Rise of the Defiant
Author: Nicholas Woode-Smith
Date: 2017-09-20 07:00:00+00:00
Description: Zona Nox has fallen... And its people need a new home. But the nearest planet, Nova Zarxa, is no haven. Its shining towers only hide its fields of icy poison. And as more and more refugees arrive, it becomes clear that they are not welcome on their new planet. But James Terrin knows they have no choice. Because the true enemy is on the move. And they cannot lose their planet again. Zona Nox fell. Nova Zarxa will be where they make their stand. For the survival of their people... Rise of the Defiant is the second book in the Warpmancer Saga, a gritty space opera for fans of Star Wars, Firefly a
Publisher: Warpmancer Press

BOOK TWO OF THE WARPMANCER SERIES

By: Nicholas Woode-Smith

Copyright © 2017

Warpmancer Series

All rights reserved

This is a work of fiction. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise without the prior written permission of the publisher and the copyright owner.

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“Every revolution started as only an idea.” – Gert the Agitator

Chapter 1.   Nexus

Ice became red as the seas of frost reflected the now rising sun. A perpetual snowstorm did little this day to block the star of Extos III as it illuminated the planet, Nova Zarxa. For a planet so often covered in storms, it was an agreeably momentous occasion.

James could not know how auspicious this day was. To him, the light was drearier than on Zona Nox. He could not be expected to know that this was a bright day on planet Nova Zarxa. For, only a day ago, he had never even left Red Sand, the desert of his home planet of Zona Nox - a planet which was now dead. As James and the Troopers had been fighting the Xank, a hidden enemy had infiltrated the planet and eradicated all methods of sustaining life. The Imperials had blighted Zona Nox and James knew that he would make them pay.

‘We’re approaching Nexus, Grag-Tec starport,’ a voice came over the intercom. ‘Please prepare for landing.’

The voice was that of Marshal Rekkie, a veteran and war hero whom James greatly respected. It was under a week since they had met, but it seemed like years already. Fighting side by side tended to do that. No bonds were like battle bonds. What started as merely a deal born of necessity had built a relationship between them that would be hard to break. James at least hoped so.

The ship they flew was human in design, but its origin was not. They had flown the Jameson-I Cruiser from a Xank Lectorate ship, the orbiting headquarters of none other than one of the leaders that James had previously sought to defeat. After being captured and shown the truth, his goals had changed. The Word Lector, the head of research and development in the Empire was, in fact, a human exile.

Aven Smith had joined the Xank to seek vengeance against the Imperial Council. Under his new leaders, he had turned a blind eye to the slaughter of his race and even committed his own atrocities. But he had sworn allegiance to James!

James still didn’t know what to think of Aven’s and the Immortal, Krag-Zot’s, pledge of allegiance. The latter had been aiming to kill him only minutes before declaring his undying loyalty. Some cultures are highly odd, James noted.

What James did know was that it would be a long while before he could rest easily again. His homeworld was dead and the culprits still lived. By his honour, integrity and, maybe, mostly anger, he would not rest until they were put to justice.

The Jameson-I moved at a much slower pace after entering the atmosphere of Nova Zarxa. Air resistance and adverse weather contributed to a much more sluggish pace as the ship droned towards the docking bay. Even with the icy squalls and potential for turbulence, the ship was still a calmer ride than that of the X-Series ships on Zona Nox. James did not expect that the landing would be harsh enough to warrant buckling himself to the walls or seats of the ship.

Through the light fog and snow, Nexus appeared. While it seemed most of the planet was mere icy tundra, Nexus proved to be a jewel in desolation. A sprawling mass of metallic towers stood ahead of the ship. They rose higher than any tower that was ever constructed in Galis, some of them even rising past the clouds. Connecting the monoliths were a web of connecting tunnels and bridges. Between these were glass domes, revealing idyllic greens within. But James knew that every window and hole was sealed. The air outside was toxic. Beautiful, a shining jewel. Nexus was a diamond in a sea of coal.

The ship began to slow as they approached one of the wider towers. Even now, James could see a thoroughfare of smaller ships passing in and out of a glowing opening on the side of the structure. A gravity beam caught them as Marshal signalled that they wished to land. Their speed slowed to a Mozar’s pace as they were pulled in by the docking mechanism. James continued to stare out the window of the Jameson-I, when he felt a hand rest on his shoulder. He turned to see the large broad figure of Ryan.

The ex-gangster stood high above that of James, his shoulders were also broader, framing a set of hard muscle. The brawler was as tough as rocks and James was happy that they were friends. Who could think that he would have come this far with ‘Racist Ryan’ by his side?

‘I used to think I’d never make it here…that I would die back on Zona Nox in some fight with a junkie. That was all I was good for there, anyway,’ Ryan sighed. ‘Nova Zarxa. In all my life, never thought I’d make it here. Maybe my fate has changed.’

‘There is still plenty fighting to do,’ James replied.

Ryan seemed to sadden. ‘Yes…of course. I’ll still die in a fight, just not at home.’

The ship stopped with a sharp jolt as the gravity beam released them onto the platform. Ryan left without a word, heading to the luggage.

Through the door which he disappeared came two non-humans, Quok the Exanoid and Molok the Gray. They were the unlikely members of James’ crew. Back on the X51, where James had been forced to choose those who could survive Red Sand after the ship inevitably crashed, he had chosen Quok purely to gain the strength of Molok. Grays were usually weak creatures suitable for labour only due to their discipline and weak will, an odd combination of traits which created a work force which had become more common than that of machinery on the frontier of space. Molok was an oddity for a Gray. He was agile and strong.

Quok was an Exanoid, a race of businessmen and intellectuals. They were not known for their military prowess, besides the uses of their orbital air fighters and army of robotic Syns. He was an odd choice but, either due to sentimentality or an effort to gain Molok’s favour, James had chosen to bring the Grag-Tec official along.

Now, as they prepared to disembark the Jameson-I into a Grag-Tec station, James was thankful for his choice.

‘Captain James,’ Quok called, walking casually towards James with Molok in tow, wearing a toothy grin. ‘I wish to thank you for your companionship and choosing us to come on this journey. It has been an enlightening one which will stay with me for quite some time.’

The Exanoid sounded cheerful, and a little carefree. There was no hint of any sign that so many of their allies had died on this escapade and that it had all ended with the death of James’ homeworld. Quok was the personification of bliss, when he desired.

Quok nodded his head and continued through the exit of the Jameson-I. To James’ surprise, Molok did not follow immediately but instead hung back until Quok was through the doorway. He then walked to James and spoke, an action very unlike him.

‘James-Po, I am not one for words, so I will make this quick. As you may have guessed, Quok is very important to me. Like a brother and father. Even though he may seem naïve, he knows very well what is going on. I also wish to extend my thanks to you for allowing him to live. He was not the logical choice back on the X51, but I appreciate it nonetheless. You have earned my respect.’

Molok ended with a bow and left, following his charge.

James was still recovering from the shock of hearing the near-mute speak. He almost didn’t notice the survivors of his crew leaving the ship until Marshal came up to him.

Marshal was a man of the elements. He had lived most of his life under the blazing sun and his skin showed it. It was dark and leathery, but the muscle underneath was still useful. Marshal was a strong man and, in some circles, even a hero.

‘Are you okay?’ he looked concerned.

‘As much as I can be,’ James attempted a smile. ‘Let’s go.’

The scene outside the Jameson-I was a sight similar yet not to the Galis starport. Cargo containers rested between ships lodged in deactivated gravity wells. Some ships were being repaired, while others were taking off and landing. Guards overlooked all of this, making sure to keep out troublemakers. It was very much like Galis, but everything was wrong. Instead of rusty, dark metal, there was, instead, light coloured geradite; instead of Troopers, there were Vacaraptor and Merka guards. This was not Galis, but seemed to rather be a distorted mirror image of James’ home.

Ahead of Marshal and James were a cluster of James’ allies. Quok and Molok stood to one side, speaking with a well-dressed Gray holding a tablet computer. A little bit further away was Ryan, clutching his Galisian Magnum in his hand and arguing with a Merka guard.

‘Skite! What has he got himself into?’

They walked speedily towards the confrontation where they could now hear the source of the argument. Ryan was making a huge scene, speaking loudly and waving his .45 around.

‘What the hell do you mean license? I’ve got rights! I can carry this thing with me wherever I damn well please!’

‘Sir, I cannot allow you to continue into the facility with an unlicensed firearm. Governor Dedelux’s orders. I will have to confiscate it. Please do not resist,’ the Merka guard desperately tried to reason, sweat dripping down his sloped forehead.

Merka were close relatives to the Exanoids. They possessed similar facial features but. instead of a bent spine, they tended to be more hunched, with stouter necks. They were the stronger, more military prone. of the two-races. If Exanoids were pig-men, then Merka were boar-men. Even then, Ryan was taller and more muscle-bound than this guard.

‘I will damn well resist!’

Before Ryan could do anything to force the issue, Quok appeared between the two.

‘What do we have here? Yurlgaj, what do you have against my apprentice?’

The Merka saluted. ‘Welcome back to Nexus, Overseer Quok. I was informing the human of the Trooper Governor’s policy on firearms. No unlicensed weapons in the city. Only Troopers and Corporate guards are to carry weapons.’

‘Then I see no problem,’ Quok smiled, ‘Ines Rebeck is my guard, alongside Molok-Po. He carries his firearm by my orders.’

‘What about the rest?’ the guard indicated Leroy and Grugo, who were both carrying multiple weapons slung over their backs and fronts. ‘The other three are Troopers, but these two are civilians.’

‘Also guards. You must have heard about what happened on Zona Nox, right? These were my escorts.’

‘Ah, then everything is completely fine. Good day, Overseer.’ He glanced at Ryan, ‘Good day, Ines.’

The Merka walked off in a dignified manner, stopping only to investigate a shipment of meat being carried by a human lady with tattooed arms.

The guard now out of earshot, Quok spoke to the group. ‘It has been awhile since I was here on Nexus, so my grasp on local politics is limited. I will try my best to protect all of you, using Grag-Tec’s resources if necessary, but I do implore that you exercise extra caution. This isn’t Zona Nox and this isn’t Galis. Those who fight the law here tend to lose.’

A few of them nodded.

‘I will organise accommodation for all of you. If you would follow me…’

James picked up his luggage, a case containing his rifle and supplies, and followed. Quok kept a steady pace, one which would seem brisk for an Exanoid but leisurely for a human. It was not that long before they exited the vast hall of the starport and entered a hallway crafted of geradite and glass.

The hallway was large, allowing space for a crowd or vehicle much larger than James’ group. Their footsteps and voices echoed, rising above the sound of the industry in the starport.

A few conversed, but James kept silent. His brooding did not attract social interaction. Quok seemed to be busy talking Marshal’s ear off. The veteran appeared interested, but James suspected that that was mere etiquette. Only Ryan seemed genuinely absorbed, as he edged ever closer to the two.

James hung back, an action he noted was particularly uncharacteristic of a leader. A small part of him worried about that, but that feeling was overwhelmed by a pulsating force emanating from beneath him. No one else seemed to notice the almost elemental pull from below, suggesting that only James felt it. It was like a magnet was attempting to tug him downward. Almost unconsciously, he stumbled towards the railing and looked down. A deep blue glow assaulted his vision. Like sunlight, the ground all but blinded him. As his vision adjusted, the light faded and revealed itself to be a sea of crystals.

He felt an energy reaching up from that sea, a familiar grasp of desire and domination. The Warp. Without thought, James put out his hand, grasping at the invisible force. The glass blocked him, but did not abate his instinctual urge to claim that magnificent power. Yet he felt nothing. No power surged into him. It was as if he was drinking from an empty bottle. Desperately, he attempted to siphon the energy. Not an iota passed through the glass.

A hand touched him on the shoulder and he jumped as his trance was broken. Marshal looked at him, visible concern crossing his face.

‘What’s wrong?’

James clutched his head, the beginnings of a headache starting to emerge. Rubbing his temples, he replied.

‘Just feeling a little nauseous. Will be alright in a few.’

‘You need to rest. Let’s hurry. I don’t feel like getting lost in this maze.’

James nodded in agreement and they continued.

The Grag-Tec offices held almost no similarities to those of Galis. While the few office blocks in Galis may have been somewhat stylish in comparison with the rest of the city, they were put to shame by the overwhelming professional luxury of the Grag-Tec facility.

Silver metallic surfaces coated the entire expanse of the Grag-Tec entry hall. Fine green leather upholstery decorated every bit of seating and an extravagant marble fountain dominated the centre. What was the largest difference of them all, however, was the fact that James’ crew were the only humans in what seemed the entire complex. They towered over the residents, who ranged from the milky Grays to the bow-legged Exanoids and their stockier Merka cousins. James even spotted some insectoid creatures that he did not recognize.

‘Are there any humans in Grag-Tec?’ James asked.

‘Occasionally,’ Quok replied, ‘Grag-Tec is meant to be a primarily Gray and Exanoid-run corporation. The treaties after the Glotos III uprising made that a top priority. Grag-Po wanted it that way, so we respect it to this day.’

As they walked through the bustling hall, many stopped to greet Quok and enquire about his journey. He answered in a myriad of languages, even emanating a clicking sound to answer the insect creatures. This multilingualism astounded James, who could only speak colloquial human.

Among the usual smartly dressed Exanoids were much rarer well turned-out Grays. The aliens were stereotyped system wide as labourers and tribals, so it was not often that they were seen wearing formal clothing. Many carried handheld computers and were hastily typing away, speaking to each other in what seemed to be a mix of Eral’a and native Gray.

As they walked, even more stopped to greet Quok, and even Molok, the latter of whom tended to ignore most advances.

Eventually, they arrived in a circular room. The walls were a white chemical steel called Flensteel. On a planet devoid of metal, Zarxians had to make do with synthetic substitutes. Geradite and Flensteel seemed to be the most popular. The centre of the room was dominated by a large reception desk, manned by a female Exanoid who was busy answering a call on her wireless headset.

Upon spotting the group, the receptionist hung up her call and stood up.

‘Overseer Quok, I did not think that you survived the Xank attack. I am glad to see that you are safe.’

She bowed in an odd Exanoid-ish fashion. Quok smiled and replied.

‘I wouldn’t be here if it was not for James and his companions. They are without accommodation here on Nova Zarxa, so will you do me a favour and find them an apartment?’

‘Certainly, Overseer.’

She sat down and began banging some keys on a holographic keyboard

‘There are two large apartments available in Residency B-2. Should I call for some attendants to help with luggage?’

‘That will not be needed, thank you,’ Marshal butted in.

Quok allowed the veteran to make the decision, nodding when the secretary turned to him for approval.

‘Here are your key cards,’ she smiled a toothy, trained smile. ‘I hope you enjoy your stay with Grag-Tec.’

James and Marshal accepted the palm-sized metallic disks. The receptionist stood up once again and bowed.

‘Welcome to Nova Zarxa.’

“By the mid-36th century of the Old Terran calendar, humanity had to make a choice. They could forget and prosper, or remember and risk annihilation. It would have been a simple choice, if justice ever was.” – Extract from Archivist, Lenda Smitt’s, personal memoirs

Chapter 2. Choice

James awoke to the sound of alien pop music and the sight of the artificial sunroof of his apartment. He was sharing the abode with Sgt Yobu and Marshal, while Leroy, Ryan and Grugo stayed in the other apartment. The Grag-Tec residencies were not only for guests and employees, James found out, but also for anyone who could pay rent. Thus, they found themselves neighbouring a quite raucous and newly married Exanoid couple. Their personalities were quite disconcerting as the only ones of their kind on Zona Nox had been quite sedate.

Unable to fall back to sleep, James decided to get out of bed. He pulled himself up and checked the clock on the wall – 32YU. James did not know what in the void it meant. He then checked his own wristwatch – 13:00. It would have been early morning on Zona Nox.

James felt a pang of sadness. It was bound to happen eventually. He had felt so angry over the loss of his home that he had not had any time to mourn.

‘No use crying now,’ he muttered to himself. So, he fought down the urge to brood and moved towards the bathroom. The room was the usual affair – a shower, basin and toilet. The latter was usable by humans, but like most Exanoid chairs, had a highly crooked back.

James approached the basin and turned on the hot tap. The room temperature in this building was always maintained at a constant rate, but James was used to much hotter climates. The bowl full, James submerged his face. He lifted his head and, with blurry vision, reached out for a towel. He found it and rubbed his face.

As his vision cleared, he froze. In the reflection of the basin mirror, behind him by only a hand-span, was a pale white creature with pointy ears and sharp underbite fangs.

