of the day, was the sole purpose of his life. He remembered when he had other purposes; other things he actually cared about. Friends, a family, a job…all became useless and meagre when it came to his new purpose.

‘Trap commenced,’ the Krugar nearest to him stated, ‘Pick up team to extract incapacitated.’

‘Excellent, our goal comes closer to fruition.’

‘Yes, Lector Smith, the Avenger will be pleased.’

Yes, that was his name. Quite ironic that the cause of so much destruction in the galaxy could have such a common name as ‘Smith’. The name didn’t matter at the end, however. Only the title did. Lector: a sign of his determination to seek revenge upon ‘them’. He had plotted with the Xank for decades now. Plotted to avenge what ‘they’ did to his home; plotting to destroy the Imperial Council and all that it stood for. If innocents were harmed in the process, so be it. After all, it was all for the greater good.

“And the heathens fell to the righteous horde; their blood creating a sea to ward off the demons until the end of time.” – Preachings of Glaris Imperia

Chapter 14. Extraction

The windows flashed. A bang sounded. Humans, unfortunate enough to have already been outside before the trap was released, had already been assassinated by infiltrators. Zangorian claws were already sharp and effective for throat slicing, but infiltrators were specialists. Their claws were especially suited for assassination. First, layers of keratin were removed and the bone underneath was lined with liquid titanium. This would strengthen it against conventional armour. Next, a steel frame was placed around the titanium bone and covered with artificial keratin. Afterwards, the tips of the claws were replaced with sharp steel. This equipment made the Zangorian infiltrators formidable, but it didn’t stop there. The infiltrators were trained in the one art all other Zangorians failed: Stealth. This vital element was needed in their profession and somehow, the Shadow Lector managed to succeed in ingraining it into them.

Leri peered over the dusty rock and shrubs. He squinted as his darkness-attuned eyes were shocked by the lights of the settlement. He looked away, skulking back into cover. His squad was a backup unit, meant to stay behind and provide reinforcements, if necessary. The group was made up of about twenty Zangorian raiders. He was one of them. Raiders were unorganised, barbaric and seen as cannon fodder. Their only role was to act as decoys or full the air with enough plasma so that their lack of skill didn’t mean anything. Raiders were almost all whelps, unproven soldiers who the Lectors felt were expendable. Only Zangorians could be whelps, as they were seen as the peons of the Empire. They were not restrained to this rank, however, such as the Krugar or Glerans. An ambitious and intelligent Zangorian could rise all the way up to the rank of Lector. In fact, the current Lector of War was a Zangorian. Sadly, Leri suspected that it was purely to give the Zangorians a sense of belonging in the Empire. Discontent had been growing. The Lectors couldn’t risk an uprising.

Leri was a whelp in the squad, so were all the others besides one warrior, who was meant to keep order. The squad was not a member of the main invasion force but instead a task force that was commonly known as the Word Lectorate, due to the leader being known for his great lust for knowledge. Only his Krugar favourites knew who he was. His Immortal handler acted as liaison between him and the Zangorian task forces. They were treated better than other Zangorians, so no one thought badly about their station. Except for Leri, who was not like the other Zangorians in the group. He desired more.

The Word Lector’s missions were different from that of the invasion force. Only he knew the full reasoning behind his actions, but they typically didn’t result in mass sacrifices of life. The Lector’s body budget was too low to risk that. Leri had felt quite safe in the Word Lectorate - until he had witnessed fifty percent of the force fall yesterday. The humans tore through them, but that was expected. The raid was ill-planned and was always going to result in failure. Leri suspected that it wasn’t meant to succeed in the first place. It had been but a test. A test for something greater; the Word Lector did nothing without a greater purpose. Leri admired that nameless shadow figure. He thought more than the battle Lectors and kurags. His actions had strategy and goals. With such an intelligent master, however, his servants had to be sufficiently skilled. The usual whelp would be promoted to warrior if they survived their first battle. Leri had survived countless battles. He wasn’t bitter for his lack of promotion. With a greater Lectorate came harder work.

Despite his rank, Leri was convinced that he was the most intelligent and drien of the platoon. He only needed an opportunity to be promoted to warrior. Once a warrior, he would either lead his own squad or be sent on special missions. No matter what position, he knew it would be better than the lowly rank of a whelp raider.

Some gunshots could be heard from the settlement. Gun powder rounds, with a few carbon shots sounding through the rest.

Some humans are still putting up a fight.

Leri checked his blaster for faults and then flexed his talons.

They would be called in soon; either to quell the agitators or help with the loading of unconscious targets. As he expected, the lead warrior called in the advance and they scurried over the rocks towards the settlement, where friendly Xank were in a firefight with some humans. They wore no uniform, like that of the Troopers, and seemed frightened; besides that, they wore hard looks, veteran facades. Emptiness in the eyes which showed them to be killers: Gangsters, like those in Galis.

So the rumours were true. These are the misfits who had survived the attack on the transport and destroyed a fighter.

What did the Word Lector want with them? They had no importance in the larger picture besides their short term threat as Xank killers.

The leader of the band was rumoured to be a special case. In human terms, he would be considered a youngster, but Leri had learnt that on Zona Nox, age meant little.

The planet was an infernal desert, not to mention the blighted tundra in the south. Leri had thought that Grengen was bad, but at least it had a tolerable amount of foliage. Desolate was the only word Leri could acquaint with the planet. But for some reason, the humans loved their planet. Maybe not the conditions, as most of them lived in squalor, but all of them seemed to have a sense of honour and planetary pride so to speak. It was not much that they had, but the fought to the death to defend it. Leri respected them for that, if not thinking them a bit foolhardy.

Unfortunately for the Xank, however, the humans were tough. Not in terms of physical strength, as a Zangorian could rip their throats out with ease. But in a sense of pride; humans never gave up. Yes, a few did; but as a race, they never surrendered a single grain of sand. That is what Leri admired about them. Besides that, they also possessed bullets. A strange, almost barbaric invention, but effective nonetheless. It was a disgusting concept – having to stick something into someone to stop them from moving. That’s why Leri preferred energy weapons. Not really laser or photon, they tended to be a bit meek, but give him a plasma blaster any day. Besides his preferences, he still had to give bullets a nod of respect.

‘Nothing like a shard of lead in the brain to stop something from breathing, eh,’ Leri said to himself idly.

‘What are you on about again, Leri?’ another raider by the name of Zugho asked. He was an average sized Zangorian with bright yellow eyes. He had been a member of Leri’s clan when they still lived on Zeruit. Those were the days; minimal war, only the occasional skirmish between clans, a peaceful life and plenty of diverse opportunities. Now all the ambitious could expect was the rare prospect of a minor promotion.

‘Just thinking aloud,’ Leri replied.

‘You should stop doing that. Remember what the warrior did last time?’

Leri rubbed his head. ‘How could I forget; I still have the bump.’

‘He’s a Battepriest; it’s his job to stop independent thought. You can keep day dreaming in your free time, but try to stay quiet when on duty.’

‘We’re always on duty,’ Leri muttered dryly.

Zugho smiled. ‘That’s true. So, stop day dreaming.’

Leri gave his shoulder a slight shove and they continued the advance in silence.

Upon arriving at the settlement, Leri spotted the cause of commotion. Two humans had been wearing flash repellent goggles, and were holding the doorway with an LMG attached to the side of the doorway.

The bodies of about six humans littered the area around the hall, their clothes already soaking in their own blood. Their necks had been ripped open, allowing Leri to catch a glance at their innards.

‘Disgusting,’ he muttered to himself, then stopped when he saw the warrior glaring at him.

A large Zangorian was leading the breach. He wore a feathered helmet with spikes flanking his eyes. A banner with the emblem of the Word Lector and the device of his clan was worn on his back. His name was Kurag Zerichi. A veteran of three planetary takeovers and twenty years of war; he had more experience in his small claw than most raiders. He was a brutal leader, but held a contrary opinion to the other commanders when it came to body count. He didn’t see soldiers as currency and recognized each one as a potential asset. That was why Leri venerated him above all others, and why he had strived to persevere in the Word Lectorate.

His squad leader marched his squad over to the Kurag, where he enquired where his force would be best suited. The Kurag ordered him to stay near, but out of the way. He wanted to wait out the LMG, as not to risk unnecessary casualties. They weren’t going anywhere, after all.

The warrior then marched them off behind some cover and allowed them to sit and dawdle.

As expected, the LMG started to click, and finally the firing stopped. Without delay, the Kurag ordered the shock team to enter and pick up the incapacitated humans after killing the living.

The humans fumbled with their side arms but were quickly dispatched with a plasma round to the throat and the stomach. The throat shot dislodged the humans jaw, spraying blood out of his mouth and onto his killer. The person who received the shot to the belly merely keeled over in pain and shivered as his internal organs seemed to collapse.

Leri frowned; such displays of violence were sickening but unavoidable. His squad was ordered to aid in the clean-up. Leri passed the human with the jaw wound. Ignoring all odds, he was still alive, and glaring at him. The wound was minor and the blood had already dried on his shirt and matted hair. He wore bandages around his leg. Surprising, seeing how well he had held the entrance. The orders were to capture those who could be kept alive. This human seemed to still be kicking, so Leri tagged him for extraction.

Upon entering the hall, he bumped into Zugho, who was standing, with the rest of the squad and platoon, beak agape. Jumping up to look over their heads, he saw what the problem was. The room was empty.

“The Board of Directors acts as the governing body of the Titan City state. It creates the mask of a peaceful and prospering city that everyone knows is a mere facade.” – Extract from ‘Dissidents of the Red Sun’

Chapter 15. Informants

This building was a rare occurrence in the Titan Underbelly. Crafted of concrete, and built under a rare spot of sun, it possessed a slightly-slanted roof. It stood out among the sea of tin, which was so prevalent in the Underbelly. The sole occupant hadn’t made it a secret of which city he descended from. The architecture just screamed Galis. But you couldn’t blame him for his obvious architectural choice, even if it didn’t fit into the cityscape. The thick concrete walls provided a much better defence than the more common tin shanties. This man needed his security.

Danny and the Grooks had been staying in the Titan Underbelly for about two days. In that time, Danny had planned to contact his informants, but instead he was charged with peddling off their surplus weapons. They made a fair amount of Credits which were paid in the form of raw gerron.

Gerron was a mineral exclusive to the South. It took the form of a rounded stone with a slightly green tint and could be recognized as Gerron by placing it under water where it would temporarily change to a slight blue. Gerron was one of the many objects used as ‘Credits’. In fact, the term Credit was an abstract term as it referred to the common value of currency. Anything that was commonly accepted in trade was commonly referred to as Credits. Only a few uppity nation states rejected the system.

After a day of haggling and finding customers, Danny was glad to be back at the motel where he indulged on fish caught in the streams running through Titan. These fish were different from the salt water fish found in the Galis Lake. Donna called them ‘Salmon’. It was quite nice, especially fried and served with sliced and fried potato pieces called chips. For all her annoying, high pitched flirtations with Boris, Danny could forgive Donna due to her cooking.

After eating, he had slept like a rock, much to the joy of Viper, who hardly ever felt like talking these days. Now, finally, he was standing outside the house of his old informant.

He had tracked him to Children of Iron territory but luckily the gang guard’s only requirement for entering was to listen to their sermon about how “Iron saves the soul!” Danny just nodded and smiled through the whole thing and left afterwards, blissfully unenlightened.

Iron territory was extremely strange. Almost all buildings held the gang tag like a religious symbol and most people, even non-gang members, could be seen carrying swords of varying designs. People were giving him dirty looks when they glanced at his waist. They seemed to not be used to non-believers.

Danny was relieved to find the Galis style house where he took safety within the concealing shadow of its overhanging balcony. Ringing the door buzzer, he awaited a reply from the intercom. Eventually, a soft but heavily accented male voice answered, ‘I told you, I don’t care if you say that ya’ll burn me. Ya’re not getting through me door.’

‘Strange greeting to an old friend, eh Mac? ‘

‘Holy shit, Don Marzio! Let me open the door before those Irons roast you.’

The intercom went offline and Danny waited for about half a minute, listening to the locks sliding out of place from the steel door. Mac had sure become paranoid since leaving the North. The door eventually opened to reveal a short balding man of about forty. He adjusted his reading glasses and peered at Danny. After verifying his identity, he stepped away and allowed him to enter.

‘So Mac, why so paranoid; those ‘Irons’ didn’t seem so bad, just a little loony.’

‘That’s not what I’m worried about. They wouldn’t be able to get through a tin shanty anyway. They prefer using those stupid swords of theirs.’

‘Doesn’t answer my question. Why so jittery?’

Mac took a seat reluctantly and gripped his forehead, thoughtfully.

‘Corporations,’ he said, ‘To the void with all of them! Want a drink?’

Danny nodded and accepted the cold beverage which Mac had fished out of a mini-fridge by the side of the chair.

‘So, if the Irons aren’t the problem, why did you think I was one?’

‘The corporates haven’t found me yet, but those Irons have been trying to preach to me every day. Was getting annoying.’

‘Hmm, so what did you do and which corporations after you?’

‘Zerian, existing…they don’t need much of an excuse.’

That was troubling indeed. Zerian was one of the largest human corporations in the galaxy, sharing the spot with Titan and Aegis. They were ruthless in business, but that didn’t warrant going after someone purely because they existed.

‘There has to be more to it than that.’

‘Of course, but that would be the basic gist. They want me dead because I’m alive. The rest, I would rather leave up to my discretion if you don’t mind.’

Danny didn’t press, it wasn’t his business.

‘So Danny, you’re not typically one for friendly chats and visits to old friends. What are you doing here?’

‘Well, as you may have heard, Galis was flattened by the Xank.’

Mac’s eyes widened, indicating that he had not. Danny noted that there didn’t seem to be any TV’s or radios in the abode.

‘So I set off and went to see Boris in Nev. That’s when his gang was hit by a Sylith swarm sent in by some punks wearing red.’

‘Anyone who can unleash a Sylith swarm is anything but punks. The average corporation would struggle to do something like that. And none of the gangs here wear red…except.’

Danny started to feel an acidic feeling in his belly. Mac’s realization was not going to be a pleasant one. Danny finally prodded him and he continued.

‘No, they wouldn’t do it. They don’t have any reason to do so. Unless…’

‘Unless what?’ Danny interjected, getting impatient.

‘There have been rumours going around. Rumours saying that the war between the Irons and Crystals is more than over territory, and that the Boss of the Irons has accused the Crystals of breaking gang honour.’

Danny snorted. ‘Gang honour?’

‘Yes, surprisingly it exists. This particular accusation is that the Crystals were bought out by Zerian.’

‘But what would Zerian have to gain through obliterating Nev?’

‘Zerian does a lot of weird things. They are somewhat the eccentrics of the Board. But don’t underestimate them. Mark Dresner would rip your spine out and force feed it to a puppy just as much as he would shake your hand.’

‘So there must be some motive; just not so obvious to us.’

‘Exactly. I would tread lightly, but if you or Boris are still looking for vengeance, visit this address in Crystal territory.’

Mac then proceeded to scribble down the address and some basic directions. He then handed it to Danny and nodded a farewell. Danny stood and donned his hat once again. Before reaching the door, Mac stopped him and handed some gerron ingots.

Danny raised his eyebrow and asked, ‘I was the one asking the questions. I should be paying you.’

‘If you want to make it out of Iron turf, you going to have to have a blade to show that you’re ‘following’ them. See it as a late tribute to the Marzios. I might not have been the most loyal Capo, but I never forgot what you did for me.’

Danny thanked him and then exited the concrete building. Walking down the street he took Mac’s advice and went to a nearby swordsmith. He knew little of blades and had always preferred his pistol.

Well, it would make a good souvenir. So he picked a small, slightly curved blade that the smith called a ‘tanto’. It was a nice looking weapon and came in a black lacquered wooden sheathe. Wearing it by his side he walked towards the exit of Iron territory, enjoying not being examined by every single bystander.



Danny had gone back to Fist territory for lunch at the motel. They were serving more fish; which Danny had grown a taste for even if it had been served a little bit too much. Boris wanted an update on what Danny’s informants had reported.

After exiting Iron territory, he made his way through the neutral frontier area which separated each gang’s main territory. There, he was caught up in a shootout as Brexus were trying to make a push over the bridge to the East Side, but were held back as the Fist’s position was too strong. Only a few shots from a rifle convinced the Brexus of that already obvious fact. The firefight had lasted ten minutes without any casualties. Not worthy of a fight in Danny’s books.

Once the way had been cleared, he was recognized by Yurg, who allowed him across the bridge. The motel was on the other side the district, so he hailed a taxi which stopped abruptly and took him to his destination.

The motel was just as he had left it, and Boris was just as he had left him – gorging down assorted foodstuffs. Danny suspected that Boris had stopped for a break, but as he had not seen said work before the break, it made his cousin look like a glutton. Boris was gulping down his meal but politely allowed Danny to eat his in a more civilized manner, once he had been served.

The salmon was delicious, grilled this time instead of fried and served with rice. Danny savoured the taste and hardly touched the mead which was being served from a jug in the centre of the table. After settling back after eating, he told Boris about his informant’s reports.

‘Out of the six informants I went to, only three were alive and two of them pretended they didn’t know me. The one who did allow me entry and a conversation was Mac ‘Machinegun’. He told me that he was on Zerian’s hit list. He suspects that the most likely gang behind the attacks on Nev are the Crystal Legion, whose leaders have apparently been bought out by the Zerian Corporation, Council knows why. He gave me this address to try gain more info.’

‘Good work, cousin. Take Viper, will you? He seems bored,’ Boris replied lazily before going back for seconds, or was it thirds?

Danny did as Boris asked, and allowed Viper to accompany him. There was always a chance that things might turn sour and an extra gun would always be good.

It took them about an hour to get to Crystal Legion territory by taxi. They had to swap vehicles every district, as most feared to travel past their jurisdiction. By the entrance of Legion territory, they were met by some blaster armed guards wearing red jackets and the emblem of a crystal shard.

At first glance, they looked just like the punks who attacked Nev but the difference was that these guys had the cold stare of veterans. The punks had not known the barrel from the stock.

After being allowed in after confirmation that they were not Children of Iron, they continued down the streets of the Crystal District. As the Children of Iron territory had contained blacksmiths and religious buildings, the Crystal turf contained mainly brothels and narcotic stores.

This was the typical vice gang. They ruled through pleasure but their thirst for power and wealth was the same as all gangs. At the end of the day, no matter if smuggling, protection, drugs, gambling or any sort of racket, it all came down to money and power.

It took them fifteen minutes to find the proper building. A large tenement built around a thick metal column. The builder had probably illegally drilled right through to make living space for the people who now called it home. The column was dotted with hundreds of windows and verandas, but something seemed wrong. All the other streets had been bustling with people going off to their jobs, brothels or the market, but this street was empty of life. Not for lack of venues, it seemed as it had the same lewd signs as the other areas.

Red cars were lined out in front of the tenement, bearing the Crystal shard emblem; about four cars in total. Something was about to happen, something which Danny would rather have avoided. He drew his pistol, signalling Viper to do the same. They advanced, taking position by the sides of the door.

As they were preparing to enter, they heard a loud crash, a scream and a squash as shards of glass fell and a man donning red descended from the sky to the concrete, hitting the hard surface with a loud thump and crunch.

Viper and Danny stared at the body with surprise as blood started to accumulate from under it. They ceased their staring as they heard gun shots and shouting from inside the building. Delaying no further, they entered the building. The gunshots continued and as they ascended the stairwell, growing in volume. Mixed with the sound of gun fire was the sound of laser carbines. The electric zipping sound was quieter and sounded like that of a suppressed pistol.

So the Crystal Legion had business here. No problem, their lasers will be no match for Viper’s Snake Bite.

So without hesitation, Danny and Viper opened fire on the first Crystal Legionnaire that they saw. The Legionnaire’s surprise at seeing them was quickly erased as he fell, a bullet in his chest.

These were just like the punks that had attacked Nev. They wore red jackets similar to the punks but these proudly exhibited the gang emblem of the Crystal Legion. The man fell to the floor, his head hitting the ground and his neck snapping on the steps. His comrades glanced at Viper and Danny, but another shot from their main target forced them to split their group of eight between both enemies.

They were under pressure, and flagging. Some make-shift cover in the hallway was all that was keeping them alive. Unluckily for the Legionnaires, Viper and Danny also had secure cover.

Danny had not managed to glimpse who the gunner on the opposite side of the Legionnaires was, but knew that he was wielding a machinegun of some design.

The Crystals continued firing upon the mystery gunner and Danny and Viper. Their shots were to no avail as the machinegun kept firing and no bullet passed the couch that had been conveniently placed in the hallway.

Eventually, one by one their carbines let out a wheezing sound as the energy crystals depleted. Now Danny and Viper could do as they wished with no danger of being burnt. Just as they were going to press the attack, they heard a haughty laugh echoing from the end of the hallway. As the Crystal Legionnaires turned to face the figure, it revealed itself to be a tall, dark skinned lady wielding a heavy Aegis machinegun.

‘So, you think you can mess with Big Momma, hey?’ she said, loading another chain of carbon rounds into the large firearm.

The Legionnaires tried to run, but Viper and Danny blocked the way, guns levelled. They instinctively aimed their carbines at the culprits blocking their path but then recalled that the guns were now useless. Big Momma continued.

‘I would ask who sent you, but that’s asking the obvious. I doubt you know anything besides that, so you are of no use to me.’

She opened fire and killed all but two of the legionnaires. Danny almost jumped from the sudden killing. One of the legionnaires looked around and lunged for a broken pipe; the lady allowed him to and waited till he came within range before kicking him to the ground, yanking the pipe out of his hand and using it to hit him in the head.

The limp body fell to the ground. She glared at the remaining legionnaire.

‘So, what are you going to tell your boss?’

He didn’t answer. His paper pale body was just shivering under the glare. Danny couldn’t blame him.

‘That…’ Big Momma offered.

‘That…Big Momma...’

‘Doesn’t like nosey confrontational visitors. Now, piss off!’

She indicated for Danny and Viper to make way, allowing the terrified legionnaire to bolt down the stairs, tripping a few times in the process. She then turned to them and smiled.

‘Fancy some tea?’

Danny raised his eye brow but politely answered, ‘Very much, thank you.’

She indicated for them to follow. Danny wasn’t surprised for some reason and neither was Viper. Was a machinegun wielding lady at all that strange when you compared it to some of the galaxy’s more bizarre anomalies?

So they entered her apartment to be met by the pleasant aroma of leru, a flower grown primarily in the alpine areas of the Southern Tundra. The scent was pleasant and created the crisp atmosphere which could be experienced in the wild tundra.

This was when Danny noticed that ‘Big Momma’ was wearing a cooking apron, with imprints of flowers and grazing cartoon mozar. This raised his eyebrow even higher. This woman had single handedly taken down a gang hit squad and she was currently cooking tea and serving it on sewn doilies. Danny noted that he really needed to re-write his generalization policies. All strange indeed, but stranger still was that Viper showed no sign of even slight curiosity.

She led them to the centre of a cosy sitting room equipped with a sofa and two arm chairs, both decorated with violet coverlets. She asked them to sit before disappearing into another room, which Danny assumed was the kitchen. Normally, he would not allow anyone with this much authority over his current situation out of his sight but if she was really going to kill them, she would have done so already.

There had to be another motive. There always was on this planet. Altruism didn’t exist on Zona Nox. Eventually, the large lady re-entered the lounge carrying a tray laden with a fine tea set. To the side of the pot and currently empty cups were some biscuits, ginger by the look of it. After placing the tray on the coffee table and taking a seat on one of the armchairs, she looked at Viper and asked in a casual tone, ‘So Vip, when are you going to introduce us?’

Danny spun his head and snapped, ‘You know her?’

Viper halted his pouring of the tea and answered. ‘Somewhat, no one really ‘knows’ Big Momma.’

Big Momma sniggered. ‘That’s Viper for you, knows his stuff. So…’

‘Danny,’ Viper offered, ‘Marzio.’

‘Ah, yes. Danny Marzio, first and last Don of the Marzio organized-crime family, chairperson of the Galis Racketeering Commission, shareholder in Grag-Tec and Aegis, dubious sexual orientation. Yes, yes, I know of a Danny Marzio.’

Danny was stunned but managed to maintain his composure.

‘Don’t worry, dear, Big Momma knows a lot about all people who should be known about. Besides, you have quite a reputation down here already.’

‘Hmm…as you know so much about me. Wouldn’t it be a little politer if we were on mutual grounds of understanding?’

Big Momma looked dully at him and Danny started to develop a lump in his throat, but then she laughed jollily and said, ‘Of course, a little word smith ain’t ya? So what do you want to know?’

‘First, how do you know Viper, and then maybe what the Legion have against you?’

Viper then interjected. ‘She helped me off a slave ship which was leaving Grengen. I owe her my freedom.’

‘And I owe you my life, Vip. You jumped in the way of a bullet for me. If that doesn’t repay a debt, I don’t know what does.’

‘I was doing what anyone in my position would have done;’ he answered blankly, ‘a Velar always repays their debts.’

‘Still calling yourself that?’ she said, her expression hardening.

‘I still bear the mark of the Velar. It is in my blood and cannot be removed by distance.’

Danny was genuinely interested, but he had more present concerns. As much as he was intrigued by the quiet sniper’s past, he had to finish this up and report to his cousin.

‘Sorry to interrupt, but I am in a bit of a rush.’

‘Oh, sorry. So as I was about to say about the Legion,’ she turned to Danny. ‘They started trailing me about a month ago. First just some stalkers and innocent observers; they thought that I hadn’t a clue what was going on, but Big Momma knows all. So I allowed them to trail me until I eventually caught a newbie and got the information I needed.’

‘And that was?’

‘It seemed that the Zerian Corporation had finally decided to clamp down on Aegis agents. They’re pushing for a Board takeover and I’m afraid that they may be the first to succeed.’

‘And they have bought out the Crystal Legion to aid them?’

‘Not just them, they have also taken control of Brexus and half the minor arms manufacturers. But I suspect that this is way darker than it seems. Much more than corporate politics are at stake and my superiors want to find out the truth and put a stop to any threats to itself and Humanity as a whole.’

‘Any suspicions?’ Danny asked, hoping she would get to the point.

‘Yes, I did some snooping and from what I have found…’

She stopped and took a sip of tea, ‘The Zerian Corporation has also been bought out by someone or something.’

‘Zerian! Bought out?!’

‘Yes, but that’s not the most shocking part. They were bought out by the Imperial Council.’

“Vacaraptors are one of the many sentient races discovered in the last Frontier Push. Grengen, their homeworld, is hotly contested by Xank, corporations and the locals, who still fight on.” – Extract from the Galactic Race Database

Chapter 16. Escape

James was blind. His vision was white. Ringing dominated his hearing. Someone had propped him up against a wall.

Maybe Marshal, James thought, he was wearing a pair of those goggles.

He was ashamed of himself. One mistake was bad, enough, but two! He should have confirmed those kills, that was one of the most basic rules of engagement after all. He also should have been more careful. They could have made provision before opening the trap door. It was obviously a trap.

How did that saying go again? Curiosity killed the Mozar? No, that didn’t sound right; Mozar were too stupid to be curious. Damn, I’m babbling. I have to get it together!

Hopefully his companions were fending off whatever set the trap. He wouldn’t know. His head was killing him, his heart was beating like a drum and his hearing matched his sight. He wished he could help; it was not like a leader to sit back and allow his followers to be killed.

But as the scenario dictated, he had no choice. His and everyone else’s lives were in the hands of whoever had survived the flash un-blinded.

As his hearing began to restore, he heard the familiar sound of an LMG firing. It wasn’t halting; what a waste of good ammo. They better have had no other choice. He heard the screeching of Zangorians and the electrical sparking sound of blasters. They were echoing from every direction from outside the hall. Everything else was indistinct.

Things seemed to drag on when blinded. James didn’t know how long he had had been sitting up against that wall, but it seemed like an age. It couldn’t have been, of course, as the LMG was still firing.

James was wondering how long this flash induced stupor lasted and if it would actually ever end. The white was tedious even, without the nausea, and James merely wished for a slight colour change to provide some variety. Kind of ironic actually. He was probably about to die, and all he cared about was a little change of scenery. Well, that was one of the great traits of humanity: Being able to complain about the small things when faced with colossal obstacles.

The LMG finally started clicking between firing, a sign of the large magazine finally emptying. It was almost over then; almost time for James to die. He just wished he could have been able to see it happen so he could stare death in the face. He’d always wanted to do that.

As he sat, paralyzed, on the wall, he felt a tight grip close around his arm, and then another on the opposite. The hands were both large and somewhat leathery, callused from pulling a trigger too many times or loading cartridges. Maybe he would be able to have that chance to taunt death, but not today, if these hands were indeed human. The hands re-adjusted their grip and James found himself being able to relax in a much more comfortable position as they carried him to some unseen location.

The clicking was becoming more frequent. It would probably be only a minute before the gunner was out ammunition. He didn’t know why he thought he was going to live now; they had no place to escape to as the settlement was obviously flanked.

He had been wrong overall, everything had been set so he would fail, and even then it was still his fault. The Xank were capable of the subtler methods of warfare. That raid was merely to gauge their strength. He shouldn’t have underestimated them. He couldn’t have known with the information given to him that the Xank were capable of trickery so why was he blaming himself? Maybe that was his way of improving; punishing himself so he would not make the same mistake again.

He felt a little strength return to his legs and found himself aiding his carriers by walking along with them. Before he knew it, he was lowered down and received by another pair of hands which lowered him further.

The area was chilly and damp, with moisture from some unseen source. He heard the breathing of men around him and the faint sound of the LMG’s firing coming to a halt as he heard a click from above which signalled the closing of a hatch. All went quiet as the LMG stopped. The faint breathing came to a halt as everyone waited. The only sounds were the hisses and sounds of blasters from above. Then a scream, a human scream signalling that one of their travel companions was no longer with them. James winced and felt others to do the same. The screaming hadn’t stopped; it was a muffled scream now. As if the person’s lungs had been crushed and were slowly collapsing.

After what seemed like an hour but had been merely a minute, the screaming stopped and the sound of footsteps echoed from above; Zangorian feet. They were speaking hastily in their guttural, screechy language. One sounded apologetic while the other sounded furious.

As the incomprehensible dialogue continued, James found his energy drop. He succumbed to exhaustion.



‘Pull the trigger, James,’ the Made-man hissed while tapping impatiently on the door frame with his index finger. The Made- Man was large and looked much older than his age. His name was Zito Gorlea. A general slob and slime ball, the only reason the Don kept him was for hits. He never hesitated, as he enjoyed the job. That was what made him disgusting, but also made him useful. Killers were needed in a gang. Not the crazy kinds, but those who didn’t feel any remorse for undertaking their gruesome work.

‘But he never did anything,’ the small figure of James, merely a boy of nine squeaked in a shocked tone while clutching his pistol.

His hands were shaking and sweat ran down his face, sticking his hair down to his forehead, ‘He ne’er hurt you or the Don.’

Zito slapped him, a backhanded blow, without hesitating.

‘That ain’t how thing work in the gangs; you want to eat or not?’

James looked up tearfully and nodded.

‘Then kill him, and you and you’re coloured dad and his runt’ll eat till ya as stuffed as a Mozar.’

It was against all he held dear in his heart, all his morals and his conscience. But none of those functioned when dead.

So he lifted his Aegis 9mm and aimed at the sobbing figure of the shop keeper who had been too deaf to hear the call for protection money. He pulled the trigger.



James woke up in a sweat akin to that in his dream. That was one memory he hadn’t wanted to recollect. He peered around his surroundings to realise that it wasn’t painted with the white of the stun trap anymore.

He was underground, a cave of sorts. The walls were of some smooth dark rock unfamiliar to James. He wouldn’t usually be able to identify rock. Geology wasn’t popular in Galis. Bullets tended to kill better than rocks. The source of the moisture he had felt earlier was due to the cascading streams, which reached down from cracks in the roof, trickling down the walls and disappearing into the floor.

Some of his retinue were either lying down nearby or standing. Marshal was smoking a cigar, much to the dismay of James, who was already feeling stuffy. Putting the cigar out using one of the rivulets, he noticed James and smiled.

‘You and the others have been out for a few hours. That flash trap sapped the strength from you.’

James rubbed his eyes and then asked, ‘Mind to update me on the events, I was a little bit blind to the situation.’

‘Of course, strike leader. After we fell for the ruse…’

‘I fell for the ruse. It was my choice, my responsibility.’

Marshal looked concerned. ‘This happens to all men, James. Nothing is certain in war.’

‘I had a gut feeling. I should have listened to it. I should have confirmed those kills.’

‘The gut is sometimes wrong. We wouldn’t have known what it was unless we opened it. We take responsibility as a group. They have chosen to follow you; they have chosen to fall with you.’

‘But they haven’t chosen me. I was picked by lottery. Well, pretty much. They picked me as I was the only local Trooper. These people were chosen, not me.’

‘They still follow you, however. Every one of them could have gone their own way, but they haven’t. Doesn’t that tell you something?’

It did tell James something. He hadn’t thought about it before, but his group was actually made up of people who back in Galis would have been at each other’s throats. By some freak of nature, he had managed to prevent that, and not by fear, but by a common goal; he had managed to make sure that they recognized that goal. He would have to remember this: the greatest power was a united goal. People could not or would not function without reason and justification.

‘You have a point,’ James said, ‘so what happened whilst I was incapacitated?’

‘After the trap sprung a second after we were warned by Briar, Xank started pouring into the settlement. They killed quite a few of our group, but we managed to hold off the front. Grugo and Jherad manned the LMG – they didn’t make it.’

Marshal’s face seemed to sadden at this. A genuine sense of loss or sadness; he wasn’t close to either Grugo or Jherad but had still fought alongside them, even if only for a short while.

‘They held the Xank off till us with goggles could get ourselves and everyone else into this shelter. I remembered it from when I lived in the town for a bit.’

‘How many of us left?’

‘Besides you and myself: Ryan, Quok, Molok, Leroy, Vick and Sgt. Yobu.’

James felt weak. ‘So few? How?’

‘Everyone else was outside at the time or blinded. Tim might still be alive back at the tank but the Xank probably got him too.’

James looked up from where he realised that he was clasping his face. Tim had been young, younger than even James. He didn’t deserve to go out this way. But as he always did, James steeled himself.

‘No use lying here - any ideas on our next move?’

‘I would suggest waiting for the others to wake up. They’re still out. Your goggles minimized the intensity but you were hit point blank, so the goggles only lessened the impact. It will take longer for the others to recuperate. They should be fine afterwards.’

Marshal looked grim. ‘This was no execution. This was an attempt at capturing us.’

‘How come the Xank are investing so much time into just our squad? Shouldn’t they be trying to push harder into the Trooper bunker lines?’

‘Wish I knew; this is not like the Xank. They have never shown any adeptness at subterfuge and barely enough skill in advanced warfare. I did notice one thing though…’

Before Marshal could continue, they were startled by the sound of a thunderous yawn as Ryan stretched and awoke. He looked a little worse for wear as his eyes were rimmed with red circles and his beard filled with dark soil from the cave floor.

‘Rise and shine,’ James greeted half-heartedly.

‘Ai, cap’n, what happened? I was just waiting for you to open that hatch then Briar ran in, then all I saw was white for hours.’

‘Xank flash trap. Most of us were knocked out or killed by the Zangorians who poured in afterwards,’ Marshal answered.

‘Eish, how many down?’

‘Everyone that you don’t see here,’ Marshal replied flatly.

Ryan looked around, mouth agape. He had grown attached to this band as much as James. It would be a big loss for him. Ryan stayed silent for about two minutes after that, staring around the room in hope he would see another face, being disappointed when he found that his first look was correct.

Eventually, he sighed and asked, ‘So what’s the next move?’

‘That’s what we were discussing. Marshal was say something,’ James answered.

‘Yes, I noticed that these Zangorians seemed different from the others. They were more organized than the average raider team, but most importantly, they donned different colours than the usual orange of the Xank Empire.’

James was surprised at that. The Xank had always been known to wear their orange with pride - orange armour, orange capes, orange clothing. It was one of the reasons they were so easy to spot and kill.

Marshal continued. ‘These Zangorians were wearing black hoods, concealing their features. But what I also noticed was that their banner was different from the usual assault forces. The assault usually uses the Zangorian symbol for ‘strength’ but if I am not mistaken. This banner carried the Krugar symbol for ‘word’.’

‘Word?’ James repeated, eyebrow raised.

‘Well, it seems the Xank are much more complex than we had last thought, and that they may actually have factions like we do.’

‘Hopefully they’ll start fighting each other. That’ll make it easier to pick up the pieces at the end,’ Ryan added.

‘Yes, quite.’

‘So, back to the main topic at hand,’ James said, ‘what do we do after everyone is awake?’

‘The Xank are probably still above us, or at least watching from a vantage point - so no going up the top.’

‘Wait, wait! Why are we talking if they might be right above us?’

‘Don’t worry, this stone keeps the sound in. They were constructed as keeps for women and children in the event of a siege.’

‘Ok, so how are we going to get out?’

‘Well, these caverns run all over bandit country, right under the Dead Stone ruins in fact. Each cave is connected to another. We just find the false rock and we move off towards the Dead Stone ruins and on towards Fort Nox.’

James realised something then. ‘Why are you sticking around with us? Pebble Rock is empty, our side of the deal is complete and you had completed yours.’

‘Well, say I’m attached,’ he said with a slight grin.

‘Huh, well what about Mag and Ralph?’

‘I sent them off south to the tundra. She has relatives in a ranch that’ll hold them up till this all blows over.’

‘So it seems you’ll be helping us all the way to the Fort then. Well, the help is always welcome.’

That concluded the conversation and then began the waking of the others who had survived, including Vick who had been the other person wearing goggles and had collapsed from exhaustion after aiding Marshal in hiding the unconscious retinue members. After allowing the recently awoken to come to grips with the deaths of their associates, they began searching for the ‘false’ stone that Marshal had suggested existed.

Apparently they would know it when they found it. James doubted that. Their light was limited to the cracks on the roof, where the natural lighting of the hall above gained them enough vision to not bump into each other. It did not help in searching for a seemingly non-existent rock, however. All they could do was crawl around, banging the ground, hoping that they would hit something that moved with the blow.

After what seemed like hours, Leroy, found the opening after hammering at the corners of the small rock lined room. The entrance was barely large enough to allow a child and James hoped it opened up somewhere along the line. Crawling all the way to Dead Stone wasn’t going to be pleasant.

So he asked for a volunteer to scout it, Leroy accepted and disappeared through the crack, dragging himself across the ground.

They waited in the meanwhile. The room had become less stuffy with the addition of an extra vent, so James accepted Marshal’s offer of a cigarette. It seemed different from the cigarettes he had smoked in Galis. Upon enquiry, he found out that the cigarettes were from the Grengen plantations.

‘Nothing like the sweat of slaves and oppressed natives to make your tobacco taste better,’ Marshal cackled, ‘But seriously. This stuff was grown by free Vacaraptor tribes. The leaves are an art form there.’

‘Ah yes, what’s going to happen to Urg’a? Will he be accompanying Mag and Ralph?’ James asked.

‘Didn’t you notice? He was patrolling our flanks the entire time; wouldn’t surprise me if he took down a few Zangos last night without once giving off his position. Real skilful, that dino.’

‘Hopefully he didn’t have to give up his position. Will he know that we’re headed for Dead Stone?’

‘Of course, he’ll probably meet us at the emergence hole, a clan of Xank heads to add to his tribe’s honour.’

‘On a different topic, what is the Dead Stone ruins like? Do they have a government? Any residents at all?’

Marshal frowned. ‘Dead Stone used to be a Trooper stronghold, so it was bound to have a lot of valuable military apparatus. The ruins became a popular destination for scavengers and prospectors, raiders and bandits accompanying them. A whole society of scavengers and the services they need has sprung up around it. Supply and demand is one of the strongest factors in society after all. Scavengers were making loot from selling scrap; they need to eat and cooks need money.’

‘Local politics?’

‘Ugh, don’t get me started! The area used to generally just be a free for all with little problem. The scavengers stuck to themselves and only the occasional dispute over a claim led to tears. Then raiders poked their noses into it and started attacking scavengers. Soon, other raiders offered their services to the scavengers as protectors; so started the rivalry between the ‘Scav Settlements’ who fight over everything from streets to dustbins.’

‘So the term ‘Scav Settlement’ is referring to the different factions who sprung up due to scavengers banding together with the support of raiders?’

‘Yes, but don’t forget the others who come with it. Merchants, cooks, crafters, whores, etc...’

‘So it really is a settlement. Have you dealt with any of them face to face?’

‘There are a few hundreds of them, as Dead Stone is quite large but I’ve traded and shot at a few before. We’ll probably end up at East Deader End or maybe Carbine territory. They’re a jittery lot but well meaning. Carbine on the other hand, I would rather avoid if possible.’

‘Let us hope that we can declare our peace before the jitters get the better of them then, eh,’ James concluded. After that it was just a matter of waiting and flicking around pebbles until Leroy came back.

Marshal had a luminescent watch, so they managed to keep their wits when it came to the time of day. The lights from above could not be trusted, as it could be another ruse from Xank watching the area.

It was about 1pm, they had been waiting for merely an hour, but it seemed like at least five. James had engaged Marshal and the others in conversation from time to time, but there wasn’t much to talk about when stuck in a hole.

When James thought he was going to have to take his own life from sheer boredom, he heard exerted breathing and the sound of scuffling from the hole. A minute later, Leroy popped his head out and Ryan helped him out. After taking a drink of water and being allowed an appropriate breather, Leroy gave his report.

‘The tunnel widens after about ten minutes, thankfully, and allows you to walk while ducking for about thirty more. After that, I arrived in a wide cavern area with little light, besides that of my flashlight. I tried shining the light at the roof but with no result. It was a high roof. There was something strange though. Large wires, those used to charge electric gunships and artillery, were trailed along the ground.’

‘I understand that, the caverns are used by smugglers, bandits and shady corporations for hiding fleets. That must have been an abandoned air shaft,’ Marshal interjected.

‘That explains it, but does it explain what a hive of Sylith is doing there?’ Leroy replied snidely.

‘Oh…’ Marshal trailed off.

“In my travels, I have noticed a brutal racism arising from a feeling of difference. But this fear from difference is a similarity in itself. We all have something in common. We all want love, power, wealth. We all fear the unknown. With that, why do we still hate?” – Grenro of Daffodils

Chapter 17. Failed

No matter how much blood was spilt, how many screams stopped after the cracking of bone, the Immortal didn’t stop the beating.

Meran, the battle priest and warrior who led Leri’s squad, took his beating like any true warrior. Well, at least for the first few seconds. He had gone down like the rest, bleeding and whimpering. Zerichi had been the only one to take the beating without serious injury. The rest of the officers weren’t so lucky and were diminished to whimpering piles of bloody flesh. Three warriors had lost their lives.

This was their punishment for failing something which was out of their control. The Word Immortal had been sent the following morning in reply to the report of failure. It didn’t take defeat lightly and had proceeded to beat the officers of each squad in turn. It didn’t beat the raiders, but Leri didn’t feel relieved at that, as the frustration of the warriors were bound to filter down to the lower of the hierarchy. That was the raider lifestyle after all: Fight, fail, hope not to die in the beating. Leri and his companions had to live with it, there was no other choice. You joined the legion, or you joined the labour corp. Zangorians were seen as the body of the Xank but were by far the most abused. With practically no rights, they were the peons and slaves of the Xank higher races.

Leri wished to change that. He could no longer abide his races mindless servitude to the Xank Lector’s and Avenger. His kinsmen might have been won over by empty titles and positions, but he was not so easily tricked. His family and friends had died for a cause that his people no longer remembered. For centuries, the Zangorian race had been serving under the Xank, but no longer.

Leri would rise to the rank of Kurag, and with the prestige from such a worthy position, would rekindle the flame of his clan and the Zangorians of his home world to rebel against the Xank and return to their abandoned home.

Oh, Zeruit, home of my heart and the soul of my people. Before the Xank occupation and assimilation, his clan had owned half the world; ruling it with a fair but sturdy talon.

And then the Immortals appeared. Their numbers were few, numbering only in the hundreds, but their abilities were near to godlike. They wielded weapons which could destroy continents and flatten mountains. Entire populations fell to their beams in a matter of minutes. The war had lasted but a week, forcing Leri’s clan to surrender the planet.

But it was different now. Back then, the Zangorian were wielding weapons of crude metal and club, but now they had more; training, energy weapons and numbers. If the Xank had done anything good for them, it would be arming them. If there was a time to rise up, it would be now. The Xank were pressed on all sides by the humans and the Imperial Council. The Zangorians were used as the bulk attackers and were slaughtered everywhere. The Xank had gained them many resources while oppressing them. Ten planets were now solely Zangorian, they now had access to the weapons which were originally used against them. If there was ever any time to seek freedom, it was now.

The beating finally halted and the Immortal didn’t delay in vacating the settlement and leaving the wounded officers to their keening. Leri winced. Meran wasn’t one to allow his frustration to wane without taking it out on others first. His squad would bleed for the night.

It seemed that the gods had other plans, however, as Zerichi walked up to Leri in the early afternoon. The large Kurag had stitched up his own wounds and was one of the few officers still able to stand. His right eye was still red and the lid was swollen. Leri didn’t notice him at first, but almost jumped when he felt the heavy talon on his shoulder. Turning around he did jump and saluted the Kurag.

‘Raider Leri, I presume?’ the Kurag asked lazily, most probably resisting the urge to collapse from his wounds.

‘Yes, Kurag, how may I serve the Word?’

‘Your squad leader, Battle Priest Meran has passed away from the beating. His lungs caved in from shock.’

Leri tried to recall if he should feel sad or not; he felt the latter.

‘This means your squad will have to be reorganized along with third. Their warrior beat them so hard that it killed all but three. He then collapsed and expired.’

Zerichi stopped to rub his swollen eye and then continued, ‘So to cut it short, Raider Leri. You’re now a Warrior and leader of this squad. You have served the Word diligently for the last few years and as the senior of your squad, you deserve the position.’

Leri thanked him in disbelief. He had done it. The first major step in freeing his race; first he would gain the power needed to control, and then he would utilize that control to release the Xank’s control over his people.

‘Third will be merged into fourth under your command, they’re shaken up but I trust they will be mended under your leadership. I’m trusting in you.’

And with that, Kurag Zerichi limped off to inform another squad of management changes.