James reacted purely on instinct and swung his arm around, attempting to surprise the beast so he could follow through with a sharp jab to the solar plexus. His arm was caught with ease and he soon found himself hoisted off the ground.

‘Your strength is lacking, Boymancer, but I do respect your reflexes.’

It suddenly dawned on him.

‘Krag-Zot!’

‘Yes, who else would it be?’

James did not answer as Krag-Zot lowered him onto the ground. As he landed, James suddenly realised that he was wearing nothing but boxers. The Areq did not seem to notice or care.

‘So,’ James panted, ‘To what do I owe the pleasure?’

‘I am your faithful vassal. What more reason do I need to shadow my liege?’

‘Some way of respecting your liege,’ James muttered, rubbing the spot where Krag-Zot had gripped him.

‘I will not harm you, but I will defend myself when I must. Think of it as a simulation of a proper assassination. A genuine assassin would have killed you by now. Then where would I be?’

James grunted in amusement.

‘I’m not a galactic threat. I doubt any assassins are coming after me.’

‘On the contrary, Boymancer, you have already begun to make waves in this galaxy. Do not forget that the Lector has pledged himself to you. This is no mere fancy. One of the power brokers of the Empire has sworn to serve what seems to be a simple teenage Trooper. No, you are much more than just that. You have a potential in you; a well of power which could topple societies. In the days to come, you will realise that not only the Warp will serve you, but entire peoples.’

James raised his eyebrow sceptically. ‘How do you know this?’

The Areq smiled slightly. ‘I have lived for many centuries. You tend to learn a little thing about prophecy in that amount of time. I may be wrong, but I believe the gods’ have great plans for you.’

James left the bathroom with Krag-Zot in tow. His section of the apartment was partitioned off from the rest, so James did not have to worry about the others seeing the Immortal. Only Marshal currently knew that Aven and Krag-Zot were allies of James. The rest simply believed that they had managed to escape the Lectorate ship through the virtue of Marshal and James’ combat skills.

‘Regardless, I will need your help.’

‘I am yours to command, my liege.’

James thought for a little bit for questions to ask, but only one came to mind.

‘Earlier, I was standing on one of the walkways when I sensed what seemed to be a Warp pull. It seemed to emanate from below.’

‘Yes, I know of what you speak. I feel it too.’

‘How is that?’

All Warpmancers can feel the pull of Warp. That is what makes us what we are. While others may train themselves to use this art, they will never naturally feel its energy. They aren’t like us. The crystals below this city, the same crystals which cover this entire planet are concentrated Warp energy. This must be the first time you have encountered so much, and as a result you are feeling what we refer to as the Hunger.’

James nodded. ‘How did so much Warp energy form here? I knew it was an energy mining world, but there must be a reason for the large concentrations here. Warp isn’t a natural mineral. It ain’t like steel or oil.’

They were now looking outside of the apartment at the crystals below. James felt a slight tug, but was not as lightheaded as the day before. Krag-Zot didn’t speak for a long while. James glanced at him every so often. The Immortal’s face was blank of emotion.

‘This planet – Nova Zarxa you call it – was Resh.’

‘Resh? Your homeworld?’

‘Was. This was my homeworld, a long time ago. Now…now even the rock itself is different.’

James didn’t need clarification. Resh had been blighted by the Imperial Council approximately one-thousand years ago. If Nova Zarxa was Resh, then that meant…

‘So, this is what will become of Zona Nox?’

Krag-Zot nodded.

‘Then it seems we both lost home worlds to the same enemy,’ James said, sadly.

‘It seems so, Boymancer. It seems so.’



Krag-Zot had left an hour after his sudden arrival. Well, James presumed that 33YU was an indication of an hour passing. Honestly, he did not know what in Extos was going on. The Immortal had left in an almost impossible fashion as James attempted to seek him out a few seconds later to find him completely gone. His exit was the same as his entry – inexplicable.

Before then they had spoken of many things, but spent equal amounts of time in complete silence, merely staring out at the crystals. They had spoken of philosophy, their home worlds and what James planned to do with his life.

‘I don’t know,’ James had replied, ‘I don’t know what I’m going to even be doing today.’

‘A plan is always needed in life,’ Krag-Zot had replied, ‘those with a plan for their life always go further than those without. Even if those plans do not come to fruition, it is better to have one than none.’

James still pondered this now. What would he do now? Back on the Lectorate ship he had been consumed by a desire for vengeance, but that fire had now shrunk to a flicker. He still hated the Council, but his rage was not as it once was. James had always been directed in his life. He might have claimed independence and did exercise his autonomy, but he had always had some sort of power to tell him what to do or a goal that needed fulfilling. Even when he was leading his squad across Red Sand, he was being led by the eventual goal of reaching Fort Nox.

What was his goal now?

James’ brooding was interrupted by the sound of a stifled yawn as one of the other residents of the apartment woke up. James stood up from the window seat which had been occupying for much of the morning and exited his quarters.

Sgt Yobu stood in the centre of the room, his normally neat military cut hair dishevelled. The Trooper Sergeant stood idly in the middle of the room, his eyes closed with his hand attempting to catch a yawn. James had never seen him more casual. Yobu was usually highly meticulous, loyal and almost robotic in his military stature. This sign of humanity was quite reassuring. Even robots can get tired.

‘Good morning, Sergeant,’ James called.

The Sergeant opened his eyes wide and quickly turned to salute.

‘Sir!’

James waved the formality away. ‘We’ve been fighting side by side for weeks. No need for that. My badge might be larger, but we are equal on the field.’

‘Forgive me, Captain, but we are not equal. Your skill far surpasses mine. I do not salute you out of military formality, but out of respect.’

James was truly taken aback, but before he could stutter out a thank you, they were interrupted by Marshal.

‘You’re up early…’

‘Void if I know,’ James chuckled, ‘I don’t know how to tell the damn time here.’

Marshal laughed a genuine laugh. James hadn’t heard one for quite some time. It was refreshing.

‘Zarxian time is odd. Their day contains 42 human standard hours, but their equivalent to midnight would be 25YU.’

‘Very odd,’ James concurred, ‘but they must think our time eccentric.’

James turned to Yobu, who was a native Zarxian.

‘I got used to Zona Nox time quite quickly, but many of my squad mates never got the hang of it,’ the Sergeant replied.

James snorted in amusement. ‘No wonder it was so easy to bypass patrols. You guys couldn’t figure out the time.’

‘Pardon?’

‘Nothing, nothing.’

In James’ favour, his awkward remark was forgotten as they heard a knock on the door. Marshal answered it to reveal the members of James’ crew, excluding the aliens.

Ryan stood at the fore, with Grugo and Leroy behind. Six men now stood in the metallic apartment, and James could not help but feel a degree of sadness. The group had once been much larger. For some reason, James felt all the deaths now. He remembered all the men who had died under his command.

‘We never had any real time to pay our respects to those who died on Zona Nox,’ James explained as his crew members found places to sit around the room. Many of them nodded in agreement.
‘Now that we have found some respite, we should remember the fallen.’

James had only given one funeral before. Death was a passing fact in the world, one so common and minuscule that it did not warrant notice. Yet, James felt that his friends deserved remembrance.

‘Corporal Tavish,’ Sgt Yobu announced, breaking the silence, ‘and Private McCallister.’

His head was bowed and his face dry, but James knew that the Sergeant felt pain. He had held it in for so long and continued to do so.

‘Briar, Mennis and Porter,’ Grugo added. His head, too, was bowed.

More names came: Jherad, Ethran, Dean, Vick and Tim - some of whom James did not know, and some of whom still filled him with guilt.

‘May they find happiness and peace - wherever they are.’

The room was left in a tense silence, one which James could not abide. Too much had been left unsaid. Somebody needed to say it. Better it be him.

‘I was their Captain, I chose them and they died under my command. Their deaths are mine to bear.’

‘James, that is not how anyone should remember them,’ Ryan interjected, ‘it is unfair to blame their deaths on yourself. For you and for them. They chose to follow you. You did not pull the trigger and you did not order them to the grave. Soldiers die in war. Void, people die all the time. It is demeaning to take away a man’s free will by stating that you caused their deaths. Do not let them be remembered as cannon fodder, but as men who died fighting.’

Everyone nodded in agreement. Leroy looked down as he did so. Wet stains were growing on his shirt and pants as tears fell. Each person felt some sort of loss from the past weeks, but with Ryan’s speech, James felt a little bit more at peace.

But the meeting was not finished. James had one final thing to say.

‘So, here we are.’

Most of the group looked up.

‘It’s not Fort Nox, but it’s something. I was tasked with bringing you to safety and as we have reached the end of our journey. I am saddened, but relieved, to say that this is the end of our journey. The survivors of the X51, few that there may be, are here. We have fought long and hard, but I must say that if I was to do it all over again – I would not choose another group of men. I am proud to have been your Captain.’

There was a period of silence as James concluded. No one uttered a word as they stared at James and then slowly rose as one. All of them stood facing James, rigid and silent. As one, they brought their hands to their foreheads and saluted.

James’ eyes moistened, but he didn’t cry. His comrades – friends, stood saluting him with all their devotion. Never could he have asked for more.

‘A…at ease.’

They ended their salute by bringing their right fist to their heart and then to their side.

‘Captain, I will follow you to the grave, if you will let me,’ Grugo exclaimed.

This shocked James more than anything else, but before he could reply at all, Ryan spoke.

‘I have been given a job with Grag-Tec, but I will continue to help you any way I can, Captain.’

This was followed by Leroy. ‘I have never been one for loyalty to anything but a gang, but I will do the same as Ryan. You need help, Cap’n and I will give it.’

Marshal said nothing and only nodded at James. A nod of approval which meant more to James than most.

‘Why?’ James asked, his voice a hush.

It was Grugo who answered. ‘You did more on that Xank ship than just help us survive. There’s something special about you and I want to help you do whatever you are planning. Our home’s dead. This galaxy let that happen. This galaxy needs change. I want to be a part of it.’

With that, the group said their goodbyes and promised to keep in contact. As James went over to Ryan to shake his hand, the big man only looked at James’ petite hand with amusement and instead took him in a big hug.

‘You’re going to make big changes. I just know it.’

James didn’t reply. One by one, everyone left until only Marshal and Yobu were left besides James.

‘Well,’ Marshal said, as he stood up from his chair, ‘I better get going to see my family. Their ship should be docking in a few minutes.’

‘Best of luck, we must stay in contact.’

Marshal gave him a knowing look and indicated for him to go off to the side, away from Yobu’s hearing.

‘Your aura is growing; you’ve noticed that, haven’t you?’

James nodded.

‘I would suggest you control it, but I sense some danger approaching. You are going to need followers if Smith is correct. Grugo and Ryan are right; you are going to change something. I don’t know what it is, but the fact that you are one of the first human Warpmancers in centuries is proof of that already.’

Marshal left after that, leaving only Yobu to stand silently with James in the now almost empty apartment. Even the alien pop music next door had stopped.

The sergeant placed a hand on James’ shoulder.

‘It’s time to go meet up with the fleet.’

“Corporations are to companies what stars are to planets. Companies practice their business on a planet, while corporations span entire systems. It is highly common to find planets totally under the control of a single corporation.” – Extract from “Wealth of the Galaxy” by Jherin Kura'kaia

Chapter 3. Agent

Lying before Danny Marzio was a white blotch in a sea of black. The gigantic snowball was the legendary Nova Zarxa – a planet jointly owned by the human Troopers and the alien corporation, Grag-Tec. Even as an isolationist mob boss, Danny could not help but learn a lot about the corporate world. Its only real reason for existing was crystal mining, which Grag-Tec owned the sole monopoly over. In exchange for security, they allowed the Troopers to maintain a base and city on the planet. The air was toxic, and the temperature was too cold for comfortable living. Terraforming was out of the question, however, as it would eliminate the crystals that were the lifeblood of Nova Zarxa’s economy.

Instead of living on the surface, which was covered with icy crystals, the entire population inhabited skyways and large skyscrapers. The capital, Nexus, was basically a huge plat-formed city on stilts, somewhat reminiscent of Titan City.

Past that, Danny knew very little about the internal struggles of Nova Zarxa. It had never been his business or desire to have anything to do with the planet.

‘Oh, how things change,’ Danny muttered as he gazed out the space station window. Occasionally, a smaller ship would race past the window. Some bore the Aegis symbol – a red globe representing Mars – while others bore other symbols as they sped straight towards the planet. Many more just floated idly around in orbit. Ships like these were what Rob had grown up in.

Danny felt a tinge of sadness at that thought and soon fought it down. He knew he would have to get over it. He was supposed to be a sociopathic criminal and killer – not one to cry over the deaths of annoying kids. Yet he could not help but feel melancholic. Rob didn’t deserve to die. Many of Danny’s previous henchmen also didn’t deserve to die, but for some reason Rob’s death continued to stick with him. Maybe it was that he was just a boy. A good boy living in a bad world. Maybe it was a change in Danny himself. All he knew was that he could not get the death of Rob Starkin out of his head.

Ships of all shapes and sizes continued to fly past Danny’s viewing window, a special compartment of his residence on the Aegis capital ship – the Athena.

The Athena was a custom Olympian Class Hive Ship. It had been constructed in the skydocks of Mars and was the pride and joy of the corporate fleet construction industry. It was a monolithic starship, capable of warp travel between systems without the need to find an appropriate gravity well. It was a gravity well.

The ship was the HQ and base of operations of the head administration of the Aegis Corporation. Contrary to popular belief that Aegis’ intelligence operations were directed from Mars, the Athena played host to the true workings of Aegis. Thousands of Aegis employees, soldiers, mercenaries, syns and officials lived on the ship. Housing and amenities were provided in the residency wing while two hangars were stationed in each wing. There were four outer wings with one main pillar. These being residency, Intel, military and agricultural. The pillar hosted the central command.

Danny sighed. The enormity of the structure often left him speechless. The ship itself seemed to be larger than some districts of Galis.

Galis – now that was another thing that was dead. Never would Danny ever see his home and empire again. It was gone, forever.

Danny’s silent pondering was interrupted by the mechanical sliding of the door behind him. He turned to see a familiar face. The lady who stood in the doorway was curvaceous, yet muscular.  She was tall and broad of shoulder. There was power in this woman. A sense of presence. She looked to be middle aged, but even in his youth, Danny doubted that he could take her in a fight. Fair or not.

Big Momma was the current top agent of the Aegis intelligence corps. She was charismatic, friendly, cheerful and ruthless. Many things were uncertain in this world, but Danny knew that if one thing was certain – it was that messing with Big Momma seldom worked out in your favour.

‘Don, you’ve been sulking up here for hours. You may not be up for it, but you must goddamn pretend that you are. You are an Aegis agent now. That means faking enthusiasm.’

Don – it was a title Danny had held back in Galis. Don Marzio – boss of the largest racketeering organization in Red Sand. That was no mean feat. Before the Xank invasion and Imperial blighting, Danny had been at the top of the food chain. Trooper governors ate out of his hand.

Now, he was merely an agent-in-training. Well, it was a start.

‘Just watching the traffic,’ Danny forced a grin, ‘who could think there could be traffic jams in space? I know that the Athena sure ain’t helping.’

Big Momma smiled, but Danny knew that she had seen through the cheap ruse.

‘Traffic jam or not, you need to make an appearance to at least this dinner. You’re leaving this evening. It would be impolite to just leave your cousin and friends without saying proper goodbyes,’

Danny shook his head for no real reason. ‘I know, Big Momma, I know.’

He paused and spoke again. ‘It’s kinda unreal, isn’t it?’

‘What is?’

‘Space. Well, us in space. Who could think that above the ground, our ground, there is a landless world of nothingness yet containing so much? Who could think that we could get there, travel there and live there. Sure, scientists have answers, but I’m no scholar. I only ask, how do we control nothingness?’

Big Momma shrugged. ‘Void if I know. I’ve been space faring since I was a girl. Living on one planet for your entire life, that is what I can’t understand. Regardless, you are trying to distract me and I will have none of that. Come to dinner.’

‘Yes, yes I should go.’

Big Momma left and Danny soon followed, but not before staring one last time on the icy globe of Nova Zarxa. A planet which he had been commanded, only a day before, to conquer.



Boris had moisture in his eyes, even if he wouldn’t admit it. He took Danny in a hug reminiscent of a Mozar stampede.

‘We must stay in contact this time. Not like in Red Sand. You will call, right?’

‘There’s no Teeth of Storms to stop me this time. We’ll talk.’ Danny said it, but he didn’t mean it. He liked his cousin, but maintaining relations was just not in his nature. He would talk, but it would have to be Boris’ move. That was just who Danny was. He did not mind relationships, just the act of maintaining them.

After finally being released from the crushing vise grip of Boris’ seemingly titanium arms, Danny moved onto the next one of his companions.

Krena was not someone he knew well, as much as he wanted to. If he was to have a type, it would probably be Krena. The Don was used to a sea of floozies and pretty dames literally paid to like him. Krena, on the other hand, was independent, tough and gorgeous. She was a dark blonde with shoulder length hair. Her skin was pale, showing her southern hemisphere heritage. Danny had never seen her with less than her cult armour on, but predicted that her body was both supple and well-muscled.

Danny gave her a long and intense look – even if a bit creepy – before giving her a nod of respect. She nodded back. Then he moved onto the last of his companions.

Viper, even if pale, seemed a dark figure. He stood taller than Danny and in contrast to Danny’s tanned skin, looked to have the complexion of snow. His eyes were slanted and his dark hair was kept gelled into spikes. Viper was the quiet sniper and assassin of what once was the Grooks. A small, yet respected gang run by Boris. He was a man of few words, but strong principles. Danny had previously thought him sociopathic, but now thought differently. Viper was a decent killer, but he had integrity and an intense loyalty to both his friends and ideals. Danny was proud to call him friend.

They both shared a nod of understanding before Danny moved off. They had all been standing in a welcoming area outside the departure zone of the small hangar. Danny knew that before he left, he would have one final person to meet.

Ignoring Boris’ quite inappropriate weeping, Danny advanced through the wide metal frame towards the departure zone. He heard a metal thunk as the gate shut. There was no sound after that but that of his breathing. It struck Danny now that it may very well be a very long time before he saw his companions again. He was feeling a tad bit of regret.

At the end of the tunnel of silence, Danny came to another mechanical doorway. This one was labelled ‘Departures’ in large red lettering. It opened automatically to reveal a large hangar area. Side by side, beside a small spaceship of which design Danny did not know, was the CEO of Aegis and his agent, Big Momma.

Now that Danny thought about it, Quentin Wivern was now his boss. It felt somewhat odd having someone giving you orders. Even back in Titan City, while a member of Boris’ gang, Danny had still held a position of authority and influence over his cousin. He didn’t feel that he would be able to extend the same effect over the CEO of one of the largest human owned corporations in the galaxy. Quentin was a tall, gangly fellow with dark hair and a dark complexion. He seemed to be well-tanned but Danny doubted that it was from labouring in the outdoors. Technology did exist which could replicate a natural tan. Danny’s complexion was much more genuine.

The CEO grinned as he approached. Usually boisterous, it was odd to see Big Momma to his side looking sullen.

‘Agent Marzio, I must say again how glad I am to have you on the team. Big Momma here is the best in human space, but she can’t be everywhere at once.’

‘It’s an honour, Mr Wivern. I have my orders and will report back in the discussed manner.’

Quentin nodded and then indicated for Danny to enter the shuttle.

‘This pod will take you to the public starport. It is preprogramed, so don’t worry about flying it.’

He fiddled with a few buttons and the door to the shuttle opened. Danny entered, but before the door closed, was stopped by the CEO, who was still smiling, good-naturedly.

‘I should not have to mention what will happen to you if you betray us – right, Don?’

Danny nodded.

‘Good, good. I trust you will be able to independently solve this little issue of ours quickly. Farewell.’

After the door to the shuttle closed with a metallic clang and click, Danny could not help but snort in bemusement. This was anything but a little issue.

“Shadows are everywhere. So, if one wants to see everything, hear everything, and know everything – they must become a shadow.” – Rev Deakas, Spymaster of the Trooper Order, 3540

Chapter 4. Underworld

The trip to the surface was quick and quiet. The pod sailed smoothly through the air once past the atmosphere. Even the landing was calm as the pod was caught by an electromagnetic arm. The starport in Galis never had something like that. Upon exiting the pod, Danny realised that the hive which was the Nexus starport was anything but Galis. When the Galisian starport was more akin to a scrapyard with landing pads, this was more like an insect hive. Ships ranging from small to gargantuan came whizzing through every second, making Danny dizzy and disorientated.

Danny shook himself from his daze and turned towards the exit. Aegis had setup all the necessary paperwork he would need to get through security with ease. As he approached the security guard, a Trooper with a black shield badge signifying his role, a flash of his paperwork let him pass. He was in.

Danny became more and more convinced that Nexus was an insect hive. Holes dotted hundreds of buildings, and that was only what he could see from the window. According to his locator device, he was currently in an area called a transit – a building given the sole purpose of a hallway.

He knew where he would have to go and he was looking forward to it. Darkness was an element Danny was familiar with and he knew that this part of his mission would be relaxed, if not enjoyable. So, Danny searched his locator and then selected his destination. He set off for the slums.



Finding the slums had been harder than Danny had previously thought. Unlike Titan and Galis, there were no overt shacks or tenements to mark the residences of the poor but rather a change in business practices. Due to the dangers of the outside environment, buildings on Nova Zarxa were subject to strict regulations. As such, even the poorest area still looked somewhat luxurious and sophisticated.

The area which Danny now stood was like every area within this silver shimmering hive. Both floor and walls shone metallic silver and bright white lights trailed along the roof. Danny was sure that this area was the slums, however. His first clue was the lack of any visible Trooper patrols or any corporate presence. His second was the fact that he was propositioned by several prostitutes at least three times upon entering the structure.

The geradite which was used to construct most of the buildings across Nexus did not rust or need painting, so there were very few signs of degradation. Instead, Danny had to look at the actions of the people. Mostly humans lived in this area, but Danny did see quite a few Grays. What both races had in common were that they looked on edge. This was not an area to feel safe. If Big Momma’s debriefing was anything to go by, Danny would also feel quite unsafe if he was not allowed to carry a gun. Luckily, Aegis did carry enough influence to give him permission to carry a sidearm. He was still not allowed to show it.

‘What type of society bans owning guns?’ Danny had said to Big Momma, ‘do they want everything to descend into chaos?’

Big Momma had just laughed and replied, ‘I agree with you, but many don’t. That license will let you through most guard points, but don’t go around waving the thing.’

Danny stood at the edge of the starting line. He could say that his mission had started upon receiving it on the Athena, but had not actually accomplished anything yet. Now he was going to attempt the first milestone of his task.

To his left, he noticed an almost familiar sight. Flanked by a heavyset man wearing a tight leather jacket and a much thinner man smoking a cigarette was a red neon sign which read: Club Phoenix.

If there ever was a place to find information, it was a tavern and from the sounds of raucous merry making, this was such an establishment.

The bouncer with the leather jacket only gave him a sideways glance as Danny entered. Aegis had made sure to outfit him in the common fashion of the city so to avoid suspicion and it seemed that it worked. Only his olive skin drew any sorts of looks.

The tavern was a lot more spacious than what it seemed on the outside. It was partitioned into various sections, with two central areas - a bar and a dance platform; very different from Galis. What was the most different, however, was the blaring music. It had no lyrics or contained any instruments that Danny recognized.

Danny could not help but cover his ears as he approached the bar. He had to wade through a veritable sea of dancers who had no concept of personal space. One guy bumped into him and saw him covering his ears.

‘You don’t like Squogg Punktron?’ the dancer shouted over the music, still doing an odd dance as he nodded his head up and down and waved his arms.

Danny shook his head.

‘Try the lounge,’ he shouted again, pointing towards a doorway at the end of the hall.

Danny nodded in gratitude and waded through the ocean of cacophony.

Upon exiting the crowd and entering the lounge, Danny could not help but feel a profound sense of relief by the fact that no music permeated through the seemingly open doorway. Only the quiet chatter of people in a variety of seats could be heard. Much more pleasant compared to ‘Squogg Punktron’.

A bar took up the centre of the room and that is where Danny went first. He had a mission to accomplish and the sooner he started, the sooner he could get it done.

Taking a seat at the bar, he ordered the first thing the bartender offered – a luminescent blue drink - and then waited. Danny had always been a reasonable judge of character and it was not long until a man bearing the desired character took a seat next to him. The man wore a yellow jacket with pads on the front and shoulders. He kept a thin goatee and short spiky hair. What interested Danny the most, however, was that he had slanted eyes like Viper.

‘There are two gangs of interest in Nexus,’ Big Momma had said, ‘the Ganru and Berrin. The former will be the easiest to recognize. Viper’s kin are a rare breed and it is even rarer to find one this far from Sekai who is not a member of the Ganru.’

The man took a seat and Danny waited a little bit before turning to him and introducing himself.

‘Howdy, partner.’

‘What?’ the man immediately replied, a look of unenthusiastic bafflement on his face.

Danny inwardly swore at himself and tried again.

‘Mick Spinner,’ he put his hand before him to shake. He received none in return.

‘My name is none of your damn business, black-shirt. Shove off!’

‘Is that anyway to greet the man who is going to pay for your drink?’

Like magic, the man’s expression changed and he shook Danny’s hand.

‘Tenigawa Ruma.’

‘Well, Mr Ruma…’

‘No, Ruma is my first name, Tenigawa is my surname.’

Well then you should have said that in the first place, Danny wanted to say. Instead he smiled.

‘Of course; so, Mr Tenigawa, I find myself in this establishment and city with honestly very little knowledge of how I could make a living. Captain of my crew went broke and dumped us all here, you see. Anything you’d suggest I do?’

Tenigawa took a sip from his drink and then answered. ‘What sort of ship you on? What you do on it?’

‘You could call it a merchant vessel, of sorts. I…well, I was a specialist in let’s just say acquiring goods and information.’

Tenigawa immediately turned away from Danny. ‘No jobs for you. Corporate monopoly. Sorry, I better be going.’

Danny inwardly swore but feigned a polite nod. The man was obviously skittish – not something Danny was used to from a gangster. Well, Zona Nox had been a planet run by gangs.

A fluke, Danny wanted to think, but the way the patrons stared at him made him doubt that. Something was going on; something which put fear into murderers and thieves alike.



Danny had visited around five taverns, supposedly called clubs, before the waning of the sun. While the built-up areas lacked natural light, the walkways connecting them were mostly glass.

His luck in each club was the same every time. Either he spotted no one of interest, or whoever he tried to converse with snubbed him and disappeared.

From these many transits, Danny could look out onto the tundra and down onto the crystals which gave Nova Zarxa its wealth. From here, he was also capable of telling the approximate time (as the public clocks sure didn’t help). It was probably the tenth time he had crossed a walkway like this today and he could not help but notice the dark cloudy skies grow ever darker. Night had arrived and Danny could feel his weariness catching up with him.

Finding accommodation was easy. Entire skyscrapers were devoted to hotels and rentable apartments, after all. Danny had a high budget, but he did not want to draw too much attention. He would search for modest accommodation, and thus he went to the modest hotel district.

As he walked through the ‘Blue Guest District’ he noticed as the lights on the walls and ceilings began to wane.

A computer or admin team must oversee controlling internal lighting, Danny mused, keeps away the fever.

Many of the doorways that he passed possessed a screen with the same words, ‘Apologies, we are booked out. Sorry for the inconvenience,’ in a multitude of languages.

Danny had not dwelled on it earlier, but now the fact that Nova Zarxa was playing home to a tide of refugees truly struck. He passed a line of stalls selling goods with one customer arguing with the merchant.

‘What in the void is this?’

‘Credits, it’s credits…’

The man held a hand full of green notes – Galisian notes.

‘I’ve been a merchant my whole life and have never seen this. Go scam someone else, counterfeiter!’

The man from Galis retreated like a beaten dog, bumping into Danny and apologizing hastily. As he collided, the man looked up.

As his third or fourth ‘Sorry’ left his lips, he recognized Danny’s face.

‘Do...Don Marzio? Is that you?’

Danny winced, he had not accounted for this. ‘You must have me mistaken with someone else.’

The Galisian looked away, disappointment almost palpable. ‘Oh, you look quite like him.’

He began walking away. ‘He might’ve been a criminal, but he did us good. We had something then in Galis, now I have nothing…’

Danny stopped him before he could get any further. He shoved 500 credits worth of Aegis bonds into his hand and then beat a hasty retreat.

Danny could not see the man’s expression, but he knew that he had a tear in his eye.



It was around half an hour later (by Danny’s estimation, as the clocks were insane) when he found a hotel with vacancies. He booked a single bedroom at the back. It was a bit too expensive for his liking, but a bed was a bed.

‘You’re lucky you got here in time. I only have one room left,’ the owner had said. Danny grunted in reply, handing her some corporate bonds as payment.

Alone in the small room, he examined it. If anything, it was clean – if a bit lifeless. The only sense of visual warmth was the presence of three portable data tablets under the end table. Danny personally preferred books crafted of paper, but he understood the expense. He had seen a few people reading earlier in the day, but they all seemed to possess some sort of odd portable computer. Upon questioning a merchant (and receiving some odd looks) he learned that Nexus possessed a network which allowed owners of these tablets to download virtual books.

Due to the Teeth of Storms, wireless networks couldn’t achieve the possible stability to function, so such technology became useless on Zona Nox. Instead they relied on paper-books and data tablets – disposable computers possessing single books.

One book – A Melancholy of an Extinct Race – caught Danny’s eye and he began reading.



Danny did not remember when he fell asleep, nor did he remember waking up. All he knew now was that he was not in the hotel anymore.

It was dark – painfully so. Blackness surrounded him to the extent that he could not even perceive his own body. He felt like a floating brain in a sea of nothingness. Even his breathing was silent, with the only sound to fill the void being a low buzz emanating from outside the blackness.

Danny could not know for sure, but a small part of him smiled. It seemed he had contacted the gangs.

“Upon militarizing the Zangorian race, the Xank needed a method in which to control reproduction while avoiding petty irritations such as maternal bonds. Thus, every male Zangorian’s seed was taken and stored – awaiting synthetic fertilization of eggs lost by their mothers.” – Aven Smith, “My Time with the Xank”

Chapter 5. Zeruit

The air was hot yet wet. Leri had never felt it, but it somehow felt as if he had been born into it. Of course, he now knew that to be a lie – but his heart still felt that Zeruit was his home. His false memories were still strong, even if he was aware of them being fake. Fake was an incorrect term, however. Leri’s memories were real. They were records of real events. They were more accurate than any other synthetic record or historical re-imagining. For Leri held the remembrance of his people within his head. A history spanning hundreds of years. It was a burden and treasure that he had yet to come to terms with. It would be awhile before he had the chance.

Back on the flagship of the Word Lectorate, Leri had come to many realisations. He had realised that he was not who he thought he was, he had realised that his memories were ages old; he had realised that none of this mattered. All that Leri cared about now was vengeance. Vengeance for his people brought by cold hard metal and simple heroism.

He took a Word Lectorate’s transport ship to Zeruit. He had not paid attention to time on his journey. His only indication of the duration of the trip was the amount of food he had consumed. He was alone, except for a silent Krugar pilot. They never spoke and that suited Leri just fine. Each of them had separate supplies and separate parts of the ship. In fact, Leri never ventured far out enough to speak with the Krugar. He instead remained in his quarters – studying the notes that the Lector had given him on Zeruit.

Some of the information was what he expected – details on the geography of facilities and fortresses – while others filled him with revulsion. Atrocities such as the breeding programmes, ethnic cleansing and gender separation. While reading, Leri could not help but feel a familiar rage boil up inside. He calmed it, knowing that now was not the time. He had to wait. Wait, plan and grow. Only after that could he consume Zeruit in his fires of revolution.

But that space journey was over now.

Now he stood at the brink of a dark crevice in the hillside. The ship he had been travelling in seemed to have been a stealth vessel, as it managed to bypass all security and land on the surface of Zeruit.

Behind him was a jungle. Leri’s only living memory of such a thing was on his campaign on Grengen. He had been a part of the body-budget then. Those jungles filled him with dread, but these colourful leaves and plants did not do the same to him. Rather, they empowered him. The sweet smell of fruit, and cleansing moisture in the year. This was home.

Ahead of him was a cave as dark as void. He could not see inside. He entered.

Leri’s journey was one of complete darkness for what seemed like hours. The only sound was that of his footsteps and breathing. A symphony of clacking and hushing. It was enough to drive lesser men insane. Leri was no lesser man.

Then, eventually, he saw light. It was a meagre thing. Only a small candle in the darkness. Yet, it was something. Light in darkness was hope. As small as it was, Leri could not help but feel a sense of anticipation.

‘Kurag Leri nuro Zeruit, I presume.’

A voice sounded from the blackness.

‘I do not speak with shadows,’ Leri spoke loudly, ‘reveal yourself and I will answer.’

The faint light grew until it managed to illuminate the centre of the room, revealing a table and chair. Sitting upon the chair was an insect-like creature standing as high as a Zangorian. A Gleran.