‘So, a Warrior now, eh?’ Zugho said with a hard pat to Leri’s back. ‘Going places like you always dreamed.’

‘Yeah, can barely believe it myself.’

‘You’ll be a Lector in no time,’ Zugho winked.

‘Hmm, that would definitely speed up my plans for galactic domination.’

Zugho’s expression hardened. ‘Meran might be dead but there are still zealots around. An officer’s rank won’t save you from a heathen’s death. Better watch your tongue.’

‘Yeah, yeah, just basking in my own splendour for a few minutes, just before I’m forced to rip your throat out for insubordination.’

Leri chuckled.

Zugho grunted with slight amusement and then spoke in a more official tone. ‘So, Warrior, what are your orders for the Fourth?’

Leri also took a more serious tone and adjusted his stance accordingly. ‘I will need to greet the new squad members from the third. Lead the squad into one of these buildings to establish a temporary barracks, other squads are doing the same. I will be there soon to introduce my new policies.’

Zugho saluted, a swift bow accompanied by crossing his arms at the front, and proceeded to undertake the orders.

Leri would need to start looking his part if he was to gain the respect of the new recruits. It was customary to take the icons of rank from the fallen officer who preceded you, so Leri jogged to the courtyard where he would find the corpse of Battle Priest and Warrior Meran.

Due to the heat, the courtyard was already smelling like a sewage pit. To a raider, a sewage pit smelled like a beating area. Blood and faeces scattered the sand, spreading out into wider puddles.

Leri could still recall the owners of each stain and puddle from the beating earlier that day.

As he had predicted, Meran lay in a pool of his own blood on the parameter of the courtyard. The once shining breastplate of the Battle Priest was marred with the mix of muddy blood which flooded the field. The device of the Xank faith was barely recognizable. Leri gently pushed the large battle priest onto his back so he could get a good look at the front. To his disgust, the old Zangorians beak was cracked and a piece was hanging loose at the tip. His front was bruised and his one arm was lying at an uncomfortable angle, a fragment of bone sticking out at the elbow.

The Immortal had savaged him. Well, his loss, Leri’s gain. He started by un-strapping the helmet. The helm was a simple rounded head piece, crafted of bronze and painted with orange stripes, it led up to a turquoise feather in the centre of the helm.

Next he worked on the breast plate. He would have to wipe it down thoroughly before wearing it. First he removed the device, as he did not wield the right to carry the Xank emblem of Faith. The breastplate was fashioned of leather folded into layers. It could stop a small round or knife, but was typically just decoration.

Lastly, he took the banner of fourth raider squadron and the battle priest’s ceremonial blade. He donned the helm and, after wiping down the breastplate, put it on as well. After making sure all the straps were secured, he placed the banner within the appropriate sheath on his back, placing the blade next to it.

Looking at his reflection in a nearby window, he could see that he looked quite respectable. The helm contrasted well with the scar which graced his forehead, running down from his fringe to the summit of his beak. Scars were a sign of great honour in Zangorian culture, and he bore them proudly. Raiders and warriors didn’t receive medical attention and most died from their wounds, so wearing a scar meant that you had survived where others had died. He had won that scar in a duel back on Zeruit. His father’s lands had been attacked by a rival clan, the raid had been stopped but only by the call for a blood duel; a duel to the death over the well-being of a clan. His father had originally wanted to come to blows with the champion of the rival clan, but his ailing health forced Leri to take his place. The memories were distant, but in a way, clear. The duel had been fought with dual sharp shards. Metal rods sharpened at the end and strapped on top of a Zangorian’s wrist. The duel had been his first and he took many wounds, finally overcoming the enemy champion by stabbing him in the eye and piercing the brain.

The rival clan was then forced to retreat and he gained the right to claim the position of patriarch within the clan. That was all before the Xank had taken his planet and home; forcing his family into submission and slavery, killing his parents and kin as they stood against them. He would bide his time, but he knew that one day he would reclaim his birth right; the throne of Zeruit and the Zangorian race.

Fourth squad had done as he had ordered and secured a building to act as a barracks. Each squad in the Xank military functioned as an independent force which received orders from a Kurag, and were able to undertake those orders in a manner they deemed appropriate. Squads had to manage all the mundane elements of warfare themselves; food, lodging, protection…etc. This created a sense of squad pride in a way and Leri could see this manifested in the squad emblem which had been painted on the wall of the barracks.

It was no secret that his squad had hated Meran; they would be glad of his death, but not necessarily respectful of Leri. Only Zugho knew his heritage, as the rest were what they referred to as ‘Planet Whelps’. Meaning they were not from Zeruit. They had been spawned upon one of the many new planets that the Zangorians now populated throughout the Xank Empire.

He would have to secure his position in the usual Zangorian fashion, and at the first opportunity. A whelp was bound to challenge him if they felt he was not suited for the job and Zerichi expected Leri to be able to handle any agitators. He would have to make sure his entrance was met with the proper respect; a small infraction would have to be pointed out to not risk any in the future mistakes on the field. Discipline was important in any armed force; orders had to be obeyed in the camp so the soldier would know to obey on the field.

So he entered the barracks. Within resided about twenty Zangorians, most of whom stood at the foot of their sleeping pallet, saluting with their arms crossed; one did not stand and sat cross legged, a defiant glint in his eyes. This whelp was Harl, a young raider who was notorious for taking incessant beatings from Meran due to disrespect. Leri would need to do more than beat him; he would have to crush his rebellious spirit. He would need to be subtle but able to take the credit so to gain the honour. It was a risk, but he would ignore this infraction at this time, in order to wreak a better punishment later.

So he stood and saluted back. ‘Honour, Fourth, at ease.’

They relaxed but glanced curiously at Harl who continued to sit defiantly, practically begging to be beaten; a masochist? Leri would not give him his satisfaction. If Leri was to beat someone, it would be to the death, and he needed his raiders.

‘Fourth, as Raider Zugho has informed you, Battle Priest and Warrior Meran has fallen to the beating of the Immortal. Let the gods judge him fairly at the gates of the void.’

He was careful with his wording as he knew the squad did not have a profound like for their late officer, but tradition dictated that the words had to be spoken. So instead of stating that they should mourn the death, he merely implied that he be given an unbiased trial. That could be interpreted as the listener wished.

‘I see that the survivors of third have not arrived yet. That is good, as I first need to accustom you to the prospect. The third may have been a different squadron but they are still Zangorian and Word. Please accommodate them and try embrace them as brothers in arms.’

‘Humph, those primates are weak. They fall to the blows of their own kin and cannot hold honour. They shame the Lectorate and should never be allowed in the fourth. And to be blunt, Warrior, neither should you, who has the audacity to claim the holy rank of Warrior.’

He spat at the title, seemingly wanting to wash his mouth of the admission. So the ignorant whelp had spoken, and given a downright challenge at that.

‘Harl, it seems that even a leadership change couldn’t stop that tainted tongue of yours. And this must also be a new record, challenging a Warrior to a Blood Duel within minutes of their coronation.’

Harl jumped at the mention of a Blood Duel and many others became agitated. Zugho positively grimaced at him. A bead of sweat could be seen appearing upon his forehead as he looked nervous. It was subtle, but Leri also noted him swallowing as the pressure grew. His reaction may have very well been warranted. The Blood Duel was the height of conflict within the Xank faith. It was a duel to the death but within the belief, the loser did not only lose their life, but also their soul, therefore banishing them from the afterlife and into eternal void.

Leri smirked. ‘You mean you weren’t implying that I should rip your throat out for insubordination? Well, then please salute, as is your place. Oh and, please refrain from spitting at my justly earned honorific, whelp.’

Harl hesitated; Leri placed his talon over his other, indifferently stroking his wrist-mounted dagger. Harl looked close to insolence once again but finally bit it down and saluted. Leri had won this battle of wills, but a small punishment wouldn’t hurt.

‘Thank you, now I will only take half your rations.’

Harl looked dismayed but said nothing, Leri was sure he still had enough will in him to offend a mountain by calling it fat but his cockiness had been stemmed, for now.

‘Yes…warrior,’ Harl stammered and then went silent.

Leri nodded approvingly and then turned to the rest.

‘The survivors of third will be here any second, and I trust you will welcome them. They are still our battle brothers, regardless of previous squad arrangements.’

Leri concluded and allowed the squad to salute him again before allowing them back to their mundane personal tasks.

‘That was risky, challenging him to a Blood Duel,’ Zugho said after approaching Leri and giving him a personal salute. Talon banged against the chest.

‘Quite, but it got the job done. Hopefully he will behave long enough for third to assimilate to our ways.’

‘What would you have done if he had accepted the challenge?’

‘Harl is loud-mouthed but would never risk a Blood Duel, not even a regular duel. He values life too much and knows deep down that he is not unstoppable.’

‘Yes, but what if?’

‘Well, then I would have gone through with it and killed him,’ Leri said with a straight face.

‘Seriously? A Blood Duel over some insubordination?’

‘Blood Duels have been fought for much pettier reasons. I found an appropriate goad and utilized it to fulfil my purpose.’

‘Appropriate being a relative term. You’re invoking holy rites to use as ruses.’

‘Quiet, now fall back in line. I see your pallet is a centre metre off from the left.’

Zugho frowned, saluted and went to straighten the fictitious bedding error.

Leri knew the goad was risky. Zugho had scolded him many times on being too reckless. But in Leri’s opinion, without recklessness, nothing would be done. He would need that recklessness, mixed with ambition, to succeed in his goals. He watched as his subordinates hastily set up their personal areas. Each Zangorian raider maintained their area in any fashion which did not interfere with another’s area, and were authorized to keep as many personal belongings as they could carry without slowing down the squad. This was technically very little, but many appreciated the small gesture of freedom, as Zangorians loved keeping battle trophies. Leri still hauled along his clan blade, as Zugho carried his families signet claw. Most of the Zangorians in the Fourth carried around something of monetary or sentimental value. Even Harl was currently shining a clay plate and settling it lovingly on a stand next to his pallet.

Personal belongings ranged from family gifts or heirlooms, to trophies and weapons. Most people only had space for one item, so they tended to grow more attached to particular objects. Besides their personal belongings, each Zangorian carried a load out to cater to their role on the field. Assault teams carried blasters; Infiltrators carried assorted gadgets as well as being equipped with their fancy claws. Of course, Engineers and support carried different equipment according to the situation.

The most commonly used weapons (besides Zangorians own talons) were plasma blasters. The electric chemical made an excellent and cheap projectile for the massive hordes of the Zangorians and all Assault units, including many non-assaults, used them as primary or secondary arms. Through the idle monitoring of his squad, Leri almost missed the sound of a polite knock on the door of the make shift barracks. Ordering a whelp to open the door, he faced it and prepared to meet the survivors of the third.

The door opened to reveal three nervous looking Zangorians clutching piles of their equipment and personal belongings. They proceeded to salute to the best of their abilities, and then awaited permission to enter. Leri returned the salute and waved them in. They entered cautiously, returning the stares of the original members of the fourth. Leri allowed them to find an available sleeping area, lay down their belongings and then report back. Once all three had lined themselves up in front of Leri, hands behind their backs, he addressed them,

‘Survivors of third and newest raiders of the fourth, I welcome you to our squad with open arms. I trust you will fit in quickly as our battle brothers.’

Short and to the point, Leri dismissed them. The new members had claimed the far corner of the barracks. Leri frowned; a sign of weakness and isolation, they would be picked on if they could not assert respect.

Once everyone was settled and he no longer was required to oversee their actions, he retreated to an area which Zugho had kept for him and laid down his possessions.

The area was small, but larger than that of the whelps. It allowed enough room for his pallet, armour and some breathing room benefitting his station. He would not be able to arrange his armour yet, as a meeting of each squad leader was inevitable and he would need to be wearing his garments of office.

As he predicted, a messenger from the Kurag opened the door soon after to summon him to the meeting. He complied and followed, leaving Zugho in charge. As he trudged through the hard red sand after the messenger, he noticed other Warriors leaving the buildings that they had claimed. Only one other was a newbie officer. Leri would have to be careful, as the veteran warriors would no doubt oppose his promotion if he stepped out of line. Hell, they’d probably oppose the promotion regardless. Many would be against the promotion as it could warrant a threat, but many would just do so for the heck of it. Zangorian culture was a confrontational one. Everything had to be fought for, literally. Respect had to be earned on the spot, supporting the concept of good first impressions. If one did not assert their dominance on their first encounter with another, they would be trod on for life.

If any of the officers were to oppose him, he would have to face them head on. Hopefully a ruse would be effective, as Leri had no delusions that he could best the overly large beasts in combat.

Zerichi had claimed a large building, called a ‘saloon’ by humans, as his HQ. The building had two floors and was fashioned of wood and a thin metal. It had one front entrance, which was decorated by a pair of swinging doors. The position was indefensible and Leri wondered why Zerichi, a military genius, had chosen it. Once entering, he spotted many of the other squad’s leaders. A few had not arrived yet and Leri was glad not to be under scrutiny for tardiness.

While he waited, Leri did as he normally did when he had nothing to do. He mentally studied and revised the intricacies of the force. This section of the Word Lectorate, for instance, was named after its ruling Kurag, Zerichi. It currently contained fifteen squads made up of between fifteen to thirty troops. The section had contained double that amount of squads till the ill-fated orders of the Lector reached Zerichi and the whelp raiders were sacrificed to that hulking steel beast. The attack was a futile mistake, one which Leri felt the Lector had incompetently made. It wasn’t like him at all. In that attack, he had lost a quarter of his raiding force; too many for a Lectorate as small as his.

The more Leri thought about it, the more baffled he became. What incentive could the Lector have had in sending so many to a fruitless death? Politics? Leri couldn’t see any relation to that. The Lector had always tried to stay below the line of fire of the other Lectors, both his and the Shadow Lector’s business relied on secrecy and staying in the political limelight would act against that. Could it have been a ruse? If so, a ruse for what, exactly? Leri just didn’t know.

He was forced to leave his brooding behind as the remainder of the warriors had arrived and aligned themselves according to their squad number around a large round table centred within the large tin hall of the saloon.

Flanking Leri were the warriors who led fifth and second, as third had merged into the fourth. The Kurag would have to rebuild the squad next year after the unit rations were sent out by the Peace Lector. That was a strange concept: A Peace Lector. Xank society rested solely on war and they had a Lectorate purely devoted to peace. Despite its name, however, the Lectorate was anything but peaceful. The Peace Lectorate did seek non-violent pursuits, but all its actions could be related to warfare, either through providing troops, manufacturing weapons or providing supplies. It was one of the most valuable sectors, as all armies relied on their supply lines.

The warriors stood stone still, none spared a glance at any other of their rank. They must have been really shaken up after that beating, Leri thought; this was normally a rowdy bunch.

Eventually, the double doors of the building opened inward to reveal Zerichi. The old Kurag wore his armour of office, fashioned of orange and red blitz metal and donning the device of the Word Lector.

He waltzed over to the centre of the hall and leaped upon a table where he could utilize it as a stage. Once in the middle, he spoke.

‘Battle brothers! We meet in this captured human house of pleasure and consumption to mourn the loss of our fallen brethren and welcome the addition of those that will replace them.’

After indicating at Leri and the other, he continued.

‘Warrior Leri nuro Zeruit and Warrior Algu nuro La’rz, welcome to the office of the warrior. You have been chosen to replace the brave and tested and we hope that the gods will bless you with honour and wisdom to run in such an office.’

The scarred leader of second jumped up after the Kurag had concluded; only waiting for the conclusion to not risk an accusation of insubordination.

‘Kurag, I understand the need for a leader of these squads but why merge the third to fourth when fourth could be just as easily merged into another, same goes for sixth. These whelps are untested! They will act as a hindrance on the field!’

Before Leri could reply with a snide comment, Zerichi left his perch and hit the warrior across the face. The blow left blood, but that wasn’t the worst of it. He had flinched. No matter what happened now, Zerichi had won.

‘Do you wish for another beating, Erang? Or is the prospect of some new toys too coaxing? Stay your tongue as I would prefer to not have to rip it off!’

Erang nodded and sat down. The other warriors soon abandoned all hopes of opposing the office changes.

‘So, I presume there will not be any more opposition? Well, good, I need this section in working order so we can track down the humans. Some of you lost the little sense you had and have brought our numbers down dramatically. That is one of the reasons I will not put these squads under your control. Leri nuro Zeruit is not what you would call untested, no veteran of twenty incursions and winner of over five blood duels would be called untested! Algu nuro La’rz also carries the title of master of claw back on his home world. No, brothers, these warriors are far from untested.’

The assorted warriors looked closer to accepting Zerichi’s decision instead of merely tolerating it. Many, if not all, knew nothing of Leri’s achievements within the Word Lectorate. Leri was surprised to find out that Zerichi actually knew; Leri felt a little jab of respect for the old Kurag for actually taking the time to study his men. Normally that would work against an officer, as attachment to troops who could be shot down any second, tended to be bad for one’s mental health. The Word Lectorate wasn’t like the usual military section, however, in fact, most of the Lectorate spent its time researching and processing the information that the Shadow Lector gathered. It was quite a safe position for those that were not partial to a bloody and horrific death.

The slaughter had changed that. It would take months to receive reinforcements with the Lector’s current budget.

Zerichi cleared his throat and then spoke once again.

‘So now that admin business has been concluded, I will move onto our orders. The Immortal has informed us that the target group of humans was most probably much smaller than we first perceived and that the rest were left at the beast we had encountered two days ago. We are to track it to Dead Stone, which is apparently its destination, and capture the prisoners.’

With that, he concluded, saluted the group and dismissed them.

It was about 1pm, but Leri couldn’t be sure with the peculiar time zone of this planet and he was hungry. He would take his meal at the barracks, where he would allow the group to eat their rations.

He could have sworn that he had seen more than two humans, at least, last night. Well, no use worrying over it. Less contact his squad saw meant the less chance he would lose a future revolutionary.

“The last Board Takeover attempt of Titan City was declared over fifty years ago by the now defunct Cobra Industries. The attempt left the corporation bankrupt and eventually resulted in its galactic wide insolvency.” – Extract from ‘Titan City: A History’

Chapter 18. Buy-out

Danny was agape. How could one of the largest human corporations in space have been bought out by the Imperial Council? Why would the Council buy-out anything in the first place? Danny had never really taken the Imperials seriously. He had even pretended to follow their beliefs for a while. Void, he had even believed it for a while – for whatever of it was actually there to believe. And Zerian, what did they have to do with an alliance which was unofficially at war with a quarter of human space anyway?

Too many questions, he couldn’t completely trust the large lady as she was obviously related in some way to one of the corporations. Danny had nothing against any individual corporation, but no corporates were to be trusted, especially in times of a Board takeover.

If the book Danny had been reading was correct, a Board Takeover referred to the event where Board Members on the Titan Corporate Board attempted to gain more seats through assassination and sabotage of the other members, ultimately gaining a majority of seats, therefore taking over the city itself. It almost always resulted in all corporations being left too weak to battle any further and the seats remaining the same, with replaced members of course.

For Zerian to attempt one at all meant either it had adopted a crazy planetary CEO, which Danny wouldn’t put off that quickly, or had something up their sleeve; and if the attack on Nev was anything to go by, they definitely had the capability of hiding a very dangerous ace up their sleeve.

He finally cleared his throat and replied, ‘Well, that’s a bit hard to chew but if what you are saying is true, it means that Zerian was the one who sent a few thousand Sylith to take down a border hamlet.’

‘Ah yes,’ Big Momma said after sipping her tea. ‘Heard about that, my associates don’t know the reasoning but that was definitely the work of the Legion and Zerian. The movement of that many creatures can’t be masked for long, and those buggers had been shipped in all the way from the western tundra.’

‘My informant did inform me that the punks we dealt with sounded like Legion; he also referred me to you.’

‘Mac’s a Marzio informant? That’s a new one.’

Danny raised his eyebrow but didn’t ask how the lady knew so much. He knew he would have to get used to it sooner or later

‘Not officially. I just refer to him as that on a professional level. We’ve been friends since Dead Stone. We have exchanged favours every once in a while.’

Big Momma whistled. ‘Eleven years, long time to maintain a friendly relationship in your line of work.’

‘Yes, quite. So now back to business,’ Danny cleared his throat. ‘If you don’t mind me asking, who do you work for?’

Viper looked taken aback but Big Momma politely smiled and replied. ‘No secret, dear.’

She then stood up and exited the room in the direction of what Danny presumed was her bedroom. Danny looked at Viper who shrugged. That was when Big Momma re-entered, clutching a large revolver.

Danny jumped; his hand on his holster. He stopped short of shooting as he saw her re-adjust her grip, handing it to him. He accepted it and studied the firearm.

It was definitely an Aegis model, custom made; the large cylinder and the over-under twin barrels attested to that fact. The steel and Geradite had been painted in a coat of black, and worn paint could be seen on the trigger, hinting at repeated use. He looked up at Big Momma. ‘Just an Aegis, 9mm, a few years old, most probably refurbished.’

‘Check the cylinder.’

Danny did as she said and pushed the release toggle. Inside were twelve 9mm rounds. He took one out and studied the cartridge. At first glance, it was a common 9mm shell, but engraved on the back were the words ‘Athena’s Justice.’

Danny looked up. ‘So you actually do work for Aegis. I heard about these things. Quite macabre, if you think about it, but it gets the message across.’

Big Momma chuckled and accepted the returned pistol. ‘So you gonna trust me a little bit more now?’

‘I hold shares in Aegis but that doesn’t mean I trust corporates. What branch are you?’

Without hesitation she answered. ‘Shadow Corp, we specialize in killing our competitors in the most gruesome way possible.’

Danny stared at her for a while till she laughed again and said. ‘We’re spies. I specialize in information networks.’

Danny grinned slightly. ‘So you’re perfectly trustable. Spies are the height of moral excellence.’

‘Well, I am anyways. I direct the con men, not partake in their art.’

Her features hardened and became more serious, professional. ‘But you are right, back to business. If my information is correct, your cousin’s gang would want to pursue a war with the Legion, and Zerian by extension.’

Danny nodded, getting used to the fact that this lady seemed to know his entire life.

‘But unless one of you happens to be hiding a Trooper garrison up your sleeve, you have barely enough men to even wield the guns to cause a minor disruption. Aegis on the other hand is in a similar but opposite predicament. We may have the guns, clout and manpower to pursue a war against Zerian, but I seldom trust something so delicate in the hands of mercenaries.

‘That is why I am looking for some people…more specialized. You need Aegis and Aegis needs support and I would like you to provide it.’

‘What help could we possibly be? As you said, we lack the men and firepower to make any headway.’

‘It’s no secret that you have connections, Don Marzio. It is also no secret that the Grooks have some of the most dangerous shooters on this side of Zona Nox. We want the Grooks as a special task force.’

‘So, we both have the mutual goal of the destruction of the Legion and Zerian. But where does the Imperial Council come into the mix?’

Big Momma frowned. ‘Currently we haven’t received orders about them. Like the Troopers, we can’t dare risk a confrontation at this stage, no matter how much we want to.

‘Understood, so if Boris agrees, we aid Aegis in wiping out the Zerian Corporation here in Titan and then the Legion?’

‘Luckily, if we take down the head honcho of Zerian here, the Legion will split. They’ve been losing money for years now and the boss is relying purely on funding from the corporation.’

Danny stood, Viper followed. ‘Thank you for the information and proposal, Miss Big Momma. I will have to consult it with my cousin first.’

She also stood to allow them out. ‘No problem; when you have an answer, meet me at this café between 2PM and 6PM any week day.’ She handed him a business card with address of the café and he nodded. She winked and then added. ‘I have a feeling that we may very well meet before then under different circumstances, however; have a nice day.’

Viper and Danny left the room and exited through the hallway, carefully stepping over the legionnaire corpses.



Viper and Danny had taken the liberty of filching one of the Legion cars on the way out of the tenement. The vehicle made the trip back to Fist territory faster and more pleasant than the walk before and Danny was glad for it. Not like the Legionnaires needed it anymore, after all.

The vehicle not only made the trip quicker, but also easily allowed them to bypass the legion guard posts with minimal odd looks.

Seems that the Legionnaires hardly know each other’s faces and will go off gang colours, Danny smirked; he would have to remember that, could come in handy.

After leaving Crystal Legion territory, the trip became anything but pleasant, with the constant pressure of stares from both gangsters and civilians. Eventually, they were forced to dump the car and proceed to Fist territory on foot. The guards recognized them and waved them through without a hitch.

Upon arriving back at East-Side Booze and Bed, they were met by Regg who was repairing a green convertible for a merchant. The merchant was paying him the equivalent of five hundred credits so he wasn’t complaining, best to keep productive. Even Rob had got himself a small job manning a gas station while Boris contacted his connections and received information from Danny. Gre’sse met with Fist associates and Viper did whatever Boris or Danny told him to do. Rat still remained useless; in fact, he hadn’t even left the dingy tin motel since they had arrived; only exiting for about fifteen minutes to help unload a shipment of salmon.

Boris had told him to get over it and that the Fists didn’t really give a crap anymore, but the little waste of space continued to skulk in the shadows of his tin room. Danny thought that Rat would have been happier if he had learnt how to read and kept the company of a few good books.

Boris sounded intrigued by Big Momma and a little disbelieving. A citation from Viper was a large thing, however, especially seeing he hardly spoke, and that lowered Danny’s large cousin’s suspicions a little.

He sounded especially impressed by the way she had handled the machinegun, much less the realization that the Imperial Council were most probably plotting something which could wipe out the city, if not the tundra. While Danny had always maintained a distrust of aliens but had always had enough courtesy to socialize or trade with them, Boris never gave that courtesy to anything which was even slightly blue, green, red or gray. He didn’t mind violet for some reason though, so Krugar were fine; more a colour hatred than true racism really.

It wasn’t a surprise to him that Zerian had turned its lot in with the Council and were using the legion as peons. To him, blue pointy eared folk were automatically to blame for the world’s troubles. On that thought, Danny realised that he had in fact never actually seen an Edal and his extent of knowledge was from books, all of which had lacked illustration of any kind. From what he had read and heard from news broadcasts and Trooper messages, the Edal were the main race of the Imperial Council alliance. A race of slender humanoids bearing a great resemblance to humans if not for their blue skin tone and long, pointed ears.

From his past reading, the book ‘Grace of the Edal’ stated that centuries ago, the Edal had been a great and peaceful race, communing with the natural crystals that grew on their home world, Grelaz. A few of their nations grew greedy and killed the rest, uniting the planet under one blood banner, the Imperia. The book lacked citation, however, leaving a great many details to the imagination, and so was best taken with a pinch of salt. What was definite was that the Edal were the master race of the Imperial Council. Other council races did exist but none could equal the audacity and power of the Edal and their Martyrs.

After an hour long session of questions, answers and brandy, Boris decided to accept Big Momma’s invitation and throw his lot in with Aegis. All corporations were greedy and power hungry, but both this corporation and the Grooks shared a common goal in this conflict and that was not to be taken lightly. The Grooks would need Aegis and Aegis, for some reason, needed the Grooks. They would fight as one, for now.

Danny glanced at the wall clock and frowned, it was already past six; he would only be able to meet Big Momma tomorrow. Only a minor delay but he felt like doing something.

‘Boris, how goes our funds?’ he asked abruptly.

‘In what context? For a fish monger, a fortune; for a gang, meagre at best.’

‘Anything I can do to help?’

Boris rested his head on his opened palms and then looked up once again. ‘Yes, actually, some old contacts of mine from the Fists have been asking for help. As you may have heard, they are at war with the Brexus.’

‘Yep, saw them tear the cowards apart at the bridge.’

Boris smiled but then the smile disappeared as hastily as it arrived. ‘In open warfare the Brexus leave a lot to be desired, but they have connections. Connections can get you a lot, including the ability to crush your betters.’

‘So the Fists have approached us asking for help against the Brexus. Most probably an assassination or caravan raid,’ Danny predicted.

‘Both actually, but Gre’sse has more information. He has been helping the Fists with some internal affairs while they pursue the war with those sell-outs.’

Danny realised something at the last phrase. ‘Sell-outs, that reminds me. Wouldn’t the Grooks tying in with Aegis count against the code?’

‘We’re not bound by Titan Gang code, only the Underbelly gangs are obligated to uphold it, and it seems only half of them are. Besides, from the sounds of it, this is more an alliance than a buyout. Aegis needs friends, we are happy to oblige.’

Danny nodded and then left the dining room, greeting Donna on the way out.

Gre’sse would be by the river bank, fishing or conversing with Fists. Danny waved to Regg, who grunted in reply as he worked on the engine of Fist’s buggy.

As he walked in the direction of the canal, he was greeted by a few Fists who recognized him as a Grook. His cousin had built up a reputation in the South, Danny had learnt quickly. Even if not as strong as the other gangs, the Grooks were still respected among the honourable of the Underbelly clans.

Danny had turned into a quieter and eerier street. The only inhabitants were a mangy flee-bitten dog and a sleeping beggar. Something felt wrong. He frowned and placed his hand into his jacket, readying his pistol.

The street was almost deserted but he still felt the presence of a figure. Besides instinct, he could smell the combination of sulphur and cheap cologne. The unknown proprietor of the foul odour was trying to mask the sound of his or her movements, badly. The sound was not as loud as trying to walk normally but anyone who thought to pay attention would be able to hear it and grow suspicious about why an incompetent assassin or sneak thief was shadowing them.

The street was long and Danny wouldn’t have been able to reach the end before the failed skulker acted on his intent.

Danny would have to deal with him before that. He could always turn around and confront the person, but that would be uncreative. Danny grinned - creativity made his job much more enjoyable.

He unsheathed a cigarette and lighter from his breast pocket. Lighting the cigarette, he casually turned into an alleyway.

The figure followed but was met with a dead end. The man looked around hastily and that was when Danny stood from where he had concealed himself behind a trash container and struck Rob Starkin in the stomach, winding him.

‘You’re a crap assassin,’ Danny spat. ‘Breathe less and don’t trip over everything in your path.’

‘You knew I was there the whole time?’ Rob wheezed.

‘Wasn’t so hard. You’re as clumsy as a drunken mozar with two busted legs. Try not to walk into dustbins.’

Rob frowned. ‘You seemed not to notice.’

‘Wanted to see where it was going, seems with you on the floor. What are you doing trailing me anyway?’

Danny helped the young man up and allowed him to pat himself off.

‘I used to be an excellent pick pocket while living on the ship with my parents. Wanted to see if I was still up to it.’

‘You’re a shipborn?’ Danny asked, genuinely interested and allowing the attempt on his belongings to slide.

Rob looked proud and puffed up his chest. ‘Yep - lived on the Zarxa Starkin till I was fifteen, then came here. Father was the captain. Job was to keep track of ships entering into Zarxian atmosphere. Well, that was when he was alive. He said he used to be an explorer, told me stories about the systems he said he travelled when helping me get to sleep. But that’s probably just a lotta phooey.’

Rob looked longingly to the sky. ‘Would be nice if it wasn’t, though.’

So the mouth had a history, Danny thought. Well, everything did. He just didn’t think about Rob’s. Out of all the other characters in the Grooks, especially Viper, Rob just wasn’t as intriguing. This revelation from Rob proved Danny wrong. No, wonder the boy was irritating, shipborn tended to be so. Void, living on a cramped ship all your life could to that to you. So Danny decided to be nice to the guy for once.

‘Hey, Rob, how about you tag along; gonna go help Gre’sse with some Brexus trouble.’

Rob looked down with saucer dish eyes and clumsily accepted.

Together they walked down the road, Rob didn’t say a word. In the next street they found Gre’sse, who was conversing with some Fists. He saw them first and waved them over.

‘Boris send you?’ he asked.

‘He said you may need some help with…cleaning.’

‘Actually, we’re raiding and assassinating a Brexus caravan boss,’ a young Fist blurted out.

They all glared at him and he went bright red.

‘Yeah, mark is crossing through Neutral in about two hours. Reports state that they’re delivering Sawdust to the Legion. The driver is one of the few conduits between the two gangs. Taking him out will damage the gang’s co-operation and score us some free Sawdust.’

A large Fist cleared his throat and they all looked at him. ‘Children of Iron are helping in this one, burning the drugs. Sorry chaps.’

Everyone moaned in disappointment but didn’t press. Danny, personally, wasn’t disappointed. The Fists were obviously not intending to sell it and he didn’t see the point in taking the stuff. Sawdust was an aggression enhancing powder, a brownish yellow in colour. The powder was, in fact, fashioned of ground down Sun rock. A popular drug that was common among petty gangs and murderers, the substance removed recognition of pain but excessive use could drive a man insane and short term effects caused the user to feel extreme aggression.

Besides the slight disgust at the substance, Danny had made a huge profit selling it in Galis. It wasn’t as popular as other types of meth and pleasure drugs, but in a city filled to the brim with opportunistic hoods and thugs; you were bound to have some buyers.

‘Ok, so besides the drugs, we can loot anything else after we make sure the job is done. Until then, I want this clean and professional,’ Gre’sse announced.

Even though the large tundra tribal was a Grook and not related to the Fists, they seemed to have a strong respect for him and followed his orders without hesitation. If Danny thought about it, Gre’sse did have somewhat an aura of respectability. He was obviously experienced and tended to be very competent.

A few seconds after Gre’sse had finished speaking, two cars stopped by them and the group of ten divided themselves between them. Rob, Gre’sse and Danny shared one with two other Fists.

‘Danny, I trust you know how to use this,’ Gre’sse said, fumbling around under the seats of the car and taking out a black assault rifle. It was a Titan AR.

‘Of course, better with it than my SMG in fact.’

Gre’sse’s mouth quirked-up into an amused grin. ‘Hopefully; now, I’ll need you two to cover this lot. They’re fish and this is actually partly an initiation; would like to minimize friendly deaths if possible.’

Danny nodded and Gre’sse continued, looking at him mainly. ‘And, Don, when I say you two, I mainly mean you. Rob here can’t shoot an obese mozar point blank.’

Rob frowned. ‘Can too. I shot a mozar to test out my new rifle just last month...’ He then looked thoughtful. ‘…or was I aiming at the farm house?’

Gre’sse snickered and Danny also found himself amused by the young fool. Rob looked at both of them questioningly and then also laughed.

The rest of the journey was uneventful. It was already dark when they arrived at the ambush point. They had parked the cars below a bridge just a block down and had walked the rest of the way. The point was almost a tactical masterpiece – two well reinforced buildings with covered balconies flanked the road which ended in a bottleneck which only one vehicle could pass at a time. The drug caravan would be trapped while they peppered them.

Upon entering the one building, they were greeted by three gas masked figures that wore swords by their sides and carried sub-machineguns. The Children of Iron had struck a deal with the Fists to undertake this excursion together to strengthen bonds between the two gangs who had mutual foes.

The Irons were courteous but the two Fists who accompanied them seemed a bit on edge. Conflicts between the two gangs had obviously flared up in the past and many found it hard to forgive and forget. Besides the slight uneasiness, everything went off without a hitch and they had soon set up the area for the ambush.

Rob and Danny would be on the roof overlooking the ambush and covering them with the heavier weapons while Gre’sse and a rifle armed Iron utilized the balcony for cover. The rest would use the ground floor windows and rush out into the melee if necessary.



The preparation took about ten minutes and they had been waiting for about twenty more when, eventually, they heard the sound of cars.

This road was little travelled and that was the reason the caravan had picked it as its primary route to Legion territory.

Danny poked his head above the reinforced tin cover and confirmed the colours of the Legion drug traffickers. He placed his finger on the safety switch of his assault rifle and flicked it. He was ready.

“Is it really so bad not to fear liberty? Is it really so bad to believe that others should be able to choose what they want to do with their life?” – Kara Tro’u, Ulyx Philosopher

Chapter 19. Tunnels

It was stuffy in the depths; humid, oppressive, cramped and cold – not to mention the smell; oh by the Imperial Council, the smell.

James thought he had smelled something truly grotesque when encountering the corpses on the X59, that didn’t hold a candle to the stench of the combined faeces and discarded meals of the Sylith swarm which made this cavern their home. After about a day travelling half blind through these tunnels, nothing but a glowing compass to guide them, he had even thought of risking the Xank by climbing back through Pebble Rock. Of course, that wasn’t a choice.

Even Marshal showed discomfort, as he stopped to restrain retching every once in awhile. The only source of lights had been defective lanterns every two hundred metres or so, providing a below par standard of lighting for the crew. Leroy had spoken about the wiring which scattered the caverns and Marshal had mentioned how they were used by smugglers, bandits and shadow corporations, but sadly, too few of the electronics were functional.

When not moving, they would light a small fire but did not have the means to carry the fire as a torch and Ryan opposed the presence of the flames due to it sucking up oxygen. James didn’t recognize any lack of oxygen, however, so let the occasional fire be made and was thankful for the short respite of vision that it provided.

Luckily, they had only encountered one lone Sylith. Normally, even one would be a problem as they were known to be able to communicate to fellow hive members but Marshal pointed out that this one was a survivor of a fallen nest, as could be seen by its weakened state and the fact that it was travelling alone. The scythe bearing insect fell after one shot from Marshal, which ended the last strain of a hive which could have been thousands of years old.

The rest of the blind trek went on without a hitch. Food and water had not been a problem due to efficient rationing and the discovery of several fresh water sources along the walls. Due to the lack of illumination, no one could investigate their ammo supplies, but they presumed they would find out after they had to shoot something.

Every step James took felt like lifting a tonne of bricks and he couldn’t stand it anymore. So he signalled to settle down and camp, so he didn’t have to stand it and could sit down instead. Vick lit the fire and settled down, back propped up against a wall. The kindling took aflame and James had to squint at first to get accustomed to the light.

Glancing at his entourage, he noted that they all looked just how he felt: with one step into the Eternal Sleep. Even Molok had bags under his eyes and James didn’t even think that Grays showed fatigue in such a fashion. Quok just collapsed and began emanating a very human snore within seconds of hugging the floor.

James was also tired but didn’t want to waste this short amount of vision by closing his eyes. He would sleep later to rest his mind, and just lie down for now.

But against all his dwindling willpower, as he lay down, he drifted to sleep.



James shivered as Billy covered him with a thin blanket, the only cover they had. It was raining floods outside, and the thin wooden roof of the shanty hardly kept them dry at all.

He sneezed again, it was a painful sneeze and he felt nauseous. He had rushed back home to the shanty district after executing the shop keeper for Zito Gorlea.

The shopkeeper had screamed after he had shot him. He hadn’t aimed right and the bullet had only hit him in his stomach; causing a slow and painful death.

Zito laughed at the man’s hardship and paid a bonus. James just stared at the prostrate, bleeding body of the sobbing man. What had the man even done? James didn’t know. He shot a man and didn’t even know the reason for doing so. Was he a monster? He didn’t feel at all like a monster but he had always been taught that killing was wrong. But he had just killed a man…and been rewarded for doing so. Did he feel guilt? No, what he did was necessary. His adopted family had nothing to their name but a shack and were close to losing the few crumbs of bread they had to local gangs.

Then the Marzios had offered them protection, food, shelter and income. All they wanted were James and Andrew to become associates.

The Marzios had been founded around the same time that James had arrived in Galis. They were weak then but Galis was still new, small and full of potential. It wasn’t like that anymore; refugees poured in after the Fall of Dead Stone and the holdings surrounding it. The population boost turned Galis from a meagre starport into a bustling shack town.

Overnight, gangs had formed and competed for dominance over the measly scraps that the residents of Galis were forced to live off as the Troopers fought to guard the borders. First, there were hundreds of gangs but eventually, many fell apart or merged, forming the larger gangs.

The Zenites, Blades, Purgers and Marzios – they came out as the dominant of the opportunists, wielding more firepower and possessing greater ambition and intelligence than the rest. Billy had been approached by the Marzios and offered a job he really couldn’t refuse. A well-paying position as a fence with accommodation and side job as a saloon owner as a cover – Billy had refused until Andrew and James pushed him into accepting; he didn’t want his son and his friend being forced into a life of crime, but in Galis, that was never a choice.

James and Andrew had been used as pick pockets, thieves and decoys. For about three years, they had worked diligently for the Marzio mafia but had never been initiated. They were paid, however, and that meant enough credits to eat and survive another day. That was about to change. James had been initiated by killing that shopkeeper and now his family would get a better home, food and credits.

But was it worth it for what James had done? Was taking the life of an innocent worth it if it saved the lives of those close to you? If James thought about it, killing the old shopkeeper hadn’t cost the world much. A single life wouldn’t change the sand on the street. Much less the galaxy. And if James looked at it that way, it had really been no loss at all.

If one could really be rewarded for taking a life, could taking a life really be so evil? Evil was not rewarded, but due to this killing, James and his family could now live.

One shot, one kill and a reward to save his family. Evil would never have given him something which allowed something as good as survival.

He shivered in the shack, the thin blanket keeping him warm for now. Billy looked concerned, he always did, but hidden under that worried stare was a sense of elation. Even he knew that things were going to work out for the better now. James also knew, that somehow, he had benefitted from the act – and enjoyed it.



Once again, James woke up in a sweat. It had been so lucid. The sights, the smell and the emotion – had he really felt that? Really enjoyed killing that man? He didn’t want to think about it. As all halfway decent people were taught, killing without justification was wrong. James was no different. Had he really felt that way back then; pleasure from killing? Enjoyment from evil? He might have thought differently back then, and he sincerely hoped he thought differently now. He now knew that evil could reward just as much as good. Often, even more so.

Even now, however, he still felt a sense that his life in Galis had been built atop the mentality in the dream for years now. He shook his head to chase away the thoughts. He didn’t want to think about it, he felt disgusted at himself, at the world which forced him to become that.

Did he still feel that? He didn’t know. He had killed so many people and creatures and was still killing them. Honestly, he felt nothing. It was all in completing a job. He did not do it for pleasure but neither did he regret the taking of life. It was necessary. In the world, you either hurt or were hurt yourself. James was sick of being hurt. Had refused to be hurt long ago.

He looked up to see that the fire was burning out and was down to the dying crimson embers of near extinguishment. Quok and Vick were still sleeping but Ryan looked like he was in the process of interrupting their gentle slumber.

Without a word, they broke camp and continued on their journey through the cavernous Underbelly of the Red Sand desert.

The journey was long, tedious, tiring and devoid of the usual pleasure of surveying one’s surroundings. James asked Marshal where he estimated they were, and he said about a quarter of the way. So if they continued at this pace, they would reach Dead Stone in six days. James could hardly bear spending a few more hours in complete darkness when he was suddenly blinded by a flash of light.

First, he thought it was a flash bang; that the Xank found them, but the flash didn’t stop and after blinking to become accustomed to the light, he saw the source.

The walls were crafted of smoothed granite and the floor was carpeted with shining tiles. The roof stretched up higher than any of the other central rooms and James wouldn’t be surprised if it ended on top of a mountain. The light was emanating from a vehicle located in the centre of the landing pad. The vehicle appeared to be a gunship of sorts. James was sure he had never seen any of the Troopers use one. The ship was painted black, or crafted of a material of that colour. It looked somewhat like the transport gunships that had transported them from Galis but possessed some slight distinct features. As the Trooper gunship utilized a flat but reinforced nose, this exploited the presence of a straight thin nose for speed. The wings were also different – instead of the large engine and missile hauling wings of the Trooper gunships, these were flat and used what seemed to be some sort of artificial fuel instead of the petrol used for the propeller gunships.

James hardly noticed Marshal sidle up next to him, his hands on his waist and a thoughtful expression painting his features. ‘Didn’t think I would see one of those for the rest of my life; a genuine Obsidian Reaver.’

‘So I presume you flew these as ranger in the Troopers,’ James said, his surveying of the ‘Reaver’ not stopping to spare a glance as he spoke.

‘Yes, excellent little craft. Can take about six passengers including the driver and gunner – this seems to be for rapid deployment but it does possess a small cloaking device. In mist or at night, they’ll be blind.’

James grinned. ‘So in short, we won’t have to trudge the rest of the way through this bloody tunnel?’

Marshal smiled and nodded.

James was ecstatic at the turn of events but then he grew suspicious.

‘Well, it is nice and all but we’ve fallen for a trap once already. What would a ship like this be doing inside a bandit cavern?’

‘Your suspicion is not misplaced. I too wish to know,’ Ryan interjected.

Marshal cleared his throat. ‘Honestly, lads, I don’t know but as I said before; these caverns are used extensively by shadow corporations and bandits. Very resourceful factions, if I must point out. This is no doubt one of their more bountiful caches.’

‘Still doesn’t explain what it would be doing here, unguarded.’

Instead of verbally answering, Marshal turned and indicated the entrance of the tunnel and then turned and pointed at some empty platforms which mirrored that of the pad which the Reaver was resting upon. After finishing his visual display, Marshal simply said. ‘They didn’t need any more lifts.’

James chuckled. ‘Right enough explanation, should have noticed myself. Let’s just check for traps before using it - just in case.’

‘Wouldn’t have it any other way, Strike Leader,’ Marshal ended with a salute and then turned to Sgt Yobu who James had almost forgotten was even present, the Trooper was quiet in a professional manner and had the sort of aura to avoid attention, not an overwhelmingly welcome trait in a Sergeant, whose job was to be loud, abusive and intimidating.

After Marshal had debriefed them on proper stealth gunship maintenance, they both headed to the gunship where they began to examine the Reaver for traps or damage. While they worked, James divided the squad into two groups: one for checking the supplies and another for setting up a parameter. Molok and Vick were chosen to secure the entrance to the landing cavern while Leroy and James secured the unexplored exit. Ryan and Quok, as the administrator and ‘apprentice’ administrator, were given the task of counting through their ammo and rations, calculating how long it would take for them to run out on normal rationing.

Ryan seemed to be enjoying his new task in a non-militarist position and looked up to Quok for guidance in his bullet counting. Quok replied by reciting how basic multiplication would make the counting go faster, Ryan answered with a crimson blush which James had to restrain a rather childish giggle in reaction to. The brutish ex-racist had come a long way since he had been beaten up at the Rusty Trooper. In Galis, Ryan had been an ignorant and aggressive brawler, either mugging or drinking his days away. Who could think that his dream of becoming an administrator was actually a distinct possibility if they saw his past? Ryan had become a diligent and honest worker, even showing leadership qualities that would aid him if he was to ever take the normally Exanoid-exclusive position as an Overseer. James almost envied such a change, but marvelled at the same time. Rarely did such a transformation occur.

The doorways were quite thin in context of the structure, only allowing two reasonably slender people to cross through at a time. This made it rather easy to find the appropriate materials to barricade them, making sure that if any opposition were to appear, they would first have to chew through three layers of furniture conveniently placed to prevent entry but allow escape. The delay would also allow the group to utilize the cover they had set up so to effectively and safely execute the targets.