‘I see you, Kurag. It seems that the Lector was right to send you. You are well-spoken…for a Zangorian.’

‘It seems I’m not a normal Zangorian – and you not a normal Gleran. How do you speak to me?’

Through the six eyes and twin mandibles, it was hard to tell, but Leri somehow recognized a grin of sorts.

‘Like you, I am a freak of my people. Physically, I am the same – yet mentally I hold something that my people do not; cannot. Sentience. Free will.’

There was a pause as the Gleran stood and offered his hand in a form of greeting unfamiliar to Leri.

‘I am a freak among my people, like you. Yet unlike you, I am one of a kind. I am a genetic mutation seen as an atrocity within my species. I am a Gleran of the Vulzthan Hivemind yet I am not. While my kin do not think, feel or understand without the all-consuming control of the hivemind, I can function independently. I am a sentient, like you, yet that is what makes me a freak. I am Peron the Thinker and I have been tasked with helping you free this world.’

Leri took the Gleran’s hand as he presumed that was the purpose of the greeting. The Gleran shook it and let go.

‘Are you ready, Kurag? These are not my people, yet I feel an overwhelming urge to free them. My people cannot be freed, so better that I use my brain to help free those that can.’

Leri did not reply. Instead he gazed upon the table top. Items dotted the surface. A blaster, a wrist-blade and…an arm. All were translucent and flickering.

‘We can never be ready, Gleran. We are merely given our lot, throw the dice and wait for better numbers. I’m going to keep rolling. Give me the dice.’

‘Good, good,’ Peron whispered, ‘It seems that Smith chose wisely.’

The Gleran indicated for Leri to follow him as he walked into the darkness. Leri followed as the light around the table disappeared, replaced by a single beam illuminating Peron as he walked.

‘I see that you have sustained an injury. It is not often that those of your race can live with such a wound. As such, the Lector requested that I source for you…a treatment. You are going to need many tools in this war you are about to start. Wit, brawn and a sharp tongue. Most of all, two hands.’

Leri rubbed the stump of his arm, memories of a fight with a human with a streak of silver hair coming back to him. It was one of his more recent and genuine memories.

‘Do not despair. The Lector has connections far beyond what the Xank recognize. He has arranged for a replacement arm. Trust me; you will prefer the new one much more than the old.’

Leri could not help but be blinded as a white light burst to life, lighting up the entire room.

After his eyes had adjusted, Leri examined the room.

The walls were crafted of smooth silvery-white metal. They gave no reflection and emitted coldness. Above everything, the room seemed clean – a medical bay.

Dominating the centre of the room was a contraption the likes of which Leri had never seen before. Computers and blinking lights were connected to pistons and engines, which were further connected to a multitude of different sized mechanical arms.

‘This,’ Peron announced, ‘will remake you. Do not mourn the loss of your limb. Everything that can be lost can be regained. You will come to never miss your old arm again. This new arm will be a symbol. It will be your salvation. Your hope. Your rebirth. Your revolution…’



It still stung, even hours after the surgery had finished. It was a pain that Leri could tolerate. Especially now that he held his new mechanical arm out in front of him. Crafted of titanium and metals that Leri had never even heard of, the arm was a beauty to behold. It shone in the light and possessed talons which even the Infiltrators would envy. It was capable of things no normal organic arm could ever do and allowed for the extension of weaponry which connected directly to his neuro-function. It was a weapon built for not just a revolutionary – but an emperor.

As he experimented with his new limb, he trudged along the path that Peron had indicated to him.

The path led to the first destination in his campaign - an agricultural facility with a record for disobedience. It was a rebel base as far as the Xank went, but a slave camp as far as Leri wanted it to be.

The settlement was a male area with non-warrior Zangorians working the worm farms. After one too many strikes, the Xank had sent in a robotic guard force to keep the workers in line.

Leri knew that that would change. Robots and drones may guard it now from uprising, but Leri was no usual rebel. He was a veteran of the Word Lectorate. His sector created robots – he would just as easily destroy them.

As Leri hiked the dark tunnels to the settlement, he noted the name of the settlement.

Bexong – the city where a revolution would begin. The birthplace of the death of an empire.

“Troopers are for justice? Then why do we sit and allow the greatest crime in our history go unpunished? The High Council are cowards. Your generals are cowards. The Troopers are cowards!” – Aven Smith to Marshal before his disappearance

Chapter 6. Reunion

There was no joy as the survivors of Zona Nox exited the ships which had carried them from the jaws of death. There were no cheers, no singing, no unnecessary speaking or even any sense of relief. People had lost homes, livelihoods, families and their planet. Troopers had failed in their duty. Nathan knew that there was nothing to celebrate.

The Imperial Council had made their move. A small part of him knew that he should have been more terrified. Instead, he felt only numb. He had felt too much pain. His scars were only a small reflection of what he felt. Overcome with despair, he now felt only void. There was no point feeling anymore, if this was all that he could feel.

Nathan shuffled along with the rest of the Troopers aboard the carrier. His recovery had been quick, even if the lasting effects would last his lifetime. He was expected to march like the rest. He didn’t mind. His place was with his squad, what was left of it. To be honest, there was no squad anymore; just a ragtag group of survivors from a myriad of units that Nathan had been acquainted. There was no Galis City Trooper Patrol, there was no Fort Nox Engineering Corp; there was no Fort Nox. But there was the Troopers. It would take a lot before that was taken away. Yet, Nathan feared just that. The Imperial Council was a nightmare. Of all the powers in the galaxy, only they stopped the Troopers. No corporation, rebellion, warrior race or alliance had shaken the Troopers before – the Imperial Council would change that.

Nathan had no fortress now. His purpose, his unshakeable family, was in jeopardy.

He instinctively filled in the forms to pass the barrier. The processes were different here than on Zona Nox. Technology was better. Due to the Teeth of Storms, administration and communication on the planet surface had been hard, if not impossible. On Nova Zarxa, computers and a wireless network of servers replaced pen, paper and filing cabinets. Nathan was only to type in his name and squad. The computer figured everything else out.

Bustling along, Nathan’s mind could not help but shift back to the trip after the fall of Zona Nox. What many had first believed to be an invasion had been much worse. The once red and white planet was now consumed by black clouds. It was a dead world and even if very few of the Troopers realised the significance of the darkness, they all knew that there was no home to go back to. They had failed.

Noise grew as the regiments marched through the silvery halls of the Trooper spaceport. They kept to a tight formation as only a military unit could. To either side of the walkway were even more landing zones, with even more ships releasing a horde of Troopers and refugees alike.

Troopers were immediately sent to the line where they were ordered to march towards the rallying point for re-assignment. Refugees were bustled off by Zarxian Troopers wearing yellow armbands. Military police, Nathan guessed.

Trooper worlds seldom had military police, rather relying on de-centralization of leadership to fight corruption and misconduct. Nova Zarxa was different, however, as it possessed a single governor.

The refugees seemed frightened and the police did not seem to care. A group of refugees were shoved and Nathan felt a tinge of guilt rising from the fact that he could not help them. Even if standing and healthy, he was still just as helpless as when he was stuck in the hospital beds. Even if only scarred rather than bleeding out, he was still unable to change a thing.

They passed squads of military police talking with officers of the Zona Nox Troopers. Even if lower ranking, the policemen seemed to hold an air of arrogance and superiority. They spoke down to the Captains, lieutenants and sergeants that they met, even though they were only privates and corporals. This was not the Trooper way.

Pasted upon the walls and airing on screens were posters and broadcasts with the image of a man wearing the garb of a Council General – Governor Dedelux. Dedelux was not a Council General, but his uniform was evidence enough that he thought of himself as one. Each poster held a message – “Loyalty is safety. Dedication delivers victory.”

Nathan shook his head. This was not the Trooper way.

The march ended as they entered a large hall with a glass roof. The plaza was around the size of the courtyard at Fort Nox, but a glance downward would reveal cracks and lines. The room was makeshift. Every wall could be moved or taken down to create a temporary expanse. Otherwise, it was a normal complex.

Nexus was large, but not nearly as colossal as Fort Nox or even nearly as expansive as Galis. They had to make do with technology to reduce the need for land.

Without the need for formation, Troopers next to and behind Nathan began to spread out and search for comrades from the other ships.

Nathan did not move except to allow others past him. He was a single speck in a sea of red and black waves. As he gazed upon those surrounding him, he saw a myriad of relief as well as despair. Like before, he felt nothing.

Nothing until he saw a familiar face appear through a doorway.



James and Yobu had been faced with suspicion when they had informed the Troopers with yellow armbands that they were survivors of Zona Nox. Only recognition of Yobu’s Zarxian ID and his insistence that James was a fellow Trooper allowed them entry into the Trooper Headquarters.

Upon entry, they were the subject of a range of harsh looks from masked Troopers. Every single one of them possessed a yellow armband – something James had never seen on a Trooper before.

‘They’re Dedelux’s force,’ Yobu had said, ‘they answer to him first.’

‘Dedelux?’

‘The Trooper Governor here on Nova Zarxa. He is more controlling than the governors you had in Galis, so be careful. This is no haven for criminals. This is Nova Zarxa, where freedom is a privilege.’

The stares of Dedelux’s Troopers kept them quiet for the rest of the walk, all until they exited the confined tunnel into a huge hall filled with Troopers without their masks. Even if packed to the brim, many of the Troopers within seemed lost. Many were embracing comrades but even more were hastily looking for a friend who was not there.

But that was not what James was staring at, for he had spotted a face he recognised.

Everything seemed to go silent. Only the beat of James’ heart echoed in his eardrums. When Yobu left his side to meet with his friends, he did not notice. All he saw was the Trooper with the silver streak in his hair and how he saw him.

Slowly, he advanced into the crowd. Somehow, many made way for him. The Trooper also made his way towards James, but his way was blocked and his going, slow.

But eventually, they stood face to face.

‘James?’ the Trooper asked.

‘Yes,’ James replied, simply.

Nathan smiled.



All the numbness and pain of the past while seemed to evaporate at once as Nathan stared at James. The trainee he had saved and recruited in Galis all those months ago was still alive and he had never felt so much relief in his life.

As they stared at each other, Troopers began to notice and realise that James was the very same Trooper who had been seen in broadcasts back on Zona Nox.

‘What happened to you?’ James suddenly asked, concern showing openly in a frown.

‘Me? Oh!’ Nathan realised that James was referring to the now white scars crossing his face.

‘During the siege, I entered a melee with a Zangorian commander. I destroyed his arm so he attempted to destroy my face. I won, but not without wounds. But enough of that – I haven’t seen you…since the Outpost in Red Sand. What have you been doing? How did you get that?’ Nathan asked, pointing at the insignia signifying James as a Captain and Strike leader.

‘A long, long story…’

‘Well, we want to hear it,’ a Trooper piped in.

James immediately gazed around and found that they were completely circled by a group of black and red clad Troopers. All of them were from Zona Nox.

‘I saw you on the net-screen back in the fort! How did you take down that craft?’ another Trooper asked.

‘Were you the one who found the tank?’

‘Did you really meet Marshal Rekkie?’

‘How did you get off the planet?’

Question after question came flying at James. He couldn’t catch enough time to answer a single one, until he heard one different from the rest.

‘What happened down there? Why’s the sky black?’

‘Don’t be stupid, Mahone. He don’t know that.’

James’ stare seemed to silence every Trooper in the circle. Nathan also felt it. A pang of coldness biting up his neck, drawing his attention to James.

‘I know what happened there,’ James said quietly, yet somehow loudly as the rest of the room seemed to turn towards him.

‘Xank?’ a Trooper shouted.

‘No, the Xank were merely a distraction. They always have been,’ James replied.

‘We know that the Imperials were involved,’ Nathan added.

James turned to Nathan.

‘But how involved? They were not merely a side enemy in this war. The Xank were the true decoy. Do you remember that Immortal that I apparently killed in Galis?’

A few of the Troopers nodded.

‘It was no Immortal. What I killed in the escape from Galis was none other than an Imperial scout. They were plotting the invasion the entire time.’

Worry seemed to permeate into the crowd.

‘Why’d Imperials invade Zona Nox?’

‘Because,’ James’ voice grew in volume, ‘Zona Nox wasn’t their true target…’

A loud beep echoed throughout the room, drawing James’ speech to a close.

At this moment, the crowd of Troopers realised that every hallway was blocked by the yellow Troopers. Murmurs erupted until a regal figure appeared on a platform at the end of the hall.

Dedelux was a tall man sporting a dark grey goatee and sleek, oily hair. His Trooper armour was pitch black and streaked with the ceremonial red of Mars. His cape held a strange yellow emblem, looking somewhat like a crown of nails with a yellow rose in the middle.

The murmurs continued until a woman wearing the yellow armband shouted. ‘Silence!’

All murmuring stopped and Dedelux seemed to smirk. He took the microphone away from the woman and spoke in a voice reminiscent of a priest crossed with a drill instructor.

‘Troopers of Zona Nox! You have made an exodus from your planet without warning or order from High Command. Your Commanders and Generals have not arrived and I fear that they have been waylaid by Xank. I fear this but do not despair. You have come to safe harbour. This is not a barbaric world like that which you have left. We are civilized and advanced. This is Nova Zarxa, the jewel of Extos III. It is unfortunate that your Planetary General Luci Kareon was unable to be here today, but you will find that I am a passable leader. I am the highest authority here on Nova Zarxa, besides that of our corporate allies in Grag-tec. Officers, you will answer to me. Platoons will be reshuffled and one by one, you will be sent back to the homeworld for reassignment.’

There was some coughing in the crowd, but no response. It seemed reasonable enough to Nathan. General Kareon was a somewhat laissez-faire general but Nathan had fought under stricter commanders before. He was used to military orders.

Then Dedelux’s tone changed.

‘Many civilians have arrived on my planet. Many of them came months before now, fearing Xank occupation but the more recent, those to arrive by corporate ship or by your earlier vessels, claim to be survivors of what they call a ‘dead world.’ These refugees have been corrected, of course. The planet, Zona Nox, is not dead but merely conquered…’

‘Skite-eating rubbish!’ a Trooper from across the room shouted.

As many turned to look at him, already two yellow-banded Troopers were restraining him. Murmuring and tensions were growing alongside the swearing of the man.

‘Enough!’ Dedelux shouted, immediately quelling the crowd with his overly loud voice amplifier.

‘Enough,’ he repeated, more quietly. ‘Let the Trooper speak. We are all brothers here. He deserves a voice.’

The Yellows, as Nathan now referred to them, let go of Lt. Frank McGraff. The Lieutenant straightened himself and then spoke loudly enough so most could hear him. The acoustics in the room were designed to shift according to speaker, so an audio spotlight was now being shone on the irate officer.

‘I saw the clouds. You can’ tell me otherwise. They was black clouds. No – not clouds. A blanket of darkness covering the sky. General Kareon told us to evacuate and we did. She told us that they were Imperials in Titan. Terra-damn Imperials! You mean to tell me that the sky went black, with Imperials at our gates, and it ain’t a dead world?’

Everyone was thinking it, but nobody had the guts to say it. Thank the Tribal for having guts! Everyone from Zona Nox was nodding in agreement. The yellows didn’t make a move.

Then Dedelux laughed. It sounded good natured but the situation was inappropriate. Its condescension was palpable.

‘Imperials? This close to the Outer Reach? I think not. Zona Nox was always a backwater. Don’t let the superstition of all-powerful cults rub off on you. The sky didn’t go black and the Imperials didn’t invade. Our scouting fleets have surveyed the planet and have found that it has been completely taken over by the Xank, but it is still liveable. What we need now is not fear of some empire light-years away, but vigilance against the enemy at our doorstep. I implore you, Troopers of Zona Nox, to remain rational. Only reason and dedication to the Trooper banner will keep Nova Zarxa safe! And obedience! Do not forget obedience. Our might comes from our unity. Do not stray from the Trooper creed. Remain loyal to humanity and obey your superiors.’

Lt. Frank shook his head. ‘You expec’ me to believe that? I saw it with me own eyes. I don’ doubt what I see.’

‘Lies permeate the soul and eyes, Trooper. I care not for lies or deception. I also hope that you will not spread this lie to your brothers.’

‘I will spread the truth as I want, guvna. Trooper creed and all dat.’

‘So can I say that you are disobeying a direct order?’

‘You can say what ya want. I saw what I saw.’

Dedelux turned to the yellows flanking the lieutenant.

‘Arrest him for suspicion of conspiracy to commit mutiny.’

The yellow lunged for the lieutenant who was too stunned to react.

Outrage erupted throughout the hall and many Troopers made an aggressive move not only towards the yellows but to Dedelux himself.

‘Silence!’

The room stopped once again.