James dropped the metal work table into place much to the relief of his now aching spine. Wiping his forehead, he surveyed the defences and smiled. ‘Not bad, if I do say so myself.’

‘Hopefully, cap’n,’ Leroy said with a sigh from exertion, ‘can’t think of what might be heading this way, though. Bandits have obviously cleared out.’

‘Better be prepared, and not need, than need but not be prepared,’ Molok said, shocking everyone with the sudden bout of speech, ‘as you humans say.’

Vick stared wide mouthed and exclaimed. ‘It spoke.’

Quok laughed. ‘Yes, he does that from time to time.’

After after that short novelty, it went back to the norm and the silent Gray continued his work in securing the barriers.

After inspecting each barrier fully, James allowed the group to collect their rations, individual weapons and ammo from Ryan and Quok and then consume accordingly.

James took his supplies last and settled down to eat a small piece of dried meat. After quickly consuming the morsel of food, he was met by Marshal, who reported the status of the Obsidian Reaver.

‘The gun’s deep sixed, advanced cloaking mechanism is half functioning and it’s missing an air conditioner but it’ll fly; just need to find some plasma rods to power it.’

‘So I presume there are none here?’

‘Haven’t checked properly, but I assume so as plasma rods need a proper cooling container and there is none that I can see currently.’

James frowned. ‘That leaves us a problem. A vehicle without fuel is pretty useless.’

Sgt Yobu cleared his throat, and they turned to him. ‘Strike Leader, these caches are well known to many of the Red Sand Trooper divisions. We could never spare the men to close them down, but we are aware of their layout. A storage area should be just up ahead and it should contain plasma rods.’

‘Thank you, Sergeant, I will bring a team with me to extract the materials and bring them here ASAP.’

The sergeant saluted and James readied his weapon, you don’t know what you might find lurking in these caverns, and walked to where the rest of the group was camped and ordered Leroy, Ryan and Vick to accompany him.

Dismantling the barrier from this side was as easy as they had planned, in the event of having to escape. The light of the landing room further enhanced the shadows and pitch blackness of the tunnel, proving the military notion of not staring into camp fires. It would take them awhile for their eyes to adjust, but they could keep walking in the meanwhile.

This darkness seemed denser than that of the previous cavern, giving James a feeling of claustrophobia. And that was before the smell, oh Terra, the smell. They were out of sight of the landing room and had to rely on their other senses, James sincerely wished he didn’t, as they were hit by a wave of nauseating fumes.

Obviously, they couldn’t see the source of the stench and merely tricked their minds into excusing it as humidity, but deep down, they all knew it what something else.

The reek grew in repulsiveness as they drew further down the tunnel. James felt like he was going to vomit but then remembered he had Trooper gas mask for just this very reason. He unclipped it from its storage position on his thigh and placed it firmly around his head. The stench disappeared almost as quickly as the procedure.

He felt a little smug as he walked, un-assailed by the harsh smell. He didn’t envy his partners who still had to withstand the stench, he almost pitied them.

They continued to walk, one of the men threw up but in the light, he couldn’t tell which. Then he heard a thud and exclamation of shock as one of them fell to the ground, tripping over something. Leroy was swearing and groaning in pain as he, probably, was rubbing his sore. As he was still alive, James presumed it was just a bruise, no real damage.

‘What is that?’ Vick asked.

‘How am I supposed to know,’ Leroy snapped.

‘Light a match, maybe it’ll mask the stench at the same time,’ James ordered.

Ryan drew out the match box and scraped the little stick along the side, creating sparks until it finally caught light and revealed the object to be the half eaten corpse of a human. Leroy seemed to fly back with fright as he noticed what he had been sitting next to.

James suppressed a gag. Unsurprisingly, that act had been become easier for him over the week.

The corpse was missing its legs and its torso had been ripped open to reveal twisted ribs and flesh. It was facing upward, mouth frozen in pain and eyes rotten of any sign of life. A pool of dried blood stained the floor surrounding it and trailing off towards the direction that they had been heading.

Something was lurking in these tunnels, something James didn’t want to meet.

Should we turn back? He suppressed a look of concern. That wouldn’t do in a situation like this. They needed leadership. He still pondered the thought. They had already moved into a trap recently and that had cost them most of their force. But turn back to what? They either flew out or continued down the tunnel, regardless, they would have to proceed in this direction.

‘Steel yourselves,’ James said, not quite agreeing with what he was saying himself. ‘All creatures fall to lead.’

‘But some are less susceptible than others,’ Vick added, jittery.

Ryan glared at him but didn’t reply. He agreed with the sentiments, even if he didn’t like it.

‘I think it’s safe to assume that whatever is in these tunnels does not need light. We would be safer with fire in this darkness. Look around. There should be something we can use for light,’ James ordered.

Ryan did as he asked and found an extinguished torch near the mutilated corpse. He used the almost burnt out match to ignite the torch and found it was still fresh.

The torch was a crude one. Scrap metal handle with a cloth, doused in slow burning fuel, wrapped around the tip. It would do though. It would have to.

They continued down the hall and James felt increasingly thankful for his gas mask as the others showed their disgust openly with greenish faces. The light allowed them to see about fifteen metres ahead, small but better than nothing.

If James’ theory was correct, illumination would have nothing to do with visibility to the creatures they were about to encounter.

About ten minutes later they found another corpse. This one was missing a head but was less mutilated than the previous one, if you could say ‘less’ in regards to it.

‘Draw guns, lads. Be ready for contact.’

The sounds of clicks and guns being drawn and readied echoed quietly around him as his squad armed itself.

They fell into a natural formation, Vick with his shotgun taking the front and Leroy with his SMG behind him, Ryan and James took the rear.

Slowly, weapons levelled at the direction of the darkness, they advanced. That was when they heard noises. James almost jumped, Leroy did. The noises sounded insect-like, like exoskeletons scraping against each other. So his suspicions were correct, these caverns had indeed been overwhelmed by Sylith.

‘Don’t worry, just some Sylith. They’ll die like at Galis.’

But the noises were coming closer, growing in volume and proximity. There was more than one.

‘Shotgun at the ready. SMG, be ready to cover him. Spread out, scythes are less effective against scattered targets.’

The group did as ordered and scattered themselves to the best of their abilities within such a tight space. James quietly thanked the shadow corporations for expanding the tunnel at this point.

Then they waited. The sounds drew nearer and James’ hand was cramping. Then he saw it. Like a shadow from the Void, it leapt from the darkness, giving Vick barely a second to dispatch it with his shotgun.

This Sylith was unlike any other James had seen. While the Galisian Sylith had been a yellowish colour and the Red Sand breed had been given a tinge of red to mimic their terrain, this Sylith was black from head to toe, enclosed in dark carapace and armed with a pair of sharp scythes for severing anything that got in its way. Its legs were also a rarity, thinner than its surface cousins and bent back to allow for greater agility.

James smirked. It didn’t really make a difference in how it splattered. Bullets killed the same; they were the only definite thing in this godforsaken existence.

Barely a second later, another Sylith charged, followed by another and another after that. Each one was dispatched by Vick, who after six kills had to retreat to reload; the three others went forward to cover him. His shotgun was their most important asset in this battle and would be needed.

The other guns were not as effective as the shotgun, but did their job, granted, with more expended ammo. Each time a Sylith charged out of the dark, each time it was gunned down. Only once did one manage to get through and tried to take a swipe at Vick, who was covered by Ryan who quickly beat and scorched the Sylith with his torch.

By the time Vick had managed to fumble around his jacket in the dark and load the shotgun, the waves had stopped, leaving the tunnel with an unsettling silence.

Walking to one of the Sylith corpses near to him, James nudged its head with his foot to expose the side of its face which had been blown off by Vick’s shotgun. The shot left a large gaping crevice, which allowed anyone to easily see the monsters hallowed out head and mouth. Razor teeth surrounded the parameter of the creature’s jaws and its throat was also equipped with another group, a backup in case it didn’t chew properly.

James kicked it lightly, pushing it to the side of the hall. He then stepped to the side and indicated for the others to pass. ‘What ya waiting for? We got bugs to squash.’

The others chuckled as they passed. Ryan was grinning and the rest of the group looked more confident. James also smiled. They now knew that they could kill the things. They were scary, but they fell to lead.

They continued their march down the hall, still tense, even if they had been given renewed confidence.

The smell grew, as usual, but the group’s new found bravado allowed them to ignore it. James was still trying to figure out what the smell was, running through possibilities in his head he could only come up with excrement and corpses. But corpses didn’t smell like this, and Sylith waste usually did not either. That left something unknown to James or the others. James frowned; he hated not knowing what he was going to have to kill, or if that thing could be killed.

The hall way started to slope up at and transformed into a stairway crafted of rusty metal. Normally, James would be worried of breaking it, but it was built for ease of use and not for spanning distance, the support of the surface would hold it.

The climb was long and tedious, as most of the walk had been. The only source of light was Ryan at the front, and James was somewhat relieved when Ryan finally halted and revealed that the stairway had ended and opened up into a wider hallway.

At the end of the hallway was a mechanical door, similar to those found on gunships. The door seemed damaged, but not old, the bottom of it was bent, like someone needed to break the locking mechanism to get through. The bloody imprint of a hand could be seen in the centre.

James used hand signals to order his men to ready themselves, he then allocated them to the most effective position to breach the room. The big question was, should they try stealth and sneak in slowly or go in with a bang, surprising any inside.

Stealth was a bad idea as these Shadow Sylith seemed to be stealth prone. Their best bet was going in quickly and activating any light sources they could.

So that’s what they did. He took the torch from Ryan, who was by far the largest, and ordered him to kick the door in on his signal. Vick went into position, leaving James and Leroy to take their formation at the rear.

Three…two…One!

He signalled, tapping Ryan on the shoulder, followed soon by him kicking the door in with all the force he could muster. The damaged entrance caved in under his boot and Vick soon took his place in front, shotgun at the ready.

A gunshot sounded and as soon as Ryan made way, they filed into the room in a wedge formation, the torch illuminating only a small bit of the area.

From what James could see, they were the only ones within the room. His crew looked around anxiously without breaking formation. James was looking at the flank of the doorway, where he sidled off.

Everyone jumped when the lights suddenly burst to life as James flicked on a switch which was conveniently located by the door.

The room was, indeed, empty of any other living occupants, and seemed to be a laboratory of some kind. Metal tables carpeted with bottles and electronics lined the surface of the room and cupboards. Objects, from boxes to machinery, lined the perimeter.

Ryan turned to Vick and snapped, ‘What the hell were you shooting at?’

Leroy chuckled and pointed at the broken remains of an empty wooden crate. ‘He seems to have grown a dislike for pine over the years.’

Vick blushed. ‘Thought I saw it move.’

James grunted. ‘Enough playing around. Start looking for plasma rods. By Marshal’s description they are a light blue and in a cylinder form. And be careful with the other stuff here. I don’t want any of you knocking over any napalm vats.’

They then proceeded to separate and search the room.

The laboratory was actually larger than at first glance and stretched out of sight of the entrance. Besides the furniture and electronics left by the previous occupants, there were no other signs of human life, or alien.

The scientists or engineers had obviously left in a hurry and left much of their research material, only sparing the time to retrieve their documentation.

Something had driven these scientists away, and whatever it was, they were terrifying enough to drive the scientists away without even encountering them in armed conflict.

Then James came to a shocking realization. The bandits and shadow corporations, the residents of these caverns, didn’t care about the Xank, but they had to have been running from something. Entire bases were not emptied under normal circumstances. Something had chased these people away, something which lead alone couldn’t fell.

James found himself searching faster, regardless of the truth behind his suspicions, they needed those plasma rods.

Sorting through boxes he found many objects which would have earned him quite a pretty penny if he had stolen them as a thief. Artificial fuels, chemicals, medicines, an X51 battery, poisons and experimental bullets.

One such bullet was a cross between a hydrogen round and an incendiary round. From what James had learned from eavesdropping whilst robbing a lab in Galis was that hydrogen was extremely combustible and that humans had gained and perfected the technology after receiving the basic knowledge from the Exanoids six hundred years ago. Due to its combustibility, it shot at a velocity which could puncture even the most armoured personal. It also made it extremely hard to use it as an incendiary round, as the combination of heat and the unstable gas could prematurely set off the round, mainly whilst still inside the cartridge. Hydrogen rounds were extremely effective nonetheless, but many preferred the cheap reliability of traditional gun powder and carbon rounds.

James thought about taking the unsound shell, but thought better of it and moved on to tracking down the plasma rods. Eventually, they all met back at the entrance where they explained what they had found. None of the discoveries vaguely resembled plasma rods. Leroy did point out that he had discovered a suspicious looking shelf at the rear of the lab, however. All the other shelves were adorned with a variety of odds and ends, but this one was bear, all except for the thick metal columns holding up the shelf itself. The group approached the shelf cautiously, all a little hesitant after the events at Pebble Rock. James advanced and motioned to examine it. Ryan protested, stating that it could be a trap left by whoever had owned the lab, but James ignored him and persisted to move his hand over the surface of the cold metal shelf, where he finally felt the slight deformation of a button. Clicking it and backing away, the shelf opened, revealing a study. James smiled slightly; this reminded him of his days as a thief. They seemed so long ago.

The shelf was decorated with books, ranging from local publications and classic scientific literature to alien titles James couldn’t even read.

Within the centre of the room lay a large wooden desk with a terminal placed upon the top. The computer terminal was on. James moved in first and sidled up to view the screen.

A document was open with the title: “To whoever reads this…”

James began to read:



“My name is Dr Michael Visser. I was recruited by the Zerian Corporation to conduct research within the Red Sand desert. My team and I were sent here due to the isolation and presence of the specimen we were to study.

I have not much time but I feel obligated to attempt to justify what I have done here. As I write this, I find it harder and harder to do so. Maybe it will be easier to start at the beginning.

I had lived on Mars most of my life and didn’t wish to leave, but the money was good and Zerian had a history of treating their researchers well. The job description was: Zerian looking for devoted wild life researcher who can lead a team on the frontier.

I had jumped at the offer after hearing the amount which was to be paid. Who would pass up five million credits a year?! Of course, I had a feeling something was wrong. Corporations were never that generous for menial research jobs, but the money clouded my judgement.

I arrived on Zona Nox at Galis station about a year ago. The city was a decrepit wasteland of tenements and shacks. I almost pitied the population till I lost my wallet to a pickpocket. But I’m droning on. Now to the point.

When we were assigned to this station I was upset but didn’t voice my concerns (come on, five million!). We were given a semi-comfortable room and work space, but the problem was the location. We were underground.

But after receiving my orders, that was the least of my concerns. We had been hired to experiment on Sylith.

Sylith! The bane of colonists and the demons of the frontier, and they wanted us to experiment on them as if they were common flowers. Worse yet, they wouldn’t provide the Sylith. They gave us some experimental weapons and a few functional ones and then gave us orders to first determine the possibilities of creating a hybrid between Sylith and cave zots. Terra knows why!

Well, now I do as well. Months after that, we had succeeded. We had created a successful strain of what we coined ‘Cave Sylith’ or when feeling macabre, ‘Shadow Sylith’. As ordered, we created a fully self-sufficient strain, a queen, in fact.

All was going as planned; until one of the thugs that were meant to guard us got too drunk to close the test hive and the monsters got out. They had bred at rates triple to that of which was originally perceived. The bastard of a queen was hiding eggs so we would lower security! The bitch was planning to do this! Well, too late to do anything about it now.

We’re planning on running; in fact, we bribed the bandits to allow us space in their gunships. Hopefully, we can get out of this godforsaken hellhole before the Sylith reproduce enough to overrun the entire cavern system or the Xank come our way, heard Galis was hit pretty badly last week.

Refugees are definitely going to pass this way and this message is meant to tell whoever may wish to pass through those doors to halt and turn back. We left a Reaver for that very reason. The Sylith must be contained, they breed faster, move faster and are cleverer than any strains we have seen before. Zerian has created a monster and it is our obligation to keep it imprisoned.

The plasma rods are under the desk. Good luck!

- Dr Michael Visser, Animal Biologist of Mars Civilian Academics”



James stared, shocked at what he had read on the screen of the terminal.

So his suspicions were correct and something much worse than conventional Sylith were lurking down here. A whole new strain hadn’t been seen in Extos for about half a millennium. This discovery was not only frightening, but awe inspiring.

Finally, James looked under the table and found the plasma rods. He lifted the box up, expecting it to be a highly inconvenient burden but was surprised to find that it was in fact very light and possessed about fourteen rods in total.

Looking up at Ryan, he said, ‘Well, it seems that there’s a new strain of Sylith down here and that the previous residents were nice enough to leave the Reaver.’

‘You’re shitting me - a new strain?’ Ryan swore, eyes widening.

‘Yeah, the scientists were developing it for Zerian apparently and it went haywire. They couldn’t set up the security in the rush.’

‘Maybe we should barricade the door and leave some traps to slow them down.’ Vick offered.

‘My thoughts exactly, the acids could come in handy.’

As one, they left the cramped room and began shifting the moveable tables to block off the closed doorway.

When they had finished, five large metal tables were blocking the doorway and being supported by three cupboards placed at an angle.

The trap was set up on a trip wire crafted from some cable and a bucket of acid. If anything managed to force this door open, they would be splattered with the burning chemicals. Ryan had also found an extra double barrelled shotgun in the study and James used his knowledge of trap making to hook up the shotgun using another trip wire mechanism. This was to kill anything that finally managed to make its way past the barricade and acid. It would also echo throughout the tunnels, signalling them of an impending attack.

The group exited the lab and James turned to admire their handy work.

A Reaper would even have trouble bursting through that. With the help of Leroy, James carefully refitted the door without disturbing the shotgun. After the door was shut, to the best of their abilities, all illumination was extinguished. James stood still and waited, he heard a few clicks and, finally, he could see as Ryan relit the torch. The lab had a few spare torches, so both he and Ryan could carry one as their one handed firearms allowed multiple objects to be held with ease.

Comfortably illuminated, they set off from the lab towards the landing pad, where they would hopefully manage to fly out of these caverns and get to Fort Nox. Failing that, at least reach Dead Stone where they could find other transport.

James regretted having to abandon the tank and those in it. Tim was younger than him and had shown loyalty earlier than the rest. He had not known much about the kid other than that he was skilled with a wrench and that’s why they had left him by the tank. He couldn’t dredge up enough pity for Gretswald. He could go to the Sylith for all he cared. The real loss was that of technology which hadn’t publicly graced the frontier for centuries, and the loss of a youth that had barely made a name for himself in the world.

James might not have known his retinue as well as he could have, but he still felt sad for the loss. Fine men had died because of his blunder. He could just hope that Tim had managed to get away somehow, he didn’t care much about Gretswald but the vile zot of a man was probably sly enough to have snuck away before any real harm could befall him.

Regardless of what happened to them, James had to focus on his current predicament, and that of the people behind him, they were the ones who needed him at the moment and he was obliged to be the leader they needed.

“From Terra we were born, on Terra we will die.” – Extract from ‘The Litany of Terra’

Chapter 20. Rescue

Nathan stared out across Red Sand as the junker droned forward at a pace he could barely tolerate. Sadly, it was the only ship left, an old and rusted freighter whose pilot had been the only one who would accept the peanuts Nathan had paid him to fly this mission. All other transports were already occupied in providing transport between the Steel Wall and Fort Nox, or fetching supplies from depots around the planet and satellites.

Nathan did not mind as much as he normally would, as he was lucky to be able to perform this mission at all. The rescue official had opposed his request, but eventually caved in at the mention of how much money he owed Nathan after all the years in the gambling pits. He did not give Nathan much, however, just permission and the right to take six men from the assault and engineering corp. He needed only one engineer and the six others were assault Troopers, as the ship’s pilot kept his own crew. The engineer would be for any military related mechanical problems.

They had set off two days before and had headed in a straight line, the one he had assumed James’ crew would have taken. They had eventually reached bandit country, the last location of the crew, and were surveying the surroundings for life. Human life was scarce and wild life also seemed infrequent, a large Xank presence could be felt. A strange device, the race sonar was created to differentiate between species using differences in genetic makeup. The technology was useful but still forced users to speculate, as it only outlined humans and non-humans. Non-Humans would have to be studied by movements and behaviour, to set apart sentient aliens from wild life. The marks on the sonar showed large contingents of creatures moving in co-ordination and formation, too organized to be merely wild animals.

On the other hand, Xank forces were yet to be seen in the flesh and in bulk, with the occasional ground scout seeming to disregard their importance. They had something better, more pressing, to deal with.

They were most probably clearing areas for major troop movement. Contrary to popular belief, after entering the atmosphere, most space ships were useless and the use of gunships and ground vehicles had to be used. That was one of the reasons why the Xank chose rather to secure Galis and other territories as drop points before marching in, instead of just deploying within a settlement. The only ships capable of swift deployment from orbit to land were small dropships and some highly advanced personal crafts. Nothing close to the size that the Xank required.

The Xank mocked Trooper scouts, as they ignored their presence. They didn’t care that the Troopers knew that they were coming. They wanted their invasion to be expected, and feared.

As Nathan gazed across the desolate landscape, he felt and heard the presence of someone behind him. He turned to find a young Private, saluting and waiting for permission to speak.

Nathan sighed. ‘Speak, Private.’

‘Yessir. Pilot McIntyre reports that fuel will last about one more kilometre further if we want any chance of getting back. Excluding the possibility of an outpost, which he also reports would be a ‘bloody miracle or a bloody mirage’.’

‘Thank you, please inform the Pilot that we will continue on foot from here on, and ask him to hover or land, if possible.’

The private saluted and left. Nathan rubbed the bridge of his nose in thought, he was hoping to make at least triple that distance, but it could not be helped. He would deploy with his squad and explore the land below, that would preserve fuel and allow a more detailed analysis of the surroundings.

For all he knew, James and his men could be hiding in foxholes or ditches, out of sight of Xank and unfortunately, rescuers. This landing was probably for the best actually.

Nathan smiled, hopefully, and prepared his equipment.



The winds had picked up and Tim could feel the sharp sand hit his skin like pellets. The mask provided much needed protection for his face, but the rest of his body was spared the protection and he was already developing welts. He didn’t mind as much as he should. Urg’a had already done more than his fair share of guard duties and scavenging, and Tim felt he needed to repay the debt in taking at least some shifts.

Without James and Ryan, that useless zot, Gretswald, continued to slack and lie around complaining. Tim told himself that he would knock him around a bit if he was just a bit bigger, but he didn’t want to risk the wrath of the annoying Preacher, as his fist might just be as powerful as his voice was infuriating. Probably not, but as one of the few non-criminal children in Galis, he had learned not to take chances. Life was tough in Galis, for everyone, but his family had tried to stay out of the gang society as much as possible. That was quite hard, of course, when you lived in the tenements and not the merchant quarter.

His father had been a mechanic, and had managed to score a mutual understanding between the local gang, the Galis Blades, and himself. All people needed vehicles if they wanted to run a successful empire, legitimate or otherwise, and Tim’s father used his knowledge to capitalize on that fact, making sure he stayed safe of gang coercion and made enough money to survive. This protection did not extend to Tim, however; he had been frequently bullied and beaten as a child by local hooligans for being a civilian. Sometimes, Blades friendly with his father scared them away, but there were many more hooligans than there were Blades to look after him.

He had learnt two things as a civilian in Galis; don’t take chances and be as useful as possible. People didn’t bite the hand that feeds them and that was the same for services. His dad had survived through providing an indispensable skill and he needed to do the same. That was how he managed to get in this little survivor’s crew.

Vick had been friendly with his father and had vouched for him as a decent mechanic and problem solver. Tim had never thought of himself as such, but it seemed that his father’s skill had rubbed off on him as he was already responsible for the repair of the tanks rear engine, coolant system and gun battery.

A beautiful machine, the tank - large and cumbersome at times but majestic in its own right as a near unstoppable piece of war machinery. When the Xank had overwhelmed Pebble Rock and he couldn’t do anything about it, he did the only thing he could and drove out of there. He didn’t think he had it in him, but he managed to drive the tank almost effortlessly until it managed to reach an area of safety.

Tim was sad about that, he had really liked Vick and had begun to look up to James and Ryan. The rest of the group were also quite likeable, if you looked over the fact that they were all criminals, but finding a non-criminal in Galis was a hard thing indeed.

He could just hope that Strike Leader James had thought of something and managed to get out of there. Deep down, he felt that that was the case. He didn’t know why, but he felt that the Strike Leader was a person who got things done; he had that sort of aura around him.

Above everything, Tim worried about company. Gretswald was sentient but for lack of a better word, an asshole. He spent the days reading from his Imperial propaganda and hogging supplies. Tim thought he would collapse from boredom and lack of social interaction until Urg’a arrived and stated that he was going to guard him. He gave no further explanation above that, but Tim didn’t mind and enjoyed the company of someone else, even if that person was literally cold blooded.

Tim, unlike many of the humans who lived in Galis, had no qualms with aliens. He understood that they were individuals, like humans, and that the wrongs of one cannot be placed upon all. This was another reason that he was picked on, people didn’t like those that were different and Tim’s tolerance and even acceptance was a novelty among Galisians. But Tim would not be swayed from his principles. He chose to accept aliens as individuals, and he would continue to do so till the day he died. He might seem weak willed to many, but Tim stood by his convictions.

Urg’a kept a lot to himself, but spoke when spoken to and engaged enough for the conversation to not become awkward. Mostly, he taught Tim about Red Sand and the Extos system. He spoke of the icy tundra of Nova Zarxa, the highlands of Glotos III and the star that held them all together. He did not once mention Grengen, and when asked about it in particular, he avoided the subject.

Bad memories, Tim presumed, frowning slightly.

The pointed winds started to die down as swiftly as they had started and Tim felt relieved that he could take off the goggles which may have protected his vision but also restricted it, evoking a sense of claustrophobia.

As the sandstorm began to subside, Tim took off his goggles. Everything seemed clearer; obviously it was exactly the same as before the storm in reality, but the visual trickery was still interesting. Colours ran like fluid and even the smallest little details seemed suddenly important. Sadly, this intriguing mirage ended and Tim was once again left with the monotony of the real world. He considered putting the goggles back on just so he could take them off, but thought better of it; it wasn’t that worth it. So instead he did what he was supposed to and gazed off into the distance with a pair of binoculars. Scanning the horizon and nearby areas for life, or anything of interest, he spotted what first seemed to be piles of sand which had been whipped up into the air to look like figures. Interested, he studied it closer and realised that the ‘sand figures’ were in fact people. And not just any people, but Troopers.

Without thinking he called for Urg’a, who rushed out, armed with his Vacaraptor equivalent of a gun, he looked around to see the source of excitement, and after being pointed in the right direction, felt it was justified.

Trudging over the red wastes, wearing gear of black and crimson, were seven human Troopers. And better yet, it seemed that they had spotted them and were heading towards the tank as Tim waved.

So it seemed that he wouldn’t have to figure out which direction was west to Fort Nox.



Nathan could scarcely believe it. Sitting atop a red dune was something he had only seen in Mars.

Shining in the sun like a metal-red colossus, stood a genuine tank from the days of which residents were long dead. And jumping atop the vehicle of legend was none other than a small boy of about fourteen, and standing beside him, a Grengen Vacaraptor.

Of all the races resident to the fruitfully populated Extos system, the Vacaraptor were one that Nathan knew little about. All he knew was the commonly known; that they hailed from the jungle world of Grengen and were regular mercenaries around the galaxy.

The boy and reptile were both waving to them, they sought communication. He had no way of knowing if this person was a member of James’ group or not, but at the moment, making contact wouldn’t hurt. What could a boy and a lizard do to seven fully armed Troopers? So they began moving cautiously towards the tank and its tenants.

Waving back at the boy, they acknowledged the call. The boy gave a thumbs up and then stopped waving.

Trekking over the sand and rocks was tiring and tedious, but Nathan felt a refreshing wave of vigour as the monotony of futile searching halted; they had finally found something.

Finally, they reached the tank, where they were greeted by the boy with a swift salute, which he bungled quite humorously. The Vacaraptor, however, saluted perfectly, legs together and clawed hand to his forehead.

Nathan raised his eye brow, sceptically. ‘Vacaraptor, you an auxiliary?’

The Vacaraptor smiled, showing his razor sharp teeth. ‘Was, Sergeant, fought on Ganymede.’

‘Ah, a veteran then. So you will understand when I say we should avoid idle chatter.’

‘Of course,’ he said and then cleared his throat. ‘I am Urg’a of Rekkie, retainer to Marshal Rekkie of the Wraiths. I have been tasked in defending this boy and the machine we stand on until I receive contrary orders from my commanding officer.’

Nathan gasped. ‘Marshal Rekkie! The war hero and survivor of Terra?’

‘The very same, but he prefers to be thought of as a rancher now.’

This discovery was immense. All Troopers in the academy learnt of Marshal Rekkie and the feats he had accomplished. The man was a legend among the humans who still took an interest in their own history. If James had managed to encounter him, it wasn’t a question of if he would survive, but more a question of how many Xank were going to be slaughtered along the way.

Urg’a grinned again, and continued. ‘I presume you are a rescue party for Strike Leader James. Sadly, they were hit at a settlement east of here.’

Nathan winced. ‘Details?’

‘Certainly; Marshal was accompanying a group led by a boy of seventeen who called himself James. No surname. He carried the Trooper insignia of Strike Leader. My master promised them use of this tank in exchange for clearing out a bandit posse. It seemed the gang had been replaced by a trap, and after taking the settlement, they were ambushed by Xank. They were overwhelmed, but somehow managed to escape. My theory is that they took the old bandit caverns. The Xank did not follow, and have since secured Pebble Rock as a means to resupply troops travelling from Galis.’

Nathan was not shocked, but very confused. How did James become a strike leader? Normally that rank came after years of war, or mountains of bribes.

Regardless, this news was welcoming, and meant that James was still alive.

‘Do you know where the caverns end?’ he eventually asked.

‘Yes, sergeant, regardless of which tunnel they take and if they emerge along the way, they will be heading to the Dead Stone ruins.’

‘What’s at Dead Stone? Isn’t it just a cadaver of a city?’

‘No, anything but. From the ashes of that battle has since arisen a new society; one different from that of the rest of Zona Nox, a society which shouldn’t really exist.’

Nathan sighed at the cryptic explanation and turned to the boy. ‘Your name?’

‘Tim, sir,’ he gulped. ‘I was chosen by the Strike Leader for my mechanical skill.’

‘Were you on the X59 when it crashed?’

‘Yes, sir. My dad was assigned to X63 and I was assigned to X59 due to space constraints.’

‘What happened exactly?’

‘We were hit by Xank. They managed to get into the ship before the Troopers knew what was going on. Half the ship was dead by the time the remaining Troopers could get survivors into a holdout. At the holdout, we were informed that the ship was going down and that a group capable of surviving Red Sand would have to be chosen to take the escape pods.’

‘And James was the one put in charge of choosing who went in this squad?’

‘Yes, the Captain on board gave him the insignia before he died and told him to head with the survivors towards Fort Nox. He took eighteen of us.’

‘Very good, thank you – and you will be glad to hear that X63 arrived at Fort Nox without any problems.’

Tim brightened up at that. ‘Thank you, sir. One more thing, an Imperial Preacher stowed away on the escape pods.’

Nathan groaned. That’s all I need. Imperials were an irritating lot. He would have to deal with the man.

He smiled grimly after recalling his lessons on Trooper law. Turning to the engineer in his squad he asked, ‘How many pods are on an X Issue Transport and how many people can fit in one?’

Without hesitation, he replied. ‘Three, usually, unless it has been refitted. An average pod can take up to nine people each.’

Nathan grinned, gas mask covering his features so no one could see his macabre pleasure. ‘So this Preacher has effectively killed nine people. That’s a hanging in Red Sand, if I’m correct.’

The sound of panting and sand whipping up due to running suddenly sounded. Turning around, Nathan spotted a bald head running for its life down the steep sand dunes.

Tim looked worried. ‘That’s Gretswald, the Preacher. He must have been hiding in the back when he heard you coming.’

Nathan ordered his men after him in the most efficient way possible, a bullet to the leg.

The shell pierced the man’s calf and he fell to the ground with a yelp. Two assault Troopers then went to retrieve him and drag him back to the tank. The one Trooper had staunched the bleeding, so the Preacher wasn’t going to die anytime soon. Bending down to look Gretswald in the face he noted, ‘Ah, so you’re the ass-licker of the Edal which was inciting riots back at the outpost.’

The Preacher spat at Nathan and then began shrieking religious insults. Nathan wiped the obscuring bodily fluids off his gas mask goggles and then slapped the man.

Taking him by the tuft of his shirt he then proceeded to hit him across the face till his shouting transformed to a quiet whimpering.

Nathan then looked into his eyes and shouted, ‘Imperial, by the rights and privilege vested in me as soldier of the Trooper Order, I arrest you on accounts of mass murder and betrayal of humanity! May you find redemption in Terra, race traitor!’



‘You don’t think I was too harsh, do you?’ Nathan asked as the rare gentle breeze softly buffeted against his now exposed face.

‘No, sergeant, Imperials are bad but a race traitor is already condemned. Tenet two of the creed, after all,’ the Trooper corporal responded.

‘I have the same sentiments but still, beating someone helpless like that the way I did; I thought I would be calm after that, he was the one responsible for killing those people, above the fact that he supports…that council.’

‘It was justice, sir. He deserved it.’

‘I keep telling that to myself, but that is not the problem. What I’m really worried about is that I enjoyed it. I enjoyed beating him till his teeth broke and shattered across the hard red rock. The sand mixing with his blood till it was barely noticeable.’

He looked at the corporal. ‘Am I supposed to enjoy hurting a fellow human?’

The corporal didn’t answer and seemed relieved when they were interrupted by the pilot - McIntyre. The pilot was old for someone living on a planet where the usual life expectancy was short due to war, disease and famine. It seemed that healthy living and a little luck had allowed him to live up to the fruitful age of seventy.

Besides his age, McIntyre was still fiery, both in personality and in his business dealings. He was cheap, however, and that was why Nathan had hired him.

‘Sergeant, the armour be loaded and we be ready to be shipping off,’ he said in a heavy accent which Nathan couldn’t trace to any areas in Extos.

‘Thank you, Pilot,’ he then turned to the corporal and ordered him to show Tim and Urg’a where they could sleep. He turned back to the old pilot. ‘So think we will make it to Dead Stone?’

‘Regardless, we be going to have to make a pitstop. There be some depots by the Steel Wall. That tank be a beauty but weighs almost as much as my ex-wife.’

‘Think we’ll make it?’

‘Certainly, sergeant. Ol’ McIntyre doesn’t take no trip he won’t make. We’ll make it to Fort Nox, ‘less there be losing of our carbon valve or fuel tank.

‘Well, we should draft a plan in case that happens, or preventative measures.’

McIntyre lit a cigarette and sidled next to Nathan to gaze over the vast wasteland. He sighed and resumed. ‘If I’ve learnt anythin’ in my line of work, it be that planning ain’t respected in the world. It be the decisions you make at the time.’

‘Agreed,’ Nathan replied after a brief pause and they both spent the remainder of their cigarettes staring over the Red Sand desert, a desert marked physically by the half a millennia worth of blood that had been spilt over this pitiful excuse for a frontier outpost.

“Reapers were invented during the Imperial Wars by Human engineers from the Martian Academy of Mechanics. It was created to provide a versatile ‘giant soldier’.” – Extract from ‘A brief history of the Human Military’

Chapter 21. Drugs

Waiting was tedious as the caravan lumbered sluggishly towards the ambush point. That in itself was an understatement. The wait was dreary and almost suicide inducing if Danny was prone to that type of behaviour. If wars were won on boredom, the Brexus and Legion would be thrashing the enemy. The truck moved at a snail’s pace, escorted by four bikers and about fourteen foot gunners.

Danny could not distinguish their weapons from his location, but he assumed that the bikers would be armed with Zerian machine pistols; due to their necessity to keep a hand on the bikes handlebars, and that the footmen would be armed with assault rifles or sub-machineguns.

Regardless, they were all going to be killed just the same. But it was not the escort that worried Danny, but the truck itself. The windows were tinted and even though it seemed like a normal carrier truck, he would put money on it that it was reinforced and hiding something much more dangerous than its current retinue. He could not do anything about his concerns, however. It was not his gang and he would have to just wait and hope.

The truck, at last, reached the perimeter of the buildings. The guards didn’t show any sign of worry.

Either they haven’t noticed us, Danny thought, or they’re preparing an ambush of their own.

The convoy trudged ever onward towards the chokepoint. In preparation for the tight space, the bikes advanced towards the front, while the infantry fell back to guard the rear. The formation ended up working against them, as they were trapped by the Fist barricade. Vehicle barriers were thrown across the chokepoint, preventing any vehicle from passing.

At once, the assault riflemen fired, sending the infantry to their deaths. Bullets flew, but the inferior untrained eyes didn’t always find their mark.

Danny managed to hit one footman but after that, chaos broke loose. The survivors of the initial onslaught were made aware of their attackers and they darted to cover or stayed in place, firing at any glimpse of Fist or Iron. Danny had no way of knowing if any of his allies were hit, so just continued to fire and avoid being fired at.

He let out a short burst of rounds and then re-adjusted his aim to a different target, releasing rounds at them before repeating. Unlike the typical gangster fashion, he preferred accurate and efficient attacks rather than an incessant rain of lead. The rain did have its uses, sometimes, but to Danny, the costs of ammunition normally outweighed the need to send a message. His associates had not been trained otherwise, if trained at all, so he couldn’t blame them for the incessant firing and wasting of ammo.

The number of Brexus infantry had been depleted to under five and only one lone biker survived. The biker was utilizing the bikes as a laager to survive, only peaking his head out to fire when his attackers were concerned with the infantry who had either ran to the buildings for cover, just to be picked off by someone through a window or the opposite building, or down the street itself where they would soon be shot down by snipers.

The raid was going as well as any drug raid was expected under these conditions. They were slaughtering the Brexus, and from his current perch, Danny could see minimal friendly casualties. Danny remembered the cost of ammo and frowned, soon remembering that it wasn’t his gang, or his money for that matter, he grinned and decided to hold down the trigger a little longer each time.

Then he noticed that the Brexus were actually getting some well-placed shots in, a Fist and an Iron had already fallen from what he could tell. Cheap losses for the causalities they were inflicting on the drug runners.

This was a clean fight, if Danny thought about it. Not clean as in honourable but in the literal sense of hygiene. Compared to the battle at Nev, where the halls were literally flooded with the blood of the now dried dead, this fight was a garden party. Friendly casualties were light and the bullets only left holes which, at most would trickle into a small puddle of blood. But then Danny realised something. Where was the driver in all this?

He should have at least tried to reverse out of the ambush, if not aid his team mates. But no, he or she remained in their seat, twiddling their thumbs. Well, Danny assumed so seeing he couldn’t see through the tinted windows. For all he knew, the driver was taking a nap.

The Brexus numbers had fallen to merely two lone gangsters armed with nothing but pistols, their SMGs had run dry. Finally, they let go of the pistols and raised their hands; shouting their surrender. Two Fists and Irons from either building exited, making a total of four to apprehend the Brexus who had since lowered to their knees, hands on their head.

Danny was impressed, living enemies were always a more valuable asset than dead ones. The source of information that they could provide had been known to topple empires. The arrest went without a hitch and Danny watched as Gre’sse and about five gangsters exited the buildings. Gre’sse looked up to Danny and signalled for him to come down.

He complied and departed from his perch, descending down the stairs until he reached Gre’sse on the street. The tribal leader didn’t delay and went straight to the point, ‘Don, did you notice anything peculiar about this raid?’

‘Yes, actually, trucks need drivers. I don’t see any evidence of one, unless they are currently waiting to be captured.’

‘Correct, so now do we investigate the driver’s seat?’

‘Yes, but it wouldn’t hurt to see what these guys know,’ inclining his head towards the captured Brexus.

Gre’sse nodded and they turned to the detained rival gangsters. They were both on their knees, with their arms behind their backs, bonded by wire.

Gre’sse stepped over to one and gripped him by the jaw, lifting his head to meet his own. ‘Brexus, what do you know of this assignment.’

The Brexus looked nervous but replied, ‘We were asked outta the blue if we’d escort a sawdust shipment. We agreed and followed orders from there.’

‘Who asked you?’

‘Just our Lieutenant.’

Danny went forward. ‘Have you seen the driver at all?’

‘No, he never left the truck.’ The Brexus looked close to sobbing.

Turning to Gre’sse, Danny said, ‘That’s all we’ll need. Secure a perimeter around the truck and get ready to breach.’

‘Wait a second,’ an Iron approached. He wore a gas mask similar to that of the Troopers and carried a long dagger by his side. Like all the Irons, he wore black leather from foot to neck. Within his hands he carried a sawed-off shotgun.

‘Who are you to give orders here? You are neither Iron nor Fist!’

Before Danny or Gre’sse could answer, another Iron hit him in the back of the head, knocking him forward.

‘Domos, do not be ignorant! Do you not recognize either of these men?’

Domos looked at the other Iron and Danny could sense the presence of a sneer. ‘No I do not, Krena. And strike me again and I will challenge you to a Duel of Steel.’

‘It would be my honour to purge your soul of taint, for these men are the honoured in both the north and south,’ she said, ‘one is the Don of the Marzio families, Purger of his Rivals and survivor of the Fall of Galis. The other is the one fabled as the Tribesman, the one who all Tribals look up to as a warrior prophet. There are no others worthier of leadership in this raid. Steel and Iron forgive you for your petulance!’

Domos looked stricken, turning to Danny and Gre’sse he gave a bow and apologized hastily.

Danny was also surprised. So his identity was not as humble as he had first thought. In fact, he was hailed as a hero of some sort by this group. He was starting to like cults a little more. But he never knew of Gre’sse’s part in this. He had always known he was a Tribal, but never expressed any more interest above that.

It seemed his cousin had actually gone and surrounded himself with some pretty interesting characters.

This was when he noticed that many of the Irons, both those around him and those in the buildings were looking at them in awe. This made Danny feel somewhat uncomfortable, but also a little conceited.

‘So now that petty squabbles are out of the way,’ Gre’sse said calmly, ‘we can proceed with Danny’s proposition.’

The units then went on to fulfil the plan and secure a defensible breach area around the truck. Some Fists clamped the back tires of the truck and the rest got into formation. This formation was designed to avoid any form of ambush, minimize losses in case of a trap, and to maximize breach effectiveness. They had no idea on what they would find in there, and there was no point in unnecessary losses when they had all the time in the world to set up the scenario to their liking.

At this point, only four people were on the roofs of the buildings, watching for any possible threats. Everyone else had vacated the structures and had proceeded to aid in the breach manoeuvre.

First they set up a barricade to surround the entrances to the truck, utilizing furniture from the buildings and the bikes of the late Brexus riders. Next, each barricade point was manned by two gunners, making a total of six barricade gunners - each one being covered by another assault rifleman from behind. Last and most importantly, the shot gunners were put in front of the barricade, utilizing the truck itself for cover. This tactic was designed for the range of the infantrymen’s weapons and the safety of each unit. It was like chess, each unit was guarded by another, so if it was taken, the unit defending it would seek revenge.

The shot gunners would have the most dangerous job but hopefully their hard hitting weapons would defend them. Everything was ready; everyone was in place – only one final move, the breach.

Danny waited, and when he decided that the stage was ready, he signalled for the shot gunner nearest to the entrance to smash the window of the truck and allow the other to open it. This co-operative action allowed the breach to go off without delay, disallowing the ones being ambushed any chance of preparation after being made aware of their enemy’s presence.

The shot gunner smashed the window and it shattered to the force of his steel capped shotgun stock. Barely a second later, the Iron opposite him, Krena, opened the truck door. Before even the crystal-like shards of the tinted window had fallen to the ground, the door had been forced open. The lock was disengaged and the stage ready for check-mate. They then backed away and allowed another to enter the truck after no signs of obvious attack.

A Fist entered the truck, magnum at the ready. He was young, but determined. Soon after, he exited, wearing a perplexed, yet worried expression, as if he had just seen a ghost.

‘What did you find?’ Gre’sse called from his spot behind one of the bikes.

‘The driver shot himself,’ he replied, but obviously had more to say, ‘and that isn’t the strange part…he’s blue.’



A group of twenty, supposedly the most influential figures in the Underbelly, stood surrounding the large circular hardwood table. Their faces were as blank and as emotionless as the dimly lit walls behind them, as the only light shone on what dominated the centre of the table, and everyone’s attention.

Danny, Gre’sse and Boris stood with the Fists and their leaders, facing that of the Iron and the individual leaders of the smaller mercenary gangs; even the CEO of some gang-friendly corporations were present.

But this was no usual gang meeting to promote unity and honourable crime. For lying, blood-stained and prostate, within the centre of the large table was none other than the corpse of an Edal.

This was the first time Danny had ever seen an Edal, but the description was unmistakeable. It possessed the racial traits of pointed ears and light blue skin. This one individually, donned a black jumpsuit and had styled its hair into a gelled interpretation of a wave, the gunshot to the head only slightly marring the blonde hair, which made the creature seem human, in a way. The Edal was young, in human terms he was probably twenty, but no one could really tell with aliens. But the most troubling element of all was not of the race but of the outfit. Upon the right breast of the jumpsuit was an image of a rising sun, the unmistakeable logo of the Zerian Corporation.

‘We must halt this useless dialogue,’ the leader of the Children of Iron stated in a tone halfway between that of a priest and a general. ‘Steel demands justice and talk does not deliver justice.’

‘Settle, Arthur,’ an old man ordered calmly, leaning on a walking cane whilst puffing at an overly extravagant pipe. ‘Talk may not provide an obvious practical result, but that also applies to needless casualties. One does not tackle a corporation without first weighing options and strategy.’

Arthur took the man’s advice and did indeed settle down. The room was silent for approximately fifteen seconds, when it was broken by the Fist leader.

‘But Arthur does have a point, Baron. We have been staring at this corpse for about an hour now and have since come up with the fact that Zerian is working with the Imperial Council and that Brexus and the Crystal Legion are in on it, that much was already given to us by our good friends in Aegis who seem to have the mutual desire to crush Zerian. This discovery just confirms it. We must cease our debate of cause and move onto the practical action of what we are going to do next.’