‘Do not forget, Troopers, that this is not your parish. I am your host and you are my guests. You are here by my charity alone. Lest you forget – I, Triguim Dedelux, am your current master and will be so until you are sent back to the homeworld.

‘Dismissed!’



Many a Trooper turned to James as Dedelux spouted lie atop lie. Some of them had pleading eyes. They had expressions which told more than their lips ever could. They were afraid. Afraid of the unknown but, above all, afraid that they were to be relegated the title of liar. Only minutes before, James had claimed that Imperials were the cause and now everything he had claimed was being disputed by a Trooper leader. The Troopers didn’t know whom to choose. A decorated commanding officer, or someone who deserved to be decorated?

Many stares almost brought him to speak, but the actions of the accented Trooper made him think better. Dedelux, for all his talk about Trooper creed, was a zot. He preached allowing ‘brothers’ to speak but at the same time stated his superiority while chastising and arresting said brother. Dedelux was scum, but James knew that some of the biggest scum in the world were also the most powerful. James was not stupid enough to risk his neck. He could not afford interrogation. He had too many secrets to risk revealing.

As the Troopers shuffled out after being dismissed, Nathan sidled up to James and whispered.

‘I heard from a boy named Tim that you met Marshal Rekkie.’

‘Tim?’ James asked, truly astonished. ‘Did he make it back?’

‘Sure did. I saved him myself in Red Sand. He was with a tank and a Vacaraptor. The Vacaraptor saved my life at Fort Nox. But tell me, how did you meet the Slayer of Ganymede?’

‘Accident, really…one of the men with me was shot in the leg by him and he felt apologetic. We did a favour for him and he did some favours for us. He’s a very good man.’

‘Did he help you off the planet?’

James hesitated. ‘That is a story I want to tell you but can’t risk being overheard. He did help but I will have to leave it at that.’

Nathan frowned but then smiled. They were in separate lines for registration and they were about to part ways.

‘That can be a story for another time then. I’m glad you’re okay.’

They were about to part ways completely when James put his hand on Nathan’s shoulder.

‘I’m glad you’re okay too…and…and thanks for saving me in Galis. I will never be able to repay you for that.’

Nathan smiled sadly. ‘You won’t have to.’

“Our existence has reached a peak where almost all we need to know can be known. As a result, the most terrifying thing in the world is something we don’t know.” – Henry Urlog, Martian Philosopher

Chapter 7. Knives in the Dark

Danny wasn’t scared of the dark. Mob bosses and criminals were not allowed to fear where they belonged. Sure, many gangsters did fear the shadows. The leader of the Purgers, for instance. Danny had reliable intel to suggest that he slept with a night light. That would also account for why the Purgers were seldom allowed out at night.

Even so, many lied about their fears, Danny did not. He feared what any reasonable person did. He feared death, he feared pain and he feared obscurity. Yet, he knew that for one in a career such as his, the first two were inevitable.

Danny did not fear the dark and even the sounds of scuffling in the unseen corners of the room.

He was tied to a chair; that much he knew. He had been knocked out again once the vehicle had stopped. He did not know where he was – if that would help on this planet – or who had taken him. All he knew was that his life was not in his hands anymore. He had his doubts that Aegis would come to save him, but Big Momma had come to surprise him in the past.

Danny’s eyes felt as if they had popped as a bright white light shone directly into his face.

Memories of a past interrogation of this nature came back to him. Of course, it had been him giving the interrogation, not taking it. He remembered what he had ordered back then and he couldn’t help but shudder now.

The light was too bright for Danny to see. It was for the torturer’s benefit, not his own.

‘Danny Marzio…crime boss of Galis City. Capital of Red Sands, northern hemisphere of the now dead world…Zona Nox.’

The voice was ominous and possessed the grainy undertones typical of radio intercoms. Its deep tone was obviously the product of a voice modulator. Danny would have no idea who his captors were.

The voice said nothing afterwards until Danny realised that it was in fact a question. He chose not to respond.

Danny heard the zap before he felt it. A zap, a spark and searing vibrating pain shooting through his entire body. He felt as if his bones were seeking to tear out of his skin. He would have screamed if his muscles weren’t so tired from the pain.

‘You will respond when spoken to…are you Danny Marzio?’

The electricity had stopped and Danny was breathing heavily. With a stutter, he answered. ‘Yes.’

‘Why are you on Nova Zarxa?’

‘I am a refugee…’

Shocks travelled through Danny once again. Like knives piercing his inner flesh, he could only shiver with pain. This time he did let out a scream. It came out as a stammer as his teeth clattered together.

‘We do not appreciate lying, Mr Marzio. We can shock you all day without killing you. This torture will only end when you give us the information that we need.’

The electrocution halted and Danny once again fell into frantic panting as his body felt the relief of not having gods know how many volts running through it.

‘Let’s try another question. Did you kill Planetary CEO Mark Dresner of Zerian?’

This was something that Danny was not afraid to admit.

‘Yes.’

‘Why?’

‘He collaborated with rival gangs to bring down both my gang and the gang of my cousin.’

Danny heard some mumbling over the intercom.

‘Another question. Do you know a Gloria Maryan? Codenamed “Big Momma”.’

Danny did not respond, at first. He knew what was coming but somehow felt that this was some of the information he needed to keep secret.

Before his interrogators could electrocute him, he replied.

‘I have heard the name. She was spoken about at the moot in Titan.’

‘Our intelligence suggests that she was at the moot. Are you lying to us, Mr Marzio?’

Skite, they had someone inside the Titan gangs. Danny needed to watch what he said from now on.

‘There was a big black lady at the meeting. I was not sure if that was, or was not, the fabled Big Momma.’

That answer seemed to satisfy them.

‘Let’s go back to an earlier question – seeing as you seem much more willing to answer. What are you doing here on Nova Zarxa?’

‘I was given passage by the Titan City Conglomerate as they were escaping the planet.’

‘That is a how, not a why.’

‘I did not really have a choice in coming here…’

The shocks seemed to echo each other. It was not like being shot or stabbed but rather like one continuous pressure being applied to all his nerves.

‘You are in the possession of Aegis bonds as well as seen entering orbit from the Aegis flagship Athena. Are you, Don Marzio, working for the Aegis Corporation?’

Danny did not reply.

His jaw ached. He wanted to scream. He could not.

The shocks continued. Then there was black.

“The use of Warpmancy is both scientific and spiritual. It is based off scientific laws and physics but possesses and requires the will of spirit. While scientists believe they have mastered the theory of the Warp, they have not come close to understanding its use by Warpmancers.” - Anonymous

Chapter 8. Training

‘You need to focus your energy. Exert your will and dominate it in such a way that you can never lose control.’

James did as he was told but this only added to his excruciating headache. It did not come as easily to him as on the Lector ship. In fact, he could hardly lift a mug.

Krag-Zot didn’t seem surprised. He said that James’ power was because of stored energy. Without the reserves, he had to rely on Warp crystals – which he currently had none.

It had been a day since James had deserted the Zona Nox Troopers. It was not hard to see that the Zonian Troopers were not welcome here. He had utilised the remainder of his Warp reserves to cover his retreat before registration. From there, he had retreated to his Grag-Tec accommodation among the silver-clad towers of this world’s corporation. The next morning, Krag-Zot had appeared once again. James did not attempt to argue with the Areq and agreed promptly to begin training.

‘How can I use my power if I have none?’ James panted, trying to distract Krag-Zot so he could take a break.

‘We all have latent power,’ Krag-Zot said, as if he had said it a thousand times before (and from what James could tell, he probably had), ‘With enough willpower, we can summon up even the smallest reserves into storms.’

This sparked James’ interest.

‘Besides telekinetic and manipulating gas, what else could I possibly do?’

Krag-Zot thought for a few seconds, creating a mental list.

‘Warpmancy is the manipulation of the matter. You can use it to manipulate almost any element if you have some sort of understanding of it. You can also use it as direct power, turning it physical. Imperial energy weapons use the Warp to generate heat. With enough Warp power, you could possibly change the fabric of a world.’

‘Terraform it?’

‘Yes.’

‘Even remove Blight?’

A shadow seemed to rise over Krag-Zot.

‘No…well…technically yes. But the cost is too great. Much too great.’

James was curious but didn’t press. This was an issue they both were victims of but Krag-Zot had lived untold years feeling bitter about.

‘Now, Boymancer,’ Krag-Zot announced, yet again back in the role as mentor, ‘let’s create a spark.’

James focused his mind and held his Conduit glove in front of him. He sensed the energy all around him. Warp was everywhere. In the air, in the furniture, walls and even in him. It was everywhere, like moisture in humid air. It was not enough to start a flood, but James would have to try. He had never had to rely on such a miniscule amount of energy at his disposal.

He let out his will, seeking to dominate the energy around him – just to have it slip out of his fingers.

‘Don’t just grasp at it without purpose. You’re not some barbarian fisherman in a stream. Figure out your goal. Order the powers of the Warp. Give it purpose!’

James stopped grasping. Purpose? How do you give objects a purpose? Then something clicked.

With a mental shout, James commanded the energy around him. ‘Ignite!’

A spark bellowed into a ball of fire right in front of him. Defying all laws of logic, it stayed motionless in the shape of a sphere, exactly at the point where he had ordered it to.

James felt a sense of identity emanate from it. A sense of value and a connection to him – its creator and shaper.

‘Well done. You are not just some army trained telekineticist. You have the promise to be a true Warpmancer, like that of my people.’

‘What’s the difference,’ James asked, cupping the fire in his hand. He felt its warmth and knew that if it was any other type of fire. He could be burnt – but it was his fire.

‘The Imperials train Warpmancers en masse, but they have lost the spiritual importance of true Warpmancy. They are like children flinging mud. You – you have the capacity to be a god.’

There it was again. Krag-Zot was calling him a god. How can I be a god if I don’t even believe in one?

‘They call you an Immortal,’ James asked, changing the topic, ‘do you truly live forever?’

‘Nothing lasts forever – but for my purpose, I do.’

‘How did you become this way?’

Krag-Zot didn’t reply immediately. A crease seemed to cross his brow and his underbite rose slightly.

‘Warpmancy. I gave everything to the Warp and it gave me eternity.’

James stared at the Areq, giving him a look from head to toe. He hadn’t noticed it before, but the only exposed flesh on Krag-Zot was his head. The rest was cybernetic.

‘You’re part android?’

‘It becomes easier to control the Warp when you can use your entire body as a conduit. I gave up my worldly flesh lifetimes ago.’

‘Does the machinery prevent your body from aging?’

‘Yes, but that is not what makes me Immortal. Even if I lived in a body of flesh – it would still decay. My spirit is what is Immortal.’

‘What happens when your body dies?’

‘Before that happens, I utilise the Warp to transfer my consciousness to a new body. That typically requires a full body Conduit, however, which would make a flesh body unable to undertake the task.’

‘So you can pretty much live forever?’

‘Yes – yes, I could.’

Krag-Zot’s mood seemed to sink. He looked away from James into a mirror on the apartment wall.

‘You sacrifice much more than limbs to become what I am. You sacrifice your own life. You can never die peacefully, no matter how much you may wish it. I am a warrior at heart, but sometimes I wish for a quiet end. Sometimes, I just wish it all to end.’

‘Why don’t you end it all yourself?’

There was a pause, then Krag-Zot looked into James’ eyes. ‘Because I am afraid.’

The revelation didn’t shock James but it seemed to send shockwaves through what had previously seemed a figure of stoicism.

‘I’ve lived for so long,’ Krag-Zot continued, ‘while so many else have died. Do I deserve this? Doesn’t matter. What does matter – is that I’m afraid of what will happen when I finally die.’

‘Everyone is afraid of death…’

‘Not Immortals – we’re supposed to have overcome that fear. We are endless.’

‘Then why become Immortals?’

That seemed to catch Krag-Zot’s interest.

‘Why become immortal if you don’t fear death? I would think that the only reason. Even if you live forever – the fact that you chose to become that way means you fear dying.’

They both remained quiet for a while after until James broke the silence.

‘What’s the next lesson?’

‘No more Warpmancy today. I can see your head is getting sore. Instead, I want to accustom you to a strong possibility. Sit…’

James did as instructed. Krag-Zot did the same.

‘I respect you, Boymancer. I may be your mentor but I can see a spark in you which is something I’d willingly follow. Many others would do the same. You need to come to terms with that. Many will want to follow you and many will want to die for you. Are you comfortable with that?’

Am I? James had thought about it before but it was still something he struggled to grasp. Smith and Marshal had mentioned an Aura of Authority caused by his Warpmancy – but that was gone now. He had run out of his Warp reserves. Yet people still looked to him. The Troopers in the hall, his comrades from Zona Nox and even this Areq – a being who had tried to kill him.

‘Do people follow me because of my skill? Why? What do people see in me?’

‘You are a boy of many talents and respectable prowess – but many an elite soldier is. You are a good warrior, but not the best. No. People follow you because you keep on going. When lesser men would curl up and give up, you persevere. You are not a leader because you are powerful – you are a leader because you do not allow people to give up. Remember that.’

James nodded. He would.

‘What do I do? People follow me but I don’t know what I’m supposed to be doing myself. Smith says I need to avenge my people. I want that vengeance – I really do…but how? I don’t know where to start.’

‘This isn’t only your fight. Your homeworld and the birthplace of your species were all human worlds. They were lost to the same enemy – all humans have the right to fight that enemy.’

‘They don’t know about it…’

‘And that is what you will change.’

Krag-Zot walked towards the apartment window and gazed out the one-way glass. He watched as the city-life of Nova Zarxa began as flying cars darted between towers. Below, a cold glow rose from the crystal mining below.

‘You will be that change,’ he continued. ‘I call you a potential god and I really mean it. Every people needs a messiah. Your Terra is an archaic ideology clinging to old hope and ill-suited solutions. Your people need a new symbol. You have been wronged. I have been wronged. The Empire of Xank was founded to avenge the destruction of our world Resh – but we became as bad as the Imperials. This new crusade must not be a hollow desire for revenge and blood.

‘No, Boymancer – you will be a symbol of hope, justice and progress. You will be the messiah that my people lacked. You will lead your people against their own oppressors. Dedelux will fall by the people. Zerian. The Gangs. Even the Troopers. All will mean nothing. You will re-shape the galaxy – until finally, you free your worlds.’

James was terrified as Krag-Zot spoke.

‘What if I don’t want to be their messiah? Why can’t they find their own way? They have a right to run their own lives.’

‘Do they do that now?’

That gave James pause.

‘They wake up, work, breed and die. This is the way it has always been. They live in tedium with drugs – chemical and otherwise – giving them the occasional meaning. Would you withhold from them something more? Your people deserve more. Under the Xank, I helped enslave billions. We created slaves out of species, but what I realised the most was how willing they were to become one. They fought, they lost and they accepted their loss. Under us, they were given purpose. They were slaves – but better than any servant. They were involved in a crusade.’

‘But people have a right to be free.’

‘Freedom can only be given. It cannot be attained by oneself – no slave can unfasten their own chains. Your people – the people on this blighted rock, once my home – are slaves. You will free them. One is only free with purpose. You will give them purpose.’

Krag-Zot turned to James, who was now sitting back in his chair, unable to speak.

‘You will be a symbol - a god – and they will call you Defiant!’

“Liberty is dangerous. Prisons have safety. Dictators are stagnant and known. Liberty is chaos. Liberty is the unknown. Liberty is what every society deserves – a bright and vibrant future of uncertainty and wonder.” – Jeffan Grouger, Ganymede Activist

Chapter 9. Freedom

Defiance is what the people of Zeruit needed. It was what Leri required of them. The Zangorian thought this as he stood on the precipice of a hill overlooking Bexong.

The settlement was but a hamlet compared to what Leri had encountered in his career as a Word Lectorate soldier – but was apparently the home of the rebels Leri needed to start his revolution.

Leri was not afraid of being seen standing on the hilltop. He wore his red cape – the very same taken from the battlefield at Fort Nox. He stood with his flesh arm by his side, his new arm clutching a Kuru, a traditional Zangorian spear. He stood on the edge of the grassy knoll, watching the Zangorian workers below. Each one carried a pipe linked up to a barrel on their backs.

They trudged down the long lines of upturned soil, poking the tip of their pipes into the soil to suction out the juicy worms below. This was the main form of agriculture that the Zangorian war-machine relied upon. Patrolling the fields and further on were groups of hovering drones. Each drone possessed a single cyclops eye and a single arm. When a worker slacked off or misbehaved, the drone would deliver a shock to them. The shock could be adjusted to different severities. Many of the workers simply jolted but Leri watched as a few were flung back, twitching.