The Fist leader was large, and that was still an understatement. The man was a giant who dwarfed even Boris. Rolling muscles painted his physique and he towered at about three metres high. From what Danny had observed in this moot, however, he seemed to be a well-spoken and careful thinker, a strange trait for one with his appearance. Well, looks could be deceiving; for example, he had a Soldier by the name of Ryan who looked like a wall on steroids but had information claiming that he dreamt of being an accountant, chef or both.

Everyone nodded in an agreement to Dominic, the leader of the Fists. It was now a turn for one of the CEOs to speak; the first to step up was the leader of a small gas company, the same to be at war with the Legion.

‘As you probably already know, Thell Pumping has been hit multiple times in this month alone by the Crystal Legion. We had suspicions that Zerian were aiding them, but this has gone too far. If Zerian has indeed sided with the Council, and aided in destroying our interests, we will proudly provide any support we can.’

‘Thank you, you continue to prove that corporates are capable of possessing honour worthy of both Iron and Steel,’ Arthur replied, giving an approving nod and banging his sheathed sword lightly on the ground in respect.

‘Indeed, so I think it is settled already. All we need to do is discuss the details,’ Baron sighed, ‘I call the moot to vote: the gangs and allied corporations of the Underbelly hereby vote to declare war on both the Brexus, Crystal Legion and Zerian Corporation - stand if you support, leave if you deny the honourable choice.’

All stood, but a few left, none of which belonged to Thell or any of the major gangs. On the other hand, one Fist did make something worse than a walkout. A goateed Fist wearing combat armour denoting him as a lieutenant jumped up, face red he fumed.

‘This is madness! Not only do you expect us to slay two of the strongest gangs in the city, you also wish for us face a corporation which could put the Troopers to shame. And to top it all off, you want us to piss off the Imperial Council!’

Through gritted teeth, Dominic spoke in almost a hiss, trying to restrain his anger. ‘Walk out or stand your ground. But keep your mouth shut or risk damaging the integrity of our entire gang.’

He turned to look directly at Dominic.

‘I will not be hushed, boss - this is lunacy which you are supporting! Do you wish to destroy the gang your father worked so hard to build?! Odds are, we won’t last the week!’

‘This is not a question of odds, Slith. The gangs have damaged our interests and will continue to do so until they are wiped out, as they are being supplied by Zerian, we must declare war on them by default.’

Slith looked stricken dumb, he practically foamed by the mouth. How did this man even survive a day in this profession, much less rise to the position of lieutenant? Danny pondered. Regardless, Slith must have had reasons for his advanced fear. One did not show horror in such a way without experience. Then Slith moved, a movement that nobody expected or desired, a hand movement towards his waist where a pistol lay in its holster.

Shouting, Slith drew the pistol. ‘You can’t pull the Fists into this war if you’re dead. I will not let you destroy this gang, Dominic!’

His trigger finger didn’t even have time to flex as he was hit by the projectiles of ten guards surrounding the moot. Slith lay dead, multiple bloody holes dominating his chest and head. Dominic did not seem shocked, but instead seemed to darken as the he quietly and deeply mourned the loss of, what probably once was, a friend.

‘I apologize for the actions of my comrade. His parents were murdered brutally by Imperials when he was but a boy. It became an overwhelming phobia to him, a phobia which evidently enveloped and consumed him in the end.’

The assorted leaders bowed their head. They did not feel hatred for the actions of Slith nor the actions of his killers. Fear did things to people, it controlled them, and the guards were merely doing their job.

Just as everyone lifted their heads, the memorable and eccentric figure of a tall dark skinned woman appeared in the doorway, just behind the corpse of Slith.

Glancing down at the body, Big Momma spoke, ‘Hope this isn’t a bad time, but my superiors thought it would be appropriate if Aegis sent a representative to this moot.’

Dominic actually smiled at her presence, a strange expression to see on a man so brutish. ‘Not at all, Gloria, Aegis is always welcome to moots, they do provide us with our most vital resource after all.’

‘And what is that?’ Arthur interjected, indicating that he didn’t know of said vital resource.

Big Momma glanced at Arthur, slightly annoyed at the interruption. ‘Information, Arthur. I see you’re still interrupting people. Didn’t I tell you not to?’

He looked sulkily down to the floor and apologized. Danny grinned at that. Big Momma had an aura of sorts that drove almost everyone she met to a sense of childishness.

She continued, ‘And it is just that which I have come to offer, as well as a proposition.’

She took a seat near Dominic, claiming Slith’s chair. Everyone stared as her statement sank in. Finally, the Thell representative butted in. ‘And what information have you come to offer?’

‘Well, first you will need to accept my proposition. Everything has a cost you see.’

She smiled and waited for the reaction of the group. When she felt the mood was appropriate, she continued.

‘So, you may or may not have heard that Aegis has offered multiple gangs support in fighting Zerian and the two Underbelly gangs which have allied with them.

‘One of these gangs was the Grooks that I see here tonight; I am not aware of their answer yet but presume it was an acceptance.’

That’s kind of presumptuous of her Danny thought, a little irritable at the audacity, despite the truth.

‘I come here now bringing a proposal from the galactic CEO of Aegis himself, Quentin Wivern. He has come offering military, financial, covert, supply, technology and political support in the downfall of the Zerian Corporation.’

‘And what does he get out of it?’ asked one of the minor gang leaders, a slender tattooed man wearing a leather jacket.

Big Momma grinned. ‘That should be obvious. With Zerian’s downfall, he would lose his main competitor in the small armaments market and a major thorn in his side politically. But Mr Wivern also possesses a more ethical goal.’

A few people, Danny included, raised their brow at that. Corporates never did anything for ethical gain.

‘He seeks to simply rid the galaxy of the betrayers of his race - any that align with the Council go against the human race itself.’

‘So Wivern wants Zerian gone because Zerian has turned on its own?’ Dominic asked.

‘Exactly, but there comes a problem. Aegis is indeed powerful, but its military and covert power is currently centred around the Great Terra system. In fact, I am one of the only Aegis agents left on Zona Nox.’

‘Why are you telling us this? This information could be used against Aegis.’

Big Momma smiled slightly at that. ‘There’s a saying: Trust those and they will trust you. By putting my trust in you, hopefully you will do the same for me.’

Danny noticed Dominic smile at that. Obviously he had a history with Big Momma, both him and Viper. Void, how many people did she know?

‘So what do you ask of the moot?’ Baron asked, carrying an impression that made him seem to be the only one not affected by Big Momma’s charisma.

‘Well, you have already accomplished half of it. That being declaring war on both the traitor gangs and Zerian. Another quarter is carrying out that war.’

‘And what is the last quarter?’

‘Aegis has the resources here to stop the Board takeover, but not the initial manpower to use it. I may have to recruit a few of your men to help undertake tasks in Titan City proper.’

‘Sounds good to me,’ Dominic concluded as he stood up. ‘Stand if you agree to the proposal from the Aegis Corporation.’

Everyone stood and he nodded approvingly.

‘Then it’s decided. Gloria, pick your men from any of our gangs. We trust them under your care.’

Big Momma looked pleased and then glanced at Danny and Boris. Danny nodded to indicate he understood. Big Momma would be choosing the Grooks to undertake the mission up top, and maybe a few more. She then looked to the whole moot where she announced,

‘If it is in the consent of the men and their masters, I will be requesting two men or woman from each major gang and the entirety of the Grooks.’

Boris looked surprised but not dismayed, if Danny guessed right; his cousin liked the turn of events. Revenge was one thing, but revenge while benefitting the entire planet was another. Boris must have been feeling the same thing that Danny was feeling, something rarely experienced by criminals: a sense that they were about to do something that would actually help people. It was a nice feeling.

This feeling of charity was broken by the sound of a bang as the door was flung open. A young Fist had burst through the door. He was panting furiously as sweat clung to his brow, a look of terror upon his face. Everyone in the moot turned to the boy. He was panting hard, but was obviously trying to speak, mumbling incomprehensible garbage. Dominic asked him to calm down and breathe. The boy did so, and after regaining his breath, he spoke.

‘We opened the truck and found something. It started ticking.’

Arthur looked irritated and interjected as a result. ‘So what, boy? Clocks tick and you do not see me screaming at such contraptions.’

‘Clocks don’t explode, sir.’

Everyone looked at him in stunned amazement as the words sunk in. Even after that, no one said a word. No one had to, the meaning behind this was obvious.

That was no drug caravan; it was the Brexus, Legion and Zerian’s acceptance of war.



The sky had become red as the ash fell from the sky. The dead lay scattered across the charred metal, waiting to be buried by soot, or burnt by the remaining fires. The Fist HQ lay in flames and ruined charred tin as the survivors of the explosion, either those out on errands or at the moot, dug through rubble in vain, trying desperately to find a survivor. The Trojan truck had succeeded and had won Zerian the first major blow in this war. It had been a harsh, low blow. The Fists were saddened by the loss of their friends, family and associates, but after sadness subsided, it was replaced by more primal emotion – a desire for vengeance.

To Danny: Brexus and the Legion had just signed their own death warrant. Dominic was silent as he walked over the charcoal and debris of his destroyed headquarters and home. The rest of the gang leaders had left the moot to prepare their own gangs and territories for the war which was about to, if not already, start.

Danny stood solemnly with the Grooks, looking over the black remains of the truck. They bowed their heads respectfully and mournfully. Even if they were disrespectful gangsters, the Grooks still felt loss for the Fists, and expressed it appropriately. Danny hardly noticed as Dominic trudged through the burnt metal. In fact, he only acknowledged the presence of the large gang boss after the snap and crack of a sheet of metal, which had been scorched to breaking point, awoke him from his brooding.

Looking at the large brute of a man from the corner of his eye, Danny noticed how not a tear stained his hard demeanour. His act was that of a businessman, admittedly, a very depressed one. He walked with purpose, something which Danny admired. A gust of wind blew through the streets of the Underbelly and sent ash and objects flying. Something landed at Danny’s feet and after investigating it, he found it to be a Mozar-leather shoe. He picked it up and examined it. The size was smaller than his own, probably belonging to a boy of fourteen to fifteen. Danny felt a tinge of an acidic taste down in his gut. Feeling sick, he let go of the shoe and didn’t watch as it was buried and consumed by gray and white ash.

Dominic was standing with them now. He was still wearing the Fist uniform, marred with the remains of his home. The once powerful symbol of a Fist now stained with the burnt vestiges of his once great criminal empire.

Besides the weeping of mothers, whose sons had died in the explosion, and the shouting of Fists seeking help in the distance, the area was quiet. Danny felt it was an appropriate atmosphere for such a scene.

The silence was broken as Dominic spoke. It seemed like a whisper, but Danny recognized it more as the tone of a man who did not wish to speak, but did so out of necessity.

‘Boris, I trust you will also accept Big Momma’s proposal. I trust her, and you know that counts for most things in this line of work.’

‘I will, Dom, the Grooks will do what is necessary.’

‘And can I ask one favour?’

Boris nodded as Dominic turned from the scene of the burnt out truck which had destroyed the epicentre of his family. He spoke quietly, but determinedly. His tone was not loud in volume, but it couldn’t have contained more of his desire.

‘Make them pay, Boris, make them pay for what they have done here, and been doing for decades. Make them pay for burning our property, disrespecting our power and murdering our kin. Make him pay most of all. I want him to suffer.’

‘You know I will, Dom, you know I will.’

The ash continued to cascade onto the ground, blanketing the area with a white sheet. Hopefully, with the physical covering, the Fists may find conciliation, and forget this harsh night in the distant future. If so, maybe they would find peace. Deep down, however, Danny knew that that would not be possible. Men paid blood for blood, and the violence would never stop as long as violence reigned.



It had been so long since Danny had entered Titan City that he had almost forgotten that there was actually another city above the Underbelly altogether, and he was about to enter it.

Titan proper was a marvel, an exclusive paradise of business, wealth and corruption; a haven for the rich and cutthroat who had good fashion sense. Danny looked forward to the visit.

There were only two ways into Titan City’s skyscraper districts. By air, or by the heavily guarded gates and elevators which gave the ‘Elevator’ districts their name.

Danny stood with the Grooks, Big Momma, Krena and Domos of Iron, Yurg and Brent of Fist. This group of thirteen were to be the ones to infiltrate the Board of Directors and bring down Zerian.

While the gangs fought for vengeance in the Underbelly, this team would plot for victory in the heavens. They were about to enter where no gangster had entered before. Well, at least not the honest gangsters.

Big Momma stood conversing with a clerk who was flanked by twin armoured guards. These guards were as professional as you could get outside of the Troopers. Granted, they still fought for money but they fought for a stable income rather than the highest bidder. They were a security company who had been hired by the first Titan Corporation, who landed on Zona Nox over two hundred years ago, and founded the city. The benefactor had been so wealthy that he had left a trust, which only he could access, to pay for the security company. Somehow, the account knew if the guards had betrayed the contract or not, so corruption was rare.

Danny felt quite relieved to be back in business wear; Boris and the others did not, as was evident by their awkward movements and incessant scratching. Besides that, he did not draw too many unwelcome looks. Domos and Krena looked the most perturbed, as they had to leave their ‘soul’ weapons behind. Big Momma promised them a replacement weapon when they got to the top, but their temperament didn’t change.

Danny still did not know much of the Iron faith, and he now started to feel that he should have paid attention to their sermons. It would have helped in conversation.

Brent and Yurg seemed to be the most talkative, the prospect of entering the ‘top’ allowing them to forget the deaths of their friends. Donna had come earlier to bid them farewell and give Boris a parcel of cake which he was to bring to her father, who had been stuck negotiating for a booze shipment for two months now. Donna didn’t seem worried by her father’s extended absence but Danny couldn’t help but feel a slight sense of foreboding. He knew that corporate cities could be overly bureaucratic, but this was ridiculous. Something must have happened to the old man; something that, unfortunately, they would have to sort out above that of their current objective.

Danny didn’t want to worry about that now. Yesterday had been a long, hard, day and living in that tin shanty had taken its toll on him. Of course, he hadn’t noticed that it had until he realised that he wouldn’t need to tolerate it for much longer. Once they were in Titan City, they would fly by taxi to the Aegis skyscraper, which was in the process of being converted into the HQ for this operation. From there, it would be comfortable beds, soft chairs and fancy food. He just hoped they had salmon.

Big Momma turned from her discussion with the dazed looking clerk with the robotic expression and indicated for them to follow. The heavily armed guards allowed them to pass, and they soon entered into a large hall populated by more armed guards, office clerks, travellers and businessmen.

The hall was gigantic and was more like a settlement than a room. Restaurants and cafes lined one flank while shops lined the other. The centre of the room was blanketed with stock feeds, tables and shouting stock brokers.

Danny could just gape at the scene. He knew the contrast was great but this sudden? While people were being killed in the most gruesome ways possible on the surface, these men were just worrying about if gerron would go up or not.

It was disgusting, in a small way, disgusting but also somewhat appealing. Danny knew better than thinking that stocks were a calm line of work. He had lived as a stock broker for about two years in the Galis Corporate District. It wasn’t the life for him, but it made him enough money to start up his gang. Many agencies wanted him to stay, as they said he had a knack for it but he couldn’t stand the stress anymore. Bullets are way less stressful than numbers. But looking at the crowds of excitable penguin men brought back some good memories.

Turning to Big Momma, he asked, ‘How long till we proceed?’

‘We have to wait here till the transport comes to pick us up at the loading bay. About an hour.’

Danny grinned. That’s all the time he needed. He separated from the group, where he took a seat at one of the unoccupied stock tables; surfaces designed so you could trade stocks while eating or writing down notes. Utilizing the stock screen, he registered under his pseudonym and started trading.

“Why should I bow to the one who murdered my kin?” – Grag-Po, Glotos III Uprising

Chapter 22. Mobilization

‘Wake up, maggots!’

Leri leapt from his sleeping pallet at the sound. He spun his head, his body soon following, searching for his equipment so to avoid a beating. His blaster lay on the floor, next to an orangey lump of metal. He reached for it and lifted the box like machine to his wrist where he strapped it in. That was when he realised that the orange lump was his and after recalling that it was armour, he remembered that he was no longer a whelp and the voice had actually belonged to that of the Warrior next door. He was still getting used to the idea of not being beaten by Meran for not waking up on time.

Old habits die hard and flinching at the sound of an aggressive officer was one of them.

They had been resting in the human settlement of ‘Pebble Rock’ for two days now, securing it under the command of both the Word and Assault Lector. It seemed the Lectorate Council had begun to rein the Word Lector and bring him back into line of the invasion, as their orders were forcibly changed.

Invasion troops from Galis and the occupied territories had been moving through the settlement every day now. Not even stopping to rest. His platoon’s job was to keep them covered, even if there was no need for it. Humans had not been sighted in East Red Sand since the fall of Galis, after all. Leri doubted the practicality of such an order and the political manoeuvring which was used to attain the order, but he didn’t personally oppose the decision; non-necessary work tended to be easy and safe work.

Taking the cue from his neighbour Warrior, Leri vacated his sleeping pallet and readied his equipment. He lifted up the orange and shining armour plate, and lifted it to his chest where he held it against himself. Reaching for the straps, he adjusted it to fit his small frame. Practice was beginning to pay off and the armour slid on easier than the day before. It still had to be broken into after belonging to the likes of Meran.

After finishing, he stretched and picked up a stick which was resting idly by the corner. He utilized it to poke each raider to consciousness. The whelps awoke with practiced efficiency and everyone was ready in a minute.

They marched out of the barracks, where they formed up and awaited inspection and their daily orders. Leri was pleased when he had confirmed that Zerichi was inspecting the squads personally. He wanted to make an impression, and had guaranteed that his squad was in top condition every day. Not that it mattered much, with what he had as opposition. On either side, the squads looked half asleep, armour hung loose and blasters were beginning to show early signs of rust. A slightly groomed Mozar would impress better than them.

Word had always been a lax section, but that didn’t mean it had to be insubordinate. Leri felt that maintaining uniform aided in keeping the hierarchy and therefore, discipline.

Zerichi berated a few squads as he made his way along the lines, giving a polite nod to those that had made an effort. At each squad, he would rate them on their presentation and then give them their orders. Today, to Leri’s concern, he didn’t do the latter.

When he reached Leri’s squad, he inclined his head in respect and Leri mirrored the gesture with pride. The fourth was, without a doubt, the best presented of all the squads.

‘Gods bless your blade arm, Warrior. Fourth receives extra rations tonight,’ Zerichi announced, more cheerfully than his usual serious and commanding temperament.

Surprised, Leri thanked him as it dawned on his troops that all this primping was actually worth it. The other squads showed their resentment openly and Leri couldn’t care less. Zerichi backed away from the squads and utilized a crashed human vehicle called a ‘car’ as a stage.

‘As usual, your presentation is repulsive, with the exception of the fourth. Due to this, I feel that there’s no point in surveying the rest of you maggots. So straight to orders:

‘We have finally been ordered to proceed with the earlier plan. We are to head to Dead Stone, as that is apparently where the earlier targets are headed. Once there, we are to capture the target, relatively unharmed, and take him straight to the Word Lector. This is a great honour, so I am going to make a bit of a competition out of it.’

That perked Leri’s, and no few amount of other Zangorian’s, interest. Competition was a welcome thing to hear in Xank culture, as it always meant greater reward for those who triumphed.

‘The squad to capture the target will be the one to present them to the Lector. This will most probably result in the leader of said squad becoming a Kurag, and his whelps becoming Warriors. The Lector likes to reward those that he meets.’

Everyone, Leri included, was gaping at the declaration. They had expected reward, but nothing this huge. A Kurag headed up an entire division in the Xank military. Those who rose to the rank of Kurag in the Xank army would enjoy power only trumped by the Lectors and the Avenger.

I have to win this, Leri thought to himself, his talons tightening. I have to be the one to capture that human.

Zerichi continued, after allowing his proclamation to sink in. ‘We will be mobilizing in half an hour. Assault forces will take our place.’

With that, he jumped from his perch and went off to organize his honour squad for the trip. Without delay, Leri did the same, hastily ordering his raiders to pack up their belongings. For extra supplies, he assigned the larger and tougher Zangorians as baggage carriers. Normally, squads didn’t do this, as whelps were supposed to carry their own luggage, but many supplies were too heavy for the smaller Zangorians and this simple innovation of passing off necessity supplies to larger Zangorians had since been effective, and enhanced the efficiency of his squad ten-fold.

At first it gained him a few sour looks from the chosen carriers, but they had soon realised that the extra weight was bearable for them. The carriers were the survivors of the third. As they were large, they had managed to survive their Warrior’s wrath. Their size didn’t help them find place in the fourth until they were given the position of carrier, which gained them the thanks of the other squad members, which could now move in relative comfort.

Leri’s practiced efficiency in squad organization rewarded him ten minutes to spare after his squad had finished their preparation. They formed up in the courtyard, where they rested, while the other squads laboured incompetently to finish their packing.

His squad would be slightly more rested than the other squads, and the effort would be rewarded by being able to take the front place of the march. Taking the front meant being able to set the pace, and as they were in Xank friendly territory now, they had no fear of being caught in an ambush and having to act as a shield for the rest of the platoon.

The other squads began to trickle out of their claimed bunkhouses and take formation in the courtyard behind Leri’s squad. Some of the Warriors scowled at not being able to be the one to take the front. They did not deserve that honour. Leri did not hold back his sneer at the other Warriors’ expense. He had put effort into his squad and he felt no shame in receiving the reward for doing so.

Zerichi, as the Kurag, could be as late as he wanted and arrived merely five minutes before they were due to ship out. Exiting the saloon which he had claimed as his own, Zerichi noted down the position of the squads and gave an approving nod. He then took his place next to Leri’s squad and ordered them to move out.

Leri echoed the order, and signalled the pace at a light jog, he would break for a march in an hour and then make up that time with a run. His squad immediately broke into a disciplined trot, putting the other officers to shame.



Many thought that Leri was a great leader, but Leri knew better. His charisma left a lot to be desired, but it was within self-maintaining systems that his power truly existed. His plots, systems and administrative abilities allowed his squad to run efficiently, while he barely muttered a word. It was not leaders that made a civilization great, it was systems. The best society was one which managed itself. Leri’s basic system of delegation had greatly improved the squad dynamic, and allowed troops to specialize instead of just awaiting orders as they came. He observed whelps and assigned them according to their specialties, either physically or mentally.

Surprisingly, each one of his raiders had a history, a skill and a previous profession. Unlike the average raider, they were not born into the horde. Some were medics, others were engineers, one was even an administrator on his home world; Leri had assigned him as quartermaster. He made sure each soldier received their rations and necessary supplies; he also kept record of them in case they were stolen.

The other squad leaders, who had noticed this, looked down on the strategy as un-Zangorian. To them, commanders were supposed to set orders as the battle progressed. A soldier that could think for himself was disobedient, in their eyes.

Leri was different. To him, a thinking soldier was an asset. He could assess the field from the field and fight without the guidance of a commander. Leri cared not for the opinions of the others and would continue to rule in the way he felt most effective.

To the relief of both the squad and Leri, it was time to break back into a march. They did so with practiced ease and after five hours of travel, the other squads had grown acquainted to the routine, and no longer struggled to slow down.

Zerichi hadn’t complained, so Leri presumed that they were making good time. He had no way of knowing how far or where Dead Stone actually was, besides the general directions from Zerichi and forward scouts, but presumed that his squad would get there in time.