According to Peron, the villagers seemed to believe that the drones were the ultimate authority – and in many ways, they may have been. Many of these Zangorians had been born into this community and had known nothing else. The drones were their overseers – unspeaking overseers. They undertook their job and loaded the tramways because of habit and fear, nothing more.

Leri leapt off his perch and began surfing down the hill. Some workers must have heard him as they lifted their beaks.

Multiple clicks and squawks followed.

‘Who is it?’

‘Outsider?’

‘Don’t look, the overseers will hurt you.’

Leri continued his advance, unperturbed. He landed upon solid ground with a jolt. He used his Kuru to steady his landing and then propel him forward towards the closest drone. Before the robot could react, the point of the spear had impaled it and then left. Leri turned and spun, smacking a drone behind him with full force, denting its side and destroying its vitals.

No worker continued harvesting the worms. Their eyes were all fixed on this stranger destroying their oppressors.

All the drones, detecting the danger, charged towards him. They spoke in robotic emotionless voices.

‘Stranger, you are in an unauthorised area – identify yours…’

Just to be smashed or stabbed or kicked or punched. Even when the drone AI realised he was a foe, their attempts at electrocuting him were to no avail.

Wires shot out at him were easily dodged and every bot that came past the range of his spear met his steel-clad talon. The dirt surrounding him was becoming a heap of beeping, smoking, charred metal – yet more drones kept coming. They were weak and Leri could dispatch each one easily – but there were so many.

He was tiring. A drone shot a wire at him and just as he dodged, he felt a sharp stab as he was shocked by a drone to his rear. The pain was excruciating. He tried to steady himself, but he could not help but shake.

The drones were surrounding him. Then he heard a shout. A battle cry.

‘Rii!’ a myriad of voices shouted in unison – as drones began to fall.

Orange feathered arms tore at metallic limbs. Beaks hit steel and zaps contrasted with squawks and squeals. The drones turned to ignore Leri.

‘Get back to your work…’ a drone said, just before being torn apart by two young Zangorians, as if the drone was a rope in tug-of-war.

Eventually, there was only silence.

Every drone was disabled, left smoking in heaps. Leri remained crouched as countless beady eyes stared at him with awe.

‘Make way!’ a creaky voice sounded above the quiet.

The voice belonged to a grey Zangorian possessing many ruffled feathers, including a wisp of them below his beak – like what humans called beards.

‘I am the Elder of Bexong, stranger. My name is Gura-Teng. What can I call our liberator?’

Leri looked up at him and remembered what the people had shouted. ‘Rii’ – Freedom. It was apt a name as any.

‘My name is Rii and I have come to free my people.’



The hall was filled with a joy that Leri knew they had never experienced before. The sights, sounds and taste of the air itself was that of elation and hope. One would normally feel quite silly to think of happiness and joy having a taste and smell but Leri experienced all of it here in Bexong.

Men (for there were only men in Bexong) and male children sang and danced. They shared beverages and stories of their short but successful revolution.

Gura-Teng was speaking to Leri, or Rii. He liked the name. His real name was a symbol of his past life, meaning ‘waiting to be free’ while his new name was a sign of his willingness to fight for a new world. A world of freedom.

‘We got by in Bexong,’ Gura-Teng was saying, ‘but it was never a life. The metal-lords ruled us and hurt us. They never killed us but they didn’t have to. Sometimes we killed ourselves. They never took our lives but they had already eliminated our ability to live. Thank you, once again, for freeing us…Rii.’

Leri did not reply for a while. He continued to watch. The joyful faces of the children were what caught his eyes. His only memory of children was from his past lives. He remembered joy there but not in his own existence. There was a big difference between remembering and seeing. To Leri, the expressions on these youths’ faces were liberating.

‘Do not thank me till you are truly free,’ Leri replied. For there was still much to do. ‘Your people are not the only slaves. Your metal-overlords were but pawns. What do you know of your oppression?’

Gura-Teng looked slightly taken aback, the tufts of greying feathers underneath his beak swayed as he took in a deep breath.

‘I have lived for a long time, much longer than my kin usually survive. In that time, I have learnt one thing above all – how little I actually know.

‘From what I do know – the metal-lords, as you said, were just pawns. We have had the dark walkers investigate our homes before. They are the ones who take us in the night and then return us to our homes the next day. It has happened to all of us, but we do not remember what they did to us. There was seldom violence – we never put up a fight.’

Unfortunately, Leri did know what the ‘dark walkers’ did to the men of this village. They milked them for their seed so to breed more Zangorian soldiers and labourers. This was the life of a serf – they lived for labour and their seed.

‘There is much more to life than this, you know.’

‘We heard rumours from the occasional supply caravan – when we still got caravans. Now everything is sped in by those metal tracks. Last stranger here came when I was a child.’

Leri was once again reminded of the total insular nature of these villages. The people of Zeruit, his people, were treated like machines. They had a function and no permission to stray from that mission. It was…disgusting.

Leri knocked over his stool as he stood up. The thud of wood on stone somehow managed to silence the music and attract everyone else’s attention.

As everyone stared, Leri spoke.

‘Zangorians – my kindred, my brothers – I am Rii. In your tongue, this is called Freedom – Liberator. As my name commands, I am here to free you…all of you…’

A few Zangorian men whooped in excitement but the majority remained quiet.

‘I cannot claim credit for throwing down your metal-overlords. That was you. You chose to pick up stick, shovel and rock and use them to undo centuries of dictatorship. I may have kicked the rock but all of you are responsible for causing the landslide. For this, I cannot claim responsibility for freeing you.

‘I have come to this planet – our home – to retract a great wrong. I have come to FREE our people!’

This time, a much larger group gave out cheers. Leri let them cheer before he silenced them with a wave of his mechanical arm.

‘There are thousands, if not hundreds of thousands, of villages just like Bexong on this planet. Each and every one, ruled by our oppressors. Dark walkers, metal-overlords and much more stand in our way…’

This silenced the group. It seemed many hadn’t thought of this before.

‘They will stand in our way,’ Leri repeated, ‘they will try to stop the tides of freedom. They will try to enslave us or slaughter us. They have weapons capable of wiping out peoples thousands greater than us.’

Fear now gripped the group. Even Gura-Teng was leaning back in his chair, gripping the armrests until his talons made scratches.

‘They will stand in our way – I say, let ‘em! Our people have lived far too long in servitude. I say it’s time to fight. Not to keel over and beg. Not to apathetically let them deny us our futures and families. They will stand in our way. We will push them right over!’

Everyone stood. Trills and cheers and whoops and shouts of agreement drowned out all other sounds. Men turned to each other, hyping each other up. Children, unable to understand most of what Leri said, picked up on the excitement and were cheering too.

Gura-Teng was the only one not smiling.

‘You have sent my people to their death.’

Leri spoke to him without looking.

‘Better to die free than live another moment a slave.’

Gura-Teng nodded but didn’t smile. The old Zangorian knew of necessity, he just didn’t like it. Bexong would fight for freedom. Bexong would fight and Leri would lead them.

“We persevere.” – Red Sand rancher, North of Galis Lake.

Chapter 10.                   New Struggles

Extos III rose across the horizon, bathing the silver towers of Nexus in a warm glow. The night was over. Day-ports began to open their metal shutters, blue energy shields activating to keep out the toxins of the cold outside. Their night-port cousins remained open, while some closed for the day. Different buildings needed to take turns to conserve energy. This was the way of Nexus. Without the understated blue shields, the populace would choke on Warp poison. Without the oxygen filtration systems, they would suffocate. Without generators and a strict energy regimen, all of this would fail. Nexus was a shining, seeming utopia, stifled by a poisoned atmosphere.

Zonians arriving on this harsh world of glitz and prosperity found none. They were a people of grit. Their struggles were under an open sky – not the geradite ceilings of Nexus City. Even the occupants of Titan City found themselves ill at ease. The skyscrapers were like home, but were somehow wrong. They were not places of ambition. The corporate survivors felt stifled. The corporate and security monopoly prevented entrepreneurship. Only those used to humble lives didn’t feel the repression, until they started looking for work.

No Zonian waited to look for work. They knew their lot and the fact that their currency was worthless in this neighbour planet. Grag-Tec recruited some Zonians, but there was simply not enough work under the corporation. Other Zonians looked for odd jobs. They were by no means unskilled. A life in the barrens of Red Sand or the streets of Galis did not train a soft people. They filled peasants with grit, and trained a warrior society.

When the Zonians arrived, they did not understand the noisy nightclubs of Nexus. They did not understand the sense dulling drugs. Drugs were meant to enhance performance, not dull it. They didn’t understand when people told them that they were filthy parasites. They had never heard the term. They didn’t understand why they were rejected from every place of business, even though each possessed a help wanted sign. They were a doing people, being disallowed from activity. When you take away a man’s right to work, you force him to become a criminal.

When the people of Zona Nox were not allowed the ability to earn their keep, they resorted to what the Galisians knew best. They stole. They hid in the shadows, mugging those who had spat on them. They looted stores and storerooms for food and gas. No place would sell them accommodation, so they lived as nomads, camping in the hallways of the city, dodging patrols.

Zonians never felt united on their homeworld, but now they fought as a common people. Zenite watched Marzio backs. Titan-dwellers gave food to Red Sanders. Dead Stoners helped the children of Tribals. The diverse people of Zona Nox were no longer that. They were Zonians, united by pain. They lived together, fought together and disappeared one by one. Those Zonians cunning enough to hide their identities watched on, impotently, as their countrymen disappeared off the shining hallways of Nexus, no longer marring the perfect façade of Extos III’s greatest city.



James did not have to avoid any Yellow Trooper patrols on his walk from his apartment to the Grag-Tec office. The newly married Exanoid couple next door had gone off-world for a honeymoon on Eran. The lack of music gave James a blissful morning. He now knew it to be morning, as he had asked a Zarxian Gray to set a notification system for him on his watch. It still told Zona Nox time, but was set to vibrate at certain times, to indicate the correct time of day in Nexus. Krag-Zot had warned him the day before that this would be a free day for him. He wished James to find his bearing in this new place.

‘A prince must learn of his domain,’ Krag-Zot had recited, quoting something. James didn’t ask.

The Grag-Tec headquarters was only one of many Grag-Tec facilities on the planet, but the only one which didn’t receive any patrols from Yellows. Instead, the Grag-Tec HQ was patrolled by Merka, Gray and Trooper-mercenary guards. James felt safe around them, as he had already become acquainted with many.

James greeted a Merka named Maka’ru before entering the administration offices of Grag-Tec. He had an appointment with a friend and was allowed in immediately.

Ryan beamed as he looked up from his paperwork.

‘James! Didn’t think I’d see you so soon.’

James accepted the now standing Ryan’s handshake, grasping one another’s wrists. Ryan indicated for him to sit.

‘So, they got you working already? It’s only been two days!’

Ryan blushed. ‘Well, it seems I already got the basics. I wrote an exam. Mathematics, accountancy…all that. Aced it.’

‘Congrats! Not like one of us Galisians to pass an exam. You doing us all proud.’

Ryan waved away the compliment.

‘Seems ranchers need all the skills an Overseer does. My bookkeeping for pa sure helped.’

‘You never did tell me all about your past…never mind. Not my business.’

‘No, no. I owe you that much, Captain. I was born on a ranch by Galis Lake, the green side. My family owned a ranch. We raised Mozar and Peckers…was a good life. My pa trained me to be a rancher. Not just some dumb farmhand, but with numbers. I’d fill in the registry – oversee trades. It was fun. The greatest feeling was when my pa would nod approvingly at my spreadsheets. He’d smile and say, “That’s my boy.”’

‘What happened? How you become a gangster?’

‘First time I killed was as a rancher,’ Ryan continued. ‘A Red City bandit was rustling our biggest bull. My dad was in Galis. I was the only one who could save Big Harry. I took my dad’s rifle from the shed and shot the bandit in the head. I vomited after that. My dad was angry when he got home. He wasn’t angry at me. Just angry. He didn’t want me shooting things. Said he wanted more for me. A year after that, Dead Stone fell. Refugees flooded into Galis. It went from a spaceport to a sprawling city. But the refugees brought chaos. The local Trooper garrison had to send reinforcements to the city. They weren’t able to save my ranch when we were hit by aliens.’

‘Xank?’

Ryan shook his head. ‘Squogg. They had never been to Zona Nox before. Mercenaries later said it was deserters from the Black Fleet. The fat grakos burnt my ranch to the ground. They killed my sis, my ma and my pa. I was the only one left. I was told to run. I didn’t look back. I returned with a posse from the other ranches. It was too late.’

There was a pause. James broke it. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘Don’t be,’ Ryan smiled sadly. ‘It’s good to get it off my chest. You don’t have the full story yet, though.

‘Ranches were falling all around Galis Lake. Troopers couldn’t handle the Xank attacks. They started helping ranchers move into Galis and set up urban farming programmes. I followed one of the convoys. I was angry though. I hated the people who had done this to my family and me. When I got to Galis, I didn’t join a farm. Farmers didn’t change the world, I thought. They didn’t get revenge. Farming didn’t save my dad or the ranch. Only time we were ever saved was when I put a bullet in that grako bandit’s head. Lead and steel changed things. So, I started fighting. I joined a fight ring. Killed some more people. Didn’t vomit anymore. Eventually, Don Marzio noticed me and gave me a little more meaning. You generally know the rest.

‘But that’s all changed now. I’m sick of the shooting and the breaking. I want to farm again. Not literally. But I want to grow something. After I raise funds with Grag-Tec, I want to start a company. It’s time that I do some good.’

‘I am sure you will, and that company is going to be a force to be reckoned with.’

‘I don’t care about the power. I just want to it sustain itself – to employ some people. If I can prevent some more farmhands becoming like I did, then I will be happy.’

James nodded. ‘You’re a good man, Ines Ryan Rebeck.’

Ryan smiled. ‘You too, Captain.’



‘Zonians are disappearing, James,’ Quok announced, pouring a glass of spirits.

‘I heard,’ James’ voice didn’t betray any worry.

‘I want to prevent any harm coming to you. I owe you that much.’

‘Any help would be appreciated.’

Quok nodded and passed James the glass of vodka. He then turned to stare out the window.

‘It is so odd…’ he took a tip… ‘to be back in such a place. The grit, the bloody sand and dirt of Zona Nox was discomforting, but it was honest. Here, we hide our emotions with mind numbing excuses for entertainment. We use metal so that the blood from squatters can be cleaned easily. Yet, it is not even metal. It is a chemical substitute. Nothing in Nexus is what it seems. We are a shining city. We have the most money. We don’t starve. Well, that might change with the Xank blockades. But, there’s no plagues like on Grengen. There are no bloody memories of genocides like on Glotos III. We aren’t a crime ridden cesspool. Yet, why does this all unease me? Perhaps, it is because of the deceit. Zarxians lie to themselves. They deafen themselves on bad alien music. They take drugs that make them pass out. They hate their lives so much that they don’t even want to be conscious. Yet, they claim to be superior. Jewel of Extos III my rump.’

Quok turned to James, slightly wobbly from the booze. ‘The only happy Zarxian is a rebel, James. You can’t be happy in a place like this. These shining walls clamp down on us. They press in, harsher and harsher. Tighter and tighter. The repression is palpable. How can I rule over a place like this? How can I tell my employees that they have to leave the only homes they’ve ever known? I promised them safety. I promised them an honest living. Dedelux has made me a liar. An Exanoid is as good as his word… I am nothing.’

James winced as Quok, who was now just in front of him, permeated the air with the smell of strong spirits. Evidently, the Exanoid had been drinking long before James had arrived.

‘Grag-Tec rules over Nova Zarxa by name alone. Dedelux, by force of arms, reigns as prince,’ Quok slurred. ‘Yet, I owe my people. Grag-Tec is a family, and we don’t abandon our own.’

‘Neither do Zonians,’ James interrupted. ‘I have hidden in the shadows as my people have been wasting away. I fear, however, that I need to hide for a bit longer. I need help. Give me a job at Grag-Tec. I will repay the favour. I will help you keep your word.

Quok nodded and then waved James off.

James stood up and left, the final scene of the room being Quok pouring yet another cup of vodka, muttering to himself.

‘I hate this planet.’

“Freedom isn’t about restraints. It’s about will. You aren’t free for lack of shackles, but because you refuse to be a slave.” – Gert the Agitator

Chapter 11.                      Anticipation

There was one thing Nathan hated more than a contact. That was waiting for it. Waiting for an ambush, for a Trooper, epitomised the whole human condition. In minutes, an hour or even days, a Trooper examined their whole life, all while waiting for death. An ambush, even if you survived, was death. You lost friends. You lost associates. You lost your innocence. Waiting for a contact was waiting to die.

The mood in the mess hall these past days was that of awaiting death. Food was eaten, games were played and people chatted, but a dark cloud hovered over all of them.

Lt Frank McGraff didn’t return to his squad. Nobody dared ask for an explanation. No trial had taken place. Frank, the blustering officer, was now merely a whisper.

Every entrance of the mess hall was flanked by armed Zarxian military police. No one left without permission. Like children or prisoners, they were not allowed out of the military district.

Every afternoon, another platoon was shipped off – sent back to Mars for re-assignment. No one could question this. Of course, this didn’t stop the whispers.

‘Why send us away?’

‘Xank at our doorstep.’

‘No, Imperials at our doorstep. Zarxa will be defenceless.’

‘Dedelux is moronic.’

‘Is he? I think this is what he wants.’

‘For Zarxa to fall…’

Every so often, one of these whisperers disappeared. As such, Nathan chose not to speak unnecessarily. He ate, he occasionally played poker and he drank. Many a familiar face was now disappearing but the face most absent was one that didn’t appear in the mess hall or barracks at all.

James.

Nathan had searched for him all over. No Trooper who knew him had seen him. He simply did not appear. There was no record of him on any directory viewable by Nathan. It was as if he wasn’t even a Trooper.

This ghostly nature of James, coupled with the complete mystery of the outside world terrified Nathan. The Zona Nox troopers were blind to all around them. Despite their tenacity and professionalism, this lack of intel visibly shook them.

Frustration had reached breaking point many times over the past week and fights had become common. Cabin fever and fear was the order of the day.

Nathan looked out over the crowd of red and black. Faces wore expressions of bleak greyness.

‘Oh, James – wherever you are, at least it’s not here.’



James had never thought that he’d be getting a pay check for handling paperwork. He wasn’t going to lie, he’d rather be storming an enemy position, or flinging furniture around than his current job but as he settled in, it became quite therapeutic.

Quok had been more than willing to forge the proper data entry for James. It wasn’t precisely lying. According to Quok, James was pretty much an honouree member of Grag-Tec already.

James’ new title gave him a unique authority in Nexus. He was still a Trooper but was not bound by the Dedelux administration but rather the rule of Grag-Tec.

The Troopers, for the most part, were a charity organisation devoted to protecting humans around the galaxy. To fund their endeavours and campaigns, they often sold mercenary contracts to many corporations. James had been assigned as one such mercenary to Grag-Tec. He now wore a black urban law enforcement uniform with green stripes on the shoulders and a Grag-Tec logo on the chest. He carried a Grag-Tec stun gun and an automatic pistol. Compared to his usual kit, he felt drastically under dressed. Little could be done about that though. He was technically still a Trooper and thus a soldier but Nexus was not like Galis. It was a civilised place. Unlike Galis, there was a government here, and from what James had seen of said government, he was unimpressed.

Propaganda and tasteless effigies declaring the virtue of the governor were everywhere. His personal Trooper army patrolled the streets merely to punish detractors. The atmosphere of trade and prosperity was an illusion for far-reaching oppression. James was not going to be caught dead unable to do anything about it. Despite this not being his town or even his planet, this was now James’ home. He felt for its people, but more so for his own.

The refugees of Zona Nox still flooded into Nexus and the bordering mining outposts. Even the prohibition against refugees had not stemmed the tide. The first wave was only that from Fort Nox – more and more arrived by the day in slower vessels. All came bearing the same news: black clouds of death, no air, corruption, and no life – Blight.

Dedelux’s personal body-baggers made sure that those with the biggest mouths kept quiet as soon as they got off the ship – by any means necessary. As a result, the people of James’ world kept silent. They couldn’t come to terms with what had happened to them. They were lost and destitute. Now the refugees of Zona Nox lay huddled in the warehouses of dead companies, keeping warm by trash fires or dying on cold metal. Many turned to crime but Nexus wasn’t like Galis. It was hard escaping down one long hallway.

Grag-Tec was helping keep James’ people alive through food parcels and fuel, but it simply wasn’t enough. The refugees needed real homes. They needed their planet back.

‘Oh, how we have fallen,’ a voice came from beside him.

‘Without a home, our people are just beggars. Worse off than any homeless junkie back in Galis,’ James agreed, nodding to greet Marshal beside him.

‘Zona Nox was no paradise but it was our planet. It was a symbol of freedom. Reason I moved back. Zonians are not weak people. We’re strong. Our civilisation was built around a mountain range called the Teeth of Storms, for Terra sake. We persevered through the hard times. All of us – the Tribals in the cold and the gunslingers in the desert. We could handle anything. But this…they’ve clipped our wings.’

That was it really. It wasn’t the food running out or the cold during the day and night. It wasn’t even the confined living spaces. The refugees had lost their reason for being. They had lost their freedom. No amount of security or health or credits could replace that.

The people of Zona Nox needed their freedom back. They needed someone to give it to them – no, to lead them to it.

‘Our people need a leader, Marshal. We never had many in Galis but that doesn’t mean we don’t need one now. They need a symbol or someone to remind them that they’re still alive.’

‘Exactly, and you’re going to be that leader.’

James snorted until he realised that Marshal was serious.

‘I was thinking…you know…more that you should be the leader. You’re a damn legend! After all, you’re the Red Sand Ranger – the pinnacle of soldiering on the frontier. Why me when they could have you?’

Marshal sighed. ‘You overestimate me, my boy. I was a soldier, not a leader. All those missions I was on – just a soldier. I was either alone or taking the orders. I was a good soldier but a good gunman does not a good leader make. Now you, you are someone that I’d follow.’

James was not convinced. Marshal pressed on. Both ignored James’ duty of checking cargo for contraband.

‘Think about it - all those people who followed you. They were a cross section of Galis. Gangsters, thugs, mechanics, tradesmen, ranchers – if you could lead all those people…together, what makes leading these people any different?’

‘There’s Terra-knows how many Zonians on this damn frozen rock, Marshal. I’m still a damn teenager. I’ve led a squad of fighters – not an entire planet.’

‘All you need to do is give them hope,’ Marshal was whispering now. ‘Someone needs to remind them that life is worth living.’

‘Why don’t you do it?’

‘I’m old, worn out. I have a wife and kid now. I’m tired of this skite. It’s time for the next generation to take over the fight. I’ll see you around sometime. Think on what I said.’

Marshal walked off with no more to say. James did think on it; long and hard.



Aven Smith was sipping his tea when the yellow light on his dashboard started blinking. The light was a signal that someone had landed in the docking bay. Normally this would be no surprise, as Krag-Zot the Immortal would often fly in and out of the Word Lectorate ship with his personal fighter. Krag-Zot, however, was out of the system searching for new agents.

Speaking over the intercom, Aven spoke in flawless Krugari. ‘What is going on in the hangar? Is Krag-Zot back?’

‘No, Lector. It’s…it’s an Edal.’

Aven leapt to his feet. An Edal, here?

‘How did he get in?’

‘He had the pass codes. What should we do?’

‘Battle stations!’

With that, sirens erupted across the vessel. Aven hastily unlocked his gun cabinet, hands shaking. He pulled out a submachine gun and then ran into the hallway. Many of his Krugar were already in position, hanging from bars on the roof with two of their hands while using the others to hold pulse blasters.

Ahead of them was the door to the main hall. It was locked now, but if the Edal could have gotten into the hangar, he could get through this.

‘Everybody hold position. Only fire on my command.’

He didn’t need to remind them of protocol – they were better at that than he was. He said it more to comfort himself.

After the final rustling stopped, all was quiet. Quiet enough to hear the footfalls on metal as a figure approached the door. With a few beeps and a click, the door opened.

The Edal stood stunned as he stared at the forces arranged against him. But Aven didn’t give the order to fire. Instead, he stood up calmly and lowered his hand.

‘Stand down. He’s one of us.’

The Edal looked visibly relieved and approached Aven.

‘Lector, I am here to give a report.’

‘Better be good, Huin. You won’t be able to go back after this.’

‘It’s not good, sir, and that’s why I’m here. The Imperials are mustering a huge invasion force.’

‘When are they never?’

‘I don’t think you understand, Lector. They are preparing to invade Nova Zarxa.’

Huin was right. That wasn’t good.



James had just entered his apartment back in the Grag-Tec residences when he spotted Aven Smith standing in his room. He was shaking uncontrollably – his already pale skin reduced to that of a paper sheet.

‘Lector, didn’t expect to see you planet-side,’ James stated, dropping his guard-issue weapons onto the coffee table. He had come to expect this sort of thing from the Word Lectorate. Locked doors meant very little to them.

‘There’s been…a change of plans. We can’t wait any longer. We must make our move. Now!’

‘What is it? Speak up.’

Aven looked like he was going to be sick. ‘One of my spies has come back from Imperial Space. He was only meant to leave under the direst circumstances. And trust me – this is dire. A Martyr-led fleet is converging on Nova Zarxa. He gives us around one to two Zarxian months. Around seventy days, maybe less.’

James had to sit down at this revelation. He knew it was coming, but not this quickly. This changed everything.

‘What would you advise we do, Lector?’ James finally asked. Aven was also sitting now.

‘You will have to warn the planetary governor. I’ve heard of his corruption but even he should be able to see this threat. I have adjusted evidence here. It is the report my spy gave me, but adjusted to remove mention of the Word Lectorate.’

‘What should I say if they ask how I got this?’

‘Use your Grag-Tec connections. Ask your friends if you can claim it is from a scouting vessel. That’s believable enough…’

The door opened at that moment to reveal Marshal. He was surprised for a moment but then quickly realised the situation – or guessed it.

‘The Imperials are closing in?’ he asked, stone-faced.

James nodded.

Marshal sighed. ‘I knew this was coming. Aven, I trust you have given us sufficient evidence to show the Governor?’

‘If he doesn’t believe that, he’s an Imperial agent,’ Aven tried to smile but failed.

‘Then let’s not waste any more time,’ James stood up. ‘Marshal, come with me. We need to make an appointment with Dedelux.’

“The basis of all Trooper power is that of security. The Troopers are not builders. They are not bureaucrats. They are soldiers. And like any enlightened military – they know better than intervening in the affairs of peace.” – High Protector Winston at the trial of multiple corrupt Trooper commanders

Chapter 12.                   Hated

Darren did not hesitate to give away his last tank of valathene. He had invested in the tanks with his Titan bonds after his Junker had finally landed in Nexus. The fuel was a common, but necessary, commodity on such a cold planet. He hadn’t managed to sell a single tank, but not for lack of trying. Every time he tried to sell the gas to those who could afford it, he was either ignored or chased away by Yellow Troopers. That left his only customer base being his fellow Zonians – who had no money.

In the beginning, the Zonians rented accommodation around the planet and looked for work to subsidise their survival, but that all changed once Dedelux ordered all Zonians into the lower hangars. Soon enough, all Zonians were confined to ghettos. Penniless and without any means of working for credits, the Zonians began to freeze. Darren gave up on offloading the gas for a profit and began handing it to those who needed it. It wasn’t like he was going to find a buyer when he wasn’t even allowed to go to the market.

‘You are a treasure, Mr Peterson,’ a middle-aged woman told him, accepting the small tank and handing it to her larger son.

‘I do what I must. We all do.’

The woman nodded, forlornly.

‘Who could think such a shining city would be so cruel?’ she added.

‘Titan shone.’

‘But the Underbelly was black. It was honest. We didn’t have much, but at least we had a reason. If we wanted something, we would get it. We didn’t have scumbags holding a gun at us whenever we tried to go to the bathroom. We were free.’

That was it, really. The poverty on Zona Nox was not unlike this, but it wasn’t oppressive. People bled, but they were free. They needed freedom to seek the opportunity to survive. On Nexus, they were forbidden the simplest of necessities. Not because they did not work. Not because they were lazy, or enemies. They were denied the very means to their survival because of what they were. Nothing else. But through this alienation, they had started to find comradery among old enemies. They were no longer Galisians, Red Sanders, Titans…they were Zonians.

‘Yellows!’

The shouts echoed across the camp. The guards came every once in a while, to make sure Zonians weren’t breaking down the walls of the hangar to steal electricity.

Darren nodded goodbye to the nameless mother and son. He didn’t fear that his lack of gas would result in starvation or frostbite on his part. You give to your community and they give to you. Credits or not, the Zonians would look out for one another. Even if they had never done so back on their homeworld. Struggle united. He packed his few belongings and sped off around the corner, attempting to stow away in a dark corner to avoid any confrontation.

As he retreated, he heard shouts. The shouts were incomprehensible, but angry. Darren heard crunching and crying. He stopped and started back, almost mindlessly.

‘You can’t do this! All I own is in there,’ the mother from before sobbed.

Yellows were tearing down her shack, not paying any mind to her possessions. Two Zonians held her back, shame in their eyes. Her son, around thirteen, had a feral look about him as he stood to the side.

There were three Yellows. One officer and two new recruits. The officer oversaw the destruction of the plastic hovel, his mask not betraying his sentiments.

As the shack was torn apart, a small picture frame dropped onto the floor. The son pounced to retrieve it, just to be hit back by the officer with a baton.

‘Stay where you are, scum,’ the officer spat. ‘We are evicting all you disease ridden rodents. Zots, all of you. Dedelux has been more than generous. Stay out of our way!’

Zonians jumped at the strike, but didn’t advance. Darren watched, his expression unchanging. The son’s expression didn’t change. He looked mad. His mouth sounded silently, ‘Dad.’

Darren didn’t say anything when the boy pulled a switchblade from his sleeve. In a second, the blade was buried deep into the officer’s throat.

A gurgled shout from their boss made the recruits turn. In a flash, the one recruit drew and fired wildly with his pistol. The boy was hit, and so was his mother and one of the men. Darren charged in, lifting a geradite rod on the way and then driving it into the gunman’s torso, just underneath the armpit. It didn’t kill immediately. Darren was caught staring into the eyes of the killer. It was a young man, brown hair with blue eyes. Fearful eyes, blind with tears. Darren didn’t know why he did it. Well, sure he did. You didn’t let murderers get away with that. You stopped them. You stopped them from killing again – but only by becoming a murderer. You killed to stop the killing, to be killed to stop the killing.

Two other Zonian men had come in and had tackled the other recruit to the floor. They had torn off his mask to reveal another youthful face, filled with fear. The two men pummelled it into the ground, until only a bloody puddle of mush was left.

‘Get on the ground!’

Darren turned to see a Yellow with a rifle pointed right at him. Darren knew he was shaking. His laser sight was ducking and diving all over Darren’s chest. Under his darkened visor, Darren knew that the Yellow’s face was slick with sweat and as white as void. He didn’t want to kill Darren. He didn’t want to kill, even to stop the killing. He wasn’t a killer. He was a bully’s lackey.

Darren put his hands up and slowly lowered himself to the floor. As he did so, he lowered his hands. The nervous Yellow didn’t notice. As fast as its previous owner, Darren grabbed the pistol and fired a single shot into the Yellows head.

When you mean to stop the killing, you need to be willing to kill. The cycle cannot be stopped. Only renewed. Zonians were the pinnacle of this cycle. They kept on killing. Killing each other. Killing others. Kill, kill, kill.

Those around him just stared, at him, the Yellows and the dead mother and son.

Darren ejected the cartridge from the pistol and counted the rounds – eight left. He inserted the cartridge back into the pistol and checked the chamber. Bullet in the chamber. Nine shots. Kill, kill, kill.

‘What you waiting for, lads?’

That seemed to wake them up. Screams were echoing from around the camp. The smell of gunpowder and plasma invaded their nostrils. They had been pushed around long enough. What Dedelux and his Yellows didn’t understand is that Zonians were rodents. They would push his people into the corner, forgetting that the cornered zot would bite the cat.

‘I’ve had a vokken ‘nuff of living like a pitslug!’

‘Yeah!’ the group shouted in unison.

‘Let’s go make those Yellows wear real Trooper colours.’

Darren had not been a fighter on Zona Nox. He’d been a store owner, the victim of the criminal enterprise, but he knew how to conduct violence. Zona Nox had been free not because it was peaceful, far from it. It was free because it was willing to use violence against violence. Its people had the will to be free. If freedom meant blood, so be it.

A Zonian picked up the rifle and joined Darren’s posse. Those unarmed had looted the Yellows of extra guns and batons. Armed, they approached the fires.

Lined up around the entrance to the hangar was a wall of black and yellow. Shields protecting the main body of the force as they closed in on the Zonians. Tear gas flew and shock lances were used to keep the protesters back. Multiple formations were closing in on the Zonians from multiple sides. Many Zonians of varied ages and genders screamed their defiance, but behind them were cowering children, the wounded and the elderly. The defiant were defending their weak while the Yellows herded them. Darren’s eyes widened. That was the point. The eviction squads were only meant to get the Zonians out in the open. From there, they were to be rounded up and shot. Dedelux was finally exterminating the scum.

‘Dixie,’ Darren indicated to the rifleman, ‘use that peashooter and make a hole in that wall. Rest of you, get ready to take advantage. Let’s bloody them up.’

Troopers in Galis had never tried to stop a riot. There weren’t ever any riots in Galis to begin with. People weren’t entitled on Zona Nox. You worked, you got fed. Nobody was stopping anyone from working, not in Galis at least. Here, things were different. Zonians didn’t know how to riot, but they did know one thing. They knew how to kill.

Killing is real simple. All you had to do was put something where it wasn’t supposed to be. A fist in a face. A bullet in a brain. A shiv in the gut. Zonians were a simple people and thus could elevate a simple thing, killing, to an art form.

Dixie lined up the shot and fired.

A shield-bearer fell and the wall broke. Rioters trampled over the terrified Yellows. Every fallen Yellow meant a better armed Zonian as shield, baton, lance and gun were turned on their owners. The Yellow snipers, previously hidden behind the shield-wall and waiting for the Zonians to have their back against the wall, were surprised when men and women found them and tore them apart.

This was the Zonian way. It was brutal. Red Sand, their desert, was the colour of their philosophy. Nothing was won without blood, sweat, or both. When you lived on the frontier, with Xank, Sylith and pirates at your doorstep, you learnt to become acquainted with blood.

A young woman had torn the helmet from a Yellow and was smashing his head in with it. Her face was covered with blood and rage. Darren knew her and knew that the corpse lying beside her was her sister. He now knew why he killed. Why they all killed and had been killing their entire lives. You push anyone too far, and they’ll crack.

Zonians had bled their entire life. On Nova Zarxa, they bled every day without anything to show for it. It was time they made someone else bleed. And they did. For every one of their dead, they killed ten times that amount. There were no half measures for a Zonian. You killed or you died.

They had cleared the hangar and were pushing out. Yellow reinforcements retreated at their approach, finally locking them into the tower. The Zonians didn’t waste time banging on the door. They barricaded it themselves and set a guard. They counted the weapons and tended the wounded.

There was no rejoicing but a sense of relief was felt among all the sons and daughters of Zona Nox. They were no longer slaves to the whims of Dedelux. They threw off their shackles.

They were free.

“Countless news networks exist within human space. Many of these have differing opinions, agendas and topics. The Trooper networks report on security matters, Aegis deals with technology while every planet has their own (if not multiple) main global news outlets. But with all this news, people still find it almost impossible to find the truth.” – Lorenzo Gerola, Journalist

Chapter 13.                    Governor

It had become easy to gain an audience with Dedelux after Marshal gave his identity. There were many fans of his accomplishments, even here on Nova Zarxa. Ganymede was a distant, but still vivid memory for many. Even after the Grag-Tec letter of admission given by Quok had failed, Marshal won them entry.

‘What do you think he’ll say,’ James asked of Marshal.

‘I don’t know for certain. I don’t like him but I don’t need to for him to give the order to prepare defences. We need him to call to Mars for aid. Winston will send the host if he does so.’

Marshal looked concerned. He had every right to be with an Imperial invasion on the way, but James sensed that there were other reasons for his mood.

The double-doors to Dedelux’s office were ostentatious. Heavily varnished red wood made up most of the surface, with gold inlaid into gaudy patterns along the edges. A mural of Dedelux himself stood central in the doorway.

Marshal pushed both doors inward as he entered the office. Dedelux looked up from his desk, a look of surprise and irritation on his face.

‘What is the meaning of this?’

‘We come with dire news,’ James said, making his way in front of Marshal. ‘An Imperial fleet is on the way to Nova Zarxa.’

Surprising Marshal and James, Dedelux laughed at this. It was a sick laugh, filled with contempt.

‘What proof do you have of this outrageous claim – Troopers, I presume?’

James threw the documents that Aven had given onto Dedelux’s desk. He explained as Dedelux paged through them.

‘Grag-Tec ships picked up that information just a few sectors away. They’re closing in.’

Dedelux stared down at the pages again and then discarded them into a bin by the side of his desk.

‘What…’ James started but was interrupted.

‘I am not a fan of soldiers taking on missions that I have not assigned to them. I have made it abundantly clear that this is my planet and, therefore, I am in charge.’

‘Sir, I was not acting insubordinately. I was delivering information given by my chartered employers at Grag-Tec.’

‘Maybe it is high time those corporations lose their protection,’ Dedelux whispered under his breath. James was only able to hear it due to his Tetsushisen abilities.

‘I will not have my command influenced by corporate mercenaries! These documents are negligible.’

Marshal piped in with all the fury of a gunship. ‘You aren’t talking to any two chartered Troopers, Governor! You’re talking to two battle-forged Veterans. The Troopers are built on experience – how many trenches have you lain in? How many times have you pulled the trigger? Those documents are proof that YOU need to call for aid from Mars. We can’t afford to lose this rock. You have the power to save your so-called planet. If you like your position so-much, then listen to reason!’

Dedelux’s shock wore off quickly and he responded with fire. ‘Who are you to shout at the sovereign Governor of this here city?’

Marshal interrupted him.

‘I’m the damn Marshal Rekkie of Zona Nox, slayer of Ganymede, survivor of the Terra excursion and owner of a Terra-damn tank! I’m higher ranked than you, meaning I don’t have to listen to your mozar-skite! You are going to investigate those reports properly and then you will see that you have no choice but to call for aid!’

A heavy silence fell over the room as Marshal stared Dedelux square in the eyes. Two personalities were at odds and James, Warpmancer or not, did not want to risk harm by intervening.

Dedelux finally inhaled and then exhaled. He closed his eyes calmly and then spoke without raising his voice.

‘Guards!’

Yellow arm-banded Troopers rushed into the room to restrain a stunned Marshal and James.

‘You’re dooming us all!’ Marshal yelled, as he was dragged by three brute Troopers.

‘Your charter days are over, Troopers,’ Dedelux said as he stood to see them out. ‘I hereby pronounce you, with my authority as Planetary Governor, guilty of treason. You are both dishonourably discharged.’

Marshal kicked and fought against the guards but James reserved his strength. He looked calm but that was far from the truth. He was writhing in anger – cold hot rage.

Dedelux was an Imperial agent. There was no other reason for his blatant disregard for both Trooper tenets and the evidence they had shown him. He now knew that someone was onto his lords. They would be ready.

James would have to be faster, smarter and stronger than he had ever been before. He could no longer rely on the power of others to reach his goals. He needed his own power. His own command. His own army.

James knew that it was time for him to become a god. Defiantly, he allowed the guards to drag him to the icy metal cells of Nexus’ prison.



Nathan was in the mess hall, as he always was, when he heard news of Marshal and James’ capture. A non-Yellow Zarxian sergeant named Yobu had been spreading the news around the mess hall during his guard duty. With so few Troopers left to be shipped out, they had only assigned one guard. When Nathan spoke to him, he said that he’d been in James’ squad on Zona Nox.

‘He was a great leader. An almost inhuman fighter. He was willing to do whatever it took to get us to safety.’

Nathan explained to him how he knew James. Yobu was in awe. A group of Troopers were now surrounding them.

‘James…captured?’

‘Marshal, the slayer…couldn’t be.’

‘Yes,’ Yobu repeated, ‘James and Marshal were arrested at midday. Dedelux has dishonourably discharged them for treason.’

‘Marshal is a legend!’ a young Trooper piped in, ‘He’s more loyal to Mars than Dedelux could ever be.’

The group nodded.

‘What does this mean for us?’ Nathan asked Yobu.

Yobu shook his head. ‘Nothing good. You are the last shipment out of here. By tomorrow, there will be no Zona Nox Trooper left on Nova Zarxa, except for James and Marshal.’

‘And Frank! We can’t leave them,’ a burly Trooper named Ruble exclaimed.

The group in its entirety voiced their agreement, all except Nathan.

‘What is it, Nathan?’ Ruble questioned.

‘We can’t simply stay here. They’d gun us down.’

‘There is a way,’ Yobu whispered. The entire group hushed and moved in to listen.

‘This building is currently running on skeleton staff. Dedelux has been moving most of us out of Nexus. Most Troopers still in Nexus are being used for crowd control. The Zona Nox refugees have been rioting and shooting them has only made them angrier. We could all break out of here and go into hiding in one of the outskirt mines, from there we can plan to break out Marshal and James.

‘Any danger?’ Nathan asked.

‘There’s always danger but I don’t see what choice we have. Let’s go. Now!’

There wasn’t any further discussion. They collected their belongings and with only one gun among all of them, broke out of Dedelux’s house arrest. In the eyes of the law, they were no longer Troopers.

“Zonian nationalism was fundamentally caused by the persecution of refugees by Dedelux. Through an attempt to destroy potential enemies and ‘drags on the state’, Dedelux created his ultimate destruction.” – M. Robble, Human Historian

Chapter 14.                   Fought the Law

Dedelux’s prison tower rose like a monolith from the glowing fields below. Icy geradite created a cold, blue exterior, with a single doorway, through which Marshal, James and a group of convicts were now being marched.

There had never been a prison on Zona Nox. There were jails, sure. Marshals and sheriffs would confine the convicted until justice was done. But prisons were a different story. An entire building dedicated to the housing of wrongdoers – no – those perceived wrongdoers. It was an unnecessary extravagance. Prisons were an odd thing, James thought. In Galis, you had courts. They were community courts, or linked to the gangs or corporations. The Troopers even had a court. They were there to administrate the confusing matters of justice. For the simpler, stabby and shooty kind of justice, lynch mobs tended to know better than any uppity Trooper trying to make Galis into a new Mars. Zona Nox justice wasn’t perfect, James knew that, but prisons just didn’t make sense to him. Why commit to holding criminals when you could use the very same resources to stop them completely? Maybe James was just less remorseful. Ironic, seeing that he would be the one under the guillotine.

Marshal and James were marched from the icy prison entrance down a long geradite hallway. Through force gates and barred doors, they passed offices, cells, guards and syns. With Marshal and James was a group of around eight convicts. All of them wore bright orange jumpsuits and coded hand-restraints. Only the mag-keys of the wardens could open the restraints.

The guards were better-equipped than the average Yellow in the city. They were armoured from head to toe, carrying shotguns, hand-guns and shock-batons. James suspected that even better equipped assault Troopers resided behind some of the closed doors, in case of a riot.

They stopped in a hall lined on either side by cells, barricaded with geradite bars. Each cell contained three to four orange clad inmates, sitting forlornly around electric heaters. Almost none of the inmates looked like threats. They were puny, with no muscles or even facial hair. It was evident that these were not violent criminals – if criminals at all. James had heard that violence was prevalent in prisons, and thus genders were separated to prevent sexual assault – but these cells were mixed. Both women and men resided in these cells, staring hopelessly into the white lights of the heaters.

A shout from the warden got them moving again. The guards, it seemed, were putting on increased armour and arming themselves with shock lances. They moved down the hallway. Only a few of the convicts looked up at them.

The door at the end of the hallway was triple-guarded. A gate let one enter into a holding chamber that then revealed a blast door and then a force gate. James was almost flattered that they would undergo so much effort to keep him in check.

The crescent-shaped room aligned the entire half of the prison tower. Cells guarded by force gates lined the walls like a hive. Those contained in the cells James could peer into looked like real threats. Tattooed, muscular, scarred and hard-faced. The women in the cells made the men in the other hall look like sexless children. This was where the Trooper dissidents had been hidden. Behind bars, blast door and force gate were those Troopers who had defied Dedelux – or had known too much. It seemed that for one reason or another, the Yellows needed them alive.

As they marched down spiral floors and besides force-cells, James recognised many Trooper faces. Frank McGraff was there, nodding to James with respect.

Whistle-blowers, dissidents, disobedient Troopers. This was the high security section of Dedelux’s personal prison. The place where he made his enemies disappear to maintain his superficial façade of success. This was going to be James’ home – even if only for a while. James didn’t know how he would get out, but he knew he would. Krag-Zot wouldn’t let the humans confine his god for long, and if not that, Aven was sure to release him through some odd contacts.

James saw the reason why the Yellows had armed themselves with the long shock-lances as they stopped by a cell with one inmate in it. The resident – a burly mountain of a man – immediately charged the Yellows, just to receive a zap that knocked him back. If the Yellows had to rely on batons, the long arms of the assailant would have reached their jaws first.

One of the convicts with the group was shoved into the cell. Then they moved on. Convicts in ones and twos were dropped off in cells with room. Until there was only James and Marshal. They were led down a long hallway until they reached a fork. They split and Marshal was led away from James.

Ushered along, James was finally shown to his new home. It was a dark, cold cell, with nothing but a toilet and hard-looking pallet.

‘Be defiant as you want now, “Trooper”,’ one of the guards gloated, shoving him in with the butt of his lance and then shutting the force gate behind him.

James didn’t utter a word.



It was never cold in Nexus. Nova Zarxa was always cold, but Baryu Targa had never felt cold before. The lights and heaters were always kept on in the Nexus central towers. The Governor made sure that his people were always warm, always well-lit and always entertained. Baryu had been in the process of such entertainment, watching a recording of an Astro-Race, when the screen switched off and the lights started to flicker.

Then the heat fell.

This is mighty peculiar, he thought. Nothing like this had ever happened before. Could screenies even be turned off? When were lights ever off in Nexus? When were they ever flickering? Baryu had lived in Nexus all fifty-three years of his life and none of this had ever happened before.

Immediately, he lurched from his armchair and left his two-room apartment. His apartment was located above a screen-repair shop, along a balcony connecting several other apartments which were above even more shops. Each shop was lit well with neon lighting, which was not flickering. Some of Baryu’s neighbours had left their apartments as well.

‘Screen off, Jenny?’ Baryu asked a pink-haired lady holding a small domesticated vowl.

‘Yeah, and right through my shows! What’s going on?’

‘Nothing good. Can’t be good if it has never happened before.’

It looked as if Jenny was about to say something when the ground shook. Jenny dropped the vowl which then proceeded to run around her legs, yapping away and chewing at the edge of her gown.

Police were rushing down the hall, holding scary guns. Baryu didn’t like guns, but he wasn’t afraid of the police. They were there to help.

The ground shook again. This time they heard a bang and some hisses. A voice on an intercom sounded.

‘Please evacuate this sector. There has been a critical malfunction. Please evacuate this sector.’

The announcement repeated itself, alongside a rather unpleasant siren.

‘Agh, going to miss the next round.’

Baryu had been looking forward to watching the race between Pluto and Titan live.

The residents of the complex calmly began walking down the stairs and towards the exit. Then there was a deafening roar and smoke. A flash, a bang and then a whooshing suction.

Baryu opened his eyes as he felt the cold bite at him. He had never felt it before. He had never smelt the cold, noxious air of his home. It didn’t smell like the crisp, minty smell of geradite but of rotting meat that Baryu had encountered once in the lower sectors. As he began to smell the fumes, he collapsed. He coughed and coughed. He doubled over and after hurling, saw that his bile was red.

All he wanted was to watch Pluto beat Titan. They were looking very good this season. Then there was black.



Groups of inmates could watch screens at certain intervals throughout the day. They made sure that inmates who knew each other well never coincided but that didn’t stop James from getting acquainted with some strangers.

The mountain of a man from before was named Alex Yurgan. He was from Titan and used to be a spacecraft mechanic at a docking station. He joined up with Obsidian when the pay was good and had moved to Nova Zarxa when Obsidian was expanding into Extos III. Later, downscaling left him destitute. He decided to do work for Dedelux but after he got perturbed that his pay wasn’t getting in on time, he lodged a complaint and ended up here. In Nexus, you could live a cushy life – if you never complain and never showed any sign of criticising the regime.

It was quite incongruent that such a violent looking man had been arrested for such a petty offence. He stated that the only reason he was in the maximum-security section was because he had made a game of scaring the guards. He had become immune to shock lance jolts years ago, and was only putting on an act of submission so to avoid worse security measures. James doubted that the man was even immune to the shocks. A crater in his arm revealed where the man had ripped out a Dedelux monitoring device from his flesh. Rather than be immune, James rather guessed that Alex Yurgan couldn’t feel pain.

James and Yurgan spent much of their time in the mess hall, watching screens and talking. James had told Yurgan about his escapades and arrest – blotting out the sensitive details. Yurgan was impressed.

This day, there was no talking. Everyone’s faces were aimed at the screen. A newscaster in the pay of Dedelux’s regime was reporting on violence in one of the central residence towers. A bridge had been bombed by a projectile coming from an unknown source. Fifty