Leri hated not knowing what he had ahead of him. That was one of the reasons he felt soldiers needed to be educated. He didn’t like being blind to information, so he felt others should not be blind under his rule. Zerichi was a good leader but he wasn’t revolutionary in his approach to strategy. To him, the commander gave the orders and the soldiers followed them exactly as they were put, there was to be no space for error or change in tactics. All well and good, but it was fact that most of strategies fell apart within minutes of battle. Soldiers needed to learn to fight battles without officers.

The sun was directly above them now, mid-day. It left little shadow and baked the hard red dirt of the northern hemisphere. Zangorians didn’t mind. They worked well in the hot and dry deserts of the Extos system and beyond. Zeruit was a hot planet, comprising scorching deserts and humid jungles. The Zangorians thrived under these conditions, so they marched and jogged with relative ease.

They only stopped once every few hours for a short rest. During this time, Leri’s assigned quartermaster would distribute rations from the carriers. Then they would continue the march.

The sun was setting now, Leri had lost track of time but Zerichi had confirmed that they were still going in the right direction. They would stop at about eight; Leri would have to watch the moon to make sure he didn’t miss it.

The group was tired, but had a sense of satisfaction surrounding them. They were pleased to have gone so far within this little time. Of course, a walker or craft would have taken them further and faster but Word just did not have the funds for that sort of luxury.

Strange that the Word Lectorate even existed. Its purpose was similar to that of the Shadow Lectorate but did not provide as much practical results. The Lector hardly had the funds or power to acquire any of the needed resources. In fact, many kurags were richer than the tiny Lectorate.

The Word Lectorate was by far the weakest of the Lectorates, militarily and economically. Within the entire Lectorate, there were only two platoons of Zangorian and one team of Krugar. The Lector couldn’t even afford to purchase Gleran cannon fodder, much less Sylith. It was truly a wonder that he managed to stay afloat.

The finances of his superiors were not his concern, however; his most recent concern was the management of the march to Dead Stone and his long term concern being that of freeing his people. Leri bit off the edge of the pinkish dried meat and swallowed it without chewing. It was designed to go down easily. His hourly rations consumed, he stood up and ordered the platoon to renew the march.



Hisses echoed from the darkness. Shadows were moving; first like smoke, and then like the creatures which they truly were. James and his retinue had heard the shotgun signal soon after they had heard the screeching and banging upon the door of the lab. First, they took their traps for granted but the sounding of the second signalled that they had all failed.

Now they ran down the dark tunnels, dreading the imminent wave of Sylith which was scurrying in the shadows.

The light of the landing cavern was right ahead. Their run had closed the gap much faster that the walk before. The sight embraced them as they continued their run with renewed vigour, refuelled by hope.

‘Molok! Ready the barricade!’ James shouted, panting and gasping as he ran.

Sgt. Yobu and Molok appeared in the entrance, guns at the ready. The Trooper took aim at the Sylith behind them and fired. Molok did as James had ordered and gripped a metal plate to put into position. James should have wondered how the sergeant was able to hit anything with this much shroud, but before he could ponder the subject to the appropriate lengths, he tripped.

Without delay he rolled, narrowly avoiding a slice from a Sylith blade. Kicking outward he found his mark, the stunned Sylith, previously content with its stealth, staggered as James shot it multiple times in the head.

Recalling the battle at Galis, he realised that these Sylith were weaker than the desert variant, most probably due to the cross breeding with zot. They may have been stealthy and fast, but they didn’t possess the overwhelming ferocity of the desert Sylith. James was thankful for that, and made a note to thank the deity that helped him destroy the Xank fighter for this as well.

He lifted himself up with ease and bolted towards the light. He arrived safely and the rest of his group followed. Molok then swiftly closed the barricade to be met with the sound of Sylith going head first into the metal blockade.

James and the rest were panting and were only able to give an explanation after about a minute and a drink of water. Eventually, James recounted the events of their short trip through the grotesque caverns, including the Zerian Sylith lab and the discovery of the plasma rods.

Marshal critically examined the rods and after a satisfied nod, injected them into the Obsidian Reaver. The vehicle powered up immediately and they all went to take their seats, if they could be called seats. They stood upright and were each adorned with a secure double seat belt. The sides of the vehicle were lined with a pod for each person and a supply pack if necessary.

They were designed so a unit could drop the pod to the surface or jump with the assistance of a parachute. Hopefully, they would not need to utilize any of these features, as they sorely lacked parachutes.

‘So, Marshal; estimates on how far we’ll get?’ James asked before taking position in the craft.

Marshal frowned. ‘Not far, the plasma rods are almost dry.’

James bit his lip in frustration. ‘So all that work for nothing?’

‘Not quite, we have enough power to reach Dead Stone, as originally planned. We can land in friendly territory and get a replacement rod there.’

James nodded and they mounted the Reaver. Marshal took the pilot’s seat and James took the seat next to his. He noticed how a rifle could be attached to an emplacement on the passenger seat and used to pick off troops below. So he drew his FireBolt Rifle from his back and strapped it to the emplacement as Marshal readied the ship for take-off.

James had only received the rifle in Galis about a week ago, but he had already built an attachment to it, developed a history for it. It had brought him through this intense part of his life after all and that tended to grow one’s bonds to something.

The barricades were starting to fail and James glimpsed a fragment of ebony coloured exoskeleton break through the scrap metal. Re-adjusting the bipod, he aimed it at the collapsing doorway and fired. The round burst out in fire, proving the rifle’s namesake, and hit a Sylith, felling it instantly.

They would need only ten more seconds. Marshal continued to adjust gears and pull knobs as James fired upon the Sylith who had managed to break through.

And then he saw it. It was like a scene from a nightmare, a black spectre from the depths. Moving noiselessly through the tunnel, the light of the pad only revealing it as it passed the invisible barrier between shadow and light, was the Sylith queen, the hivemind of the Shadow Sylith.

It stood upright and towered above the other Sylith at about five metres tall. It was covered from head to toe with hard black carapace and was armed with two pairs of large, spiked arms. Strangely enough though, she did not possess scythes. Marshal looked up and after seeing the monster, shouted. ‘Kill it! Kill it now!’

James didn’t delay the onslaught, and immediately levelled his scope at the neck of the creature, the only part free of the obsidian coloured exoskeleton.

He fired and watched as the bullet flew through the air to be blocked by a soon dead Sylith. It had acted as a shield. This was the first time that James had ever seen the Sylith react to a hivemind. He had always known of the concept from books, but had never seen it in action. Once he had seen a documentary explaining the concept of corporate or faction control over a Sylith hive; according to the low budget production, it had something to do with killing the queen and manipulating the DNA of the specific hive mind to duplicate the frequency, therefore bringing the Sylith of that hive under the faction’s control. It had also mentioned that Sylith without a hive became one of two classifications: Rogue or Nomad. Rogues were Sylith that have grown accustomed to surviving on their own, being a Rogue indicates that the creature was capable of survival without guidance or control and should either be exterminated by an existing hive, assimilated or allowed to start a new hive. Nomads were the Sylith who survived after the destruction of a hive but lack the individual strength or cunning to survive further, they were walking corpses.

Regardless, Sylith would defend their masters to the point of their own death. The biggest challenge was to get to a point where the queen could be harmed, preferably without having to waste ammo on its minions.

Marshal was still struggling to get the craft off the ground. He was mumbling and swearing about a conduit and how it wasn’t connecting to the pods. James continued to fire at the queen with the most effective shot being that of a bullet passing through a Sylith neck to graze against the plating of the queen. The group was making a push and had finally broken down the entire barricade, allowing a free flow of insectoid killers to pile into the chamber.

This is it, James thought dryly, the place I die.

The horde moved ever closer and James was reminded of the Zangorian who had killed Andrew. It had moved slowly, savouring the moment as well; savouring the moment before killing his friend and then attempting to kill him.

But James refused to die here. He didn’t know why he did it or what even made him think of it in the first place, but this next shot he didn’t aim at the queen, but at the wall next to it. He fired and the bullet hit the solid material, ricocheting into the queen’s legs. The creature groaned in pain and to James’ surprise and delight, faltered.

James grinned, this breed made up for armour with speed. This was also true of the queen. He did not need to worry about where he aimed; he just needed to hit it. So he fired at it, rapidly changing his mark. Three out of eight shots hit the queen and it had now stopped, panting in a strange alien manner. Its entourage had also halted, forming a defensive shield for their master.

James readied another shot but jolted as Marshal finally succeeded in starting the Reaver. The man was now smiling. but James was somewhat disappointed that he wouldn’t be able to kill the creature.

Marshal noticed and handed him a spherical object. ‘Hatch on your right.’

James grinned appreciatively and took the frag grenade. Opening the hatch, he dropped the charge.



This was the eighth fight today. Leri didn’t know the cause, but something had happened in the ranks and now whelps from the assorted squads were brawling at random. Usually, troops would be allowed the quick clash so to settle their differences, but due to the urgency of this march, the squad Warriors would be forced to break up the fights and restore order.

That was easier said than done and the fights had already caused a huge disruption in the platoon’s trip. Even Zerichi was starting to worry and had requested assistance from Leri and other officers to detain troublemakers.

Leri proudly helped break up fights one by one, managing to prevent serious injury – a large feat when you think of the Zangorian anatomy and blood lust. After breaking up about eight fights, his pride began to shift into annoyance and then anger.

At least my troops are behaving, Leri thought, trying to chase away the anger and maintain an outward façade of healthy confidence.

Just then, he heard a thump and squeal. Turning he saw just what he was previously happy not to have to witness. Lying on the floor, a pool of blood already spreading to claim the sandy floor around them, was Harl and Pesha.

Pesha was one of the smaller whelps. He was not suited for support tasks or any general assault. Ff Leri had his way, he would be shipped back to Elx. Unfortunately, Zangorian conscription was inclusive and all males were forced to participate. The females were left on their home worlds to be tended to by the Peace Lectorate and were tasked with the infinite task of breeding the future attack forces and their replacements.

Each Zangorian soldier was required to give a sample of their seed to the Peace Lectorate, which would then be enhanced for fertility and duplicated. It would then be used on the breeders, who were then required to birth at least ten eggs a week or face stripping of rations.

The woman may very well have the shorter end of the stick, Leri pondered, the men might have to go to war but at least they have relative freedom while on the field.

Leri would change that once he took power. Not only would the Zangorian soldiers be free of the Xank, but so would the females who would be allowed to mate with who they wished and enjoy mothering their children through natural means. Just like the old days.

Harl was busy pummelling Pesha in the stomach, wisely avoiding the naturally hard beak. Leri didn’t delay shoving Harl off the smaller Zangorian. Harl tumbled to the ground as Leri helped Pesha up, the creature still whimpering; no wonder he was bullied, the whelp had no concept of hiding weakness.

Harl’s tumbling concluded and he pulled himself up from the ground, he glared at Pesha and then Leri. His eyes were filled with hate, a searing lust for violence which looked to explode at any time. If looks could hurt, Leri was sure that he would have been incinerated by now. Harl was looking at him as if he was responsible for destroying his entire family and then stealing his rations to boot, with the last part being the only true. Leri knew he was a troublemaker, but this was ridiculous. Leri had given no reason besides the breaking of a fight to warrant hatred, and never of that calibre. Then Leri saw it – behind the fires of scorching hatred within his beady eyes, Harl’s eyes were of void, there was no thought behind it. As if he was being controlled by something else.

Then the fires extinguished. Harl collapsed and Leri rushed in to steady him. He looked up,

‘Warrior…I…I don’t know what came over me,’ he said, gasping for some reason. ‘One-minute I was marching and chatting to Pesha about life back on Elx and then I was mauling him.’

Leri should have been angrier, but he felt there was more to these outbursts than simple frustration. Then it struck him.

Hastily he asked, ‘What planet do you call home world?’

Confused, Harl replied, ‘Elx, Warrior, Pesha and I grew up in the same hatchery.’

He made sure to emphasize the title. Maybe Leri really had broken him.

That was it, the piece of the puzzle he needed to solve the case. He promptly sprinted towards Zerichi, who was breaking up a fight of his own.

‘Sir, I think I know what’s going on,’ Leri exclaimed, barely out of breath even though the sprint should have at least winded him. Zerichi glanced at him, looking slightly annoyed at the intrusion.

‘Speak, Warrior, my patience has already dwindled due to these upheavals.’

‘Where’s your home world?’

Stunned, Zerichi replied, ‘La’rz. Like you, I am a clan born.’

‘Exactly,’ Leri grinned.

Zerichi’s previous impatience and anger had turned to bafflement as he tried to decode the meaning of the eccentric statement. Finally, the Kurag sighed. ‘Honestly, Leri, I haven’t a clue what you’re talking about.’

‘What planets are all these delinquents from?’

Zerichi turned and called out to the two who he had recently calmed down, they replied, ‘Elx.’

He then turned to some others and asked them, every one of them replied with the same answer, ‘Elx.’

Zerichi turned to Leri, his expression showing that he was now sensing what Leri had uncovered,

‘So it seems that the Elxians are naturally troublemakers. That makes things difficult.’

‘Excuse me for saying so, but you are only partly correct, Kurag.’

Zerichi raised his eyebrow, a strange expression coming from a Zangorian, one which Leri didn’t know where he recognized from. Leri continued. ‘By any chance do you have any dossiers on Elx? This is the Word Lectorate after all.’

Zerichi called one of his subordinates over and then ordered the Zangorian to search for the relevant information on an electronic pad. The small framed whelp found them and handed the pad to Zerichi, who then handed them to Leri. Peering down and reading, he found the passage he needed and read aloud:

‘Elx was an experiment, of sorts, within the Peace Lectorate. Seeing the prolific nature of Sylith, the Lectorate combined male Zangorian seed with Sylith pheromones.

‘It had the desired effect and, for a while, Elx was the most successful of the hatchery planets. In later years, however, reports started coming in that Elx soldiers were particularly well known for rebellion. Things grew truly worrying when a squad of Elxians ripped their commanding Immortal to shreds as the non-Elxians watched in horror. After about a year of research, the Word Lectorate determined that which the free races and Imperials had known for longer than we - that Sylith pheromones were what connected them to their queen.

Due to the Xank’s sheer unwillingness to seek knowledge from the other factions, they had bred a generation of Zangorian who would react to Sylith hive signals if they were strong enough.’

Leri stopped reading as the dossier started to give reports on crops and manufacturing on Elx. He looked up to Zerichi, who looked even more perturbed than earlier.

‘So what you’re saying,’ he paused, ‘is that I’m sitting with a quarter of my army under the control of some fat insect? Sitting with an army made up of troops as good as bloody Glerans?’

Leri nodded.

Zerichi simply clasped the bridge of his beak between his claws and closed his eyes to think,

‘Whelp, please check the pack for a dossier pertaining to the length of a Sylith hive’s mind control.’

The whelp diligently started searching and found the passage.

‘About one kilometre if moving, ten if dormant.’

‘Does it mention anything about stopping the signal?’

‘Yes, Kurag, it states that if the flat antennas are blocked, that the hive minds signal would fall on deaf ears, so to speak.’

Zerichi chuckled. ‘So all we have to do is block all the Elxians ears.’

He then turned to Leri.

‘Your part in this will not be forgotten, Warrior. I am becoming even more proud of my decision to promote you by the day.’

Leri thanked him, puffing out his chest in pride, and then returned to his squads where he proceeded to block the ears of all Zangorians allegedly born on Elx.



The explosion was louder than he had bargained for, sending an ear bursting boom across the plains. The surplus fuel that they had left behind had probably done its work, as the relatively tame detonation of a fragmentation grenade was amplified to a blast of this magnitude. Only seconds after escaping the cavern, they were followed by a spire of incinerating fire.

He was sure the catastrophe was not as bad as the light show, but was also sure that it had killed the Queen and her immediate subordinates. In a small way, he knew that he had saved the entire northern hemisphere, and all it took was one grenade.

Being a hero is easy, James thought, smugly.

That feeling soon diminished as he remembered that the Sylith were the least of the problems that the north would be forced to face in the coming days. Even if the Sylith were not defeated, and managed to breed a large enough force, they were still miniscule in the eyes of the Xank invasion.

James’ mood sank into a sense of brooding solemnity once again but when Marshal noticed this, he soon put a stop to it by lightly punching James in the shoulder and giving a re-assuring smile. James smiled back, he had not known Marshal long but he already liked the man. He reminded James of Nathan.

That was a thought: what happened to Nathan? As of yet, they had not discovered any other crashed ships, but even airborne they had not crossed a large enough tract of land.

James hoped that at worst, Nathan was in the same predicament as him and would hopefully survive.

Things were going strangely in this desert. All current evidence pointed that only X59 was hit and the only other gunships to be damaged were escorts.

Why would the Xank focus on X59, James pondered, was it…was it something to do with me?

James frowned and Marshal noticed. ‘Is this about what happened on the X59?’

‘I don’t remember telling you anything about that,’ James answered reflexively and defensively.

‘Yobu told me, said that you did well for a person who had been a recruit just an hour before, said he wouldn’t have been able to make the choice. Ryan said something similar.’

James turned to Marshal and looked him in the eye. ‘Do you think there’s there something wrong with me?’

Marshal looked genuinely confused. ‘What makes you say that?’

James averted his eyes. ‘I’ve grown up on the streets all my life. I’ve stolen, killed and harmed those that did not deserve to be harmed. I did whatever it took to survive. Deep down, I knew what I did was wrong but the prospect that otherwise my family would die was enough to drive me forward. I didn’t hesitate when I killed, I just did it. It was business, people were obstacles. I killed because it was my job. I pulled the trigger, deciding without any justification that this person didn’t deserve to live any longer – but for some reason, I did.’

‘That happens in war, James, you kill or be killed. It’s the way of the universe and nothing to be ashamed of.’

‘This is not war I speak of. These were not enemy soldiers. They were innocents.’

Marshal managed to suppress a look of discomfort.

‘I’ve…been remembering things lately. Things I would rather have left forgotten. One of these things was my first kill. I was to be initiated into a gang. The protection of the gang would have set up my family for years to come. Before then, we were scrambling in the dirt, living on scrap. We needed this to survive.

The initiation was more than I expected. It wasn’t challenging but…it was hard.’

James shivered. ‘The look in the man’s eyes when I aimed the gun…I might have forgotten the event at one point, but I never forgot those eyes.’

A deep unsettling silence fell on the cockpit. Marshal sighed.

‘By the sound of it, you had no choice. It was a kill or be killed scenario.’

‘I managed to convince myself that that was my justification, but that frustration just brewed inside me. It was not the murder that shook me, not the taking of a life which did not deserve to be taken. It was that I had no regrets. That was what really scarred me.’

They were once again quiet. Marshal looked deep in thought. James was content to let the silence grow. He spent the time looking over Red Sand. He had had a much better view on the X59, but no desire to partake in that view at the time. James now saw a sense of beauty in the red sand. It may be dull, but it had layers of history thicker than blood. It was violent, changing but unchanging. Half a millennium of conflict and it still shone the same colour and blew the same way in the harsh razor winds. It was comforting in a way, knowing that no matter how bad things became, some things would never change.

Marshal finally spoke, breaking the silence. His voice was quiet and reluctant. He didn’t truly wish to speak about this, but did so anyway. James listened.

‘My first kill was on Ganymede, during the Incident. I was patrolling the highlands after an Imperial slave raid. I was on my own and had managed to find the tracks that I had been hoping for. I had always been a skilled tracker and sniper at the target range, a lot like you. I tracked the culprits to a canyon, where I found one of the most disgusting things that, at that point, I had ever seen.’

He paused and then continued even more reluctantly than before. ‘It was a slave market for children, filled with children.’

James’ frown deepened, trying to guess where this was going and regretting doing so.

‘The market was the largest I had ever seen, about one hundred Ulyx infantry and three of their vehicles. I simply didn’t have the ammunition to even dent them. They were packing up the market as I arrived, taking the children with them.’

‘What did you do?’ James didn’t like where this was going.

‘I shot the children,’ he answered, straight faced and seemingly uncaring. James knew better.

‘There were seven children, I had seven rounds. It was either a life of rape and misery, or death. I made their decision for them.’

James shivered. He had killed in his life, but nothing like that. He killed out of necessity for his and his adopted family’s survival. Marshal had been forced to kill children; forced to end their lives so to save them from an even worse fate. No wonder he hated the Imperial Council. Committing atrocities was one thing, but forcing others to do so…

‘Do you have any regrets?’

‘For a time, but as I grew older, I learnt that life didn’t always work the way we wanted. I do not have any regrets anymore; it was the only decision that I could have made. I can be secure in the fact that those children are not in pain as we speak.’

‘You said it was an Imperial raid. Is that one of the reasons that you hate the Imperial Council?’

‘Yes, among other things. The Imperial Council is a morass of evil. If I was to have one regret, it would be that I couldn’t kill every single one of them.’

‘Back at Pebble Rock, you said that the Imperials were responsible for the attack on Dead Stone, but I was there during the attack and remember seeing both Zangorians and Battle Walkers.’

‘Yes, that was one of their greater deceits. The Xank are not the only ones with Zangorians. You forget that the Imperials have power over three hundred races. They staged that battle to start a war between the Troopers and Xank. It was a trick, nothing more - a trick which has unfortunately caused a conflict which has claimed millions, if not billions of human lives. If Dead Stone had not been attached, the Troopers would not have sent an excursion in the Outer Reach, gaining the wrath of the Xank.’

‘How do you know all this?’ James asked, one eyebrow raised in incredulous inquisitiveness.

‘I…have sources,’ he muttered hesitantly, ‘depending on perspective the sources could be accurate or inaccurate but by citation, it seems that they speak true.’

‘So…it means that this war which has lasted eleven years is false?’

‘Don’t get me wrong, the Xank are an atrocity. Their love of violence alone is a warrant to their death. I am just stating that we must not ignore the Imperial hand in all of this. They’ve been manipulating the galaxy for long enough…but it’s not their unbridled influence that I fear the most.’

Marshal paused as a flock of birds flew over, narrowly avoiding the Reaver.

‘I…have been having feelings lately – I think there’s much more to this war than first seems apparent. The Xank have no obvious reason to take Zona Nox. Yes, we may have many minerals, but the Xank do not care for that. I think that this invasion is not over Zona Nox, but another planet altogether.’

‘So the Xank are expending so many resources and this isn’t even the planet they want?’

‘It is a strange move, I know, but not unlikely on a galactic scale. The real question is not why, but what. What planet is their real target and then we can ask why.’

The silence once again returned as they both pondered. What planet in Extos would Xank have any interest in? Grengen was a jungle planet, with strategic importance next to null. The Xank had attacked it before, but only to disrupt Trooper activities. Now that the Troopers had abandoned it, the Xank were no longer interested. Glotos III was a factory world owned by a corporation with no relation to the Xank or Troopers and the rest of the planets were little more than wastelands. That left…

The thought struck James like lightning. It was so glaringly obvious. A world with a resource that every race in the galaxy relied on. A precious mineral, so powerful that entire empires had risen by merely holding a handful. A resource which covered an icy, harsh world only a small flight away from Zona Nox. A planet that the Xank could bombard to oblivion using the orbital guns of Zona Nox’s fortresses.

It seemed that Marshal had also come to the same conclusion as the thought dawned on him.

As one, they spoke, ‘Nova Zarxa!’

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Nicholas Woode-Smith was born in Cape Town, South Africa. He spends his time writing and complaining about the government.

Besides his writing of the Warpmancer Series, he also writes political commentary for the Rational Standard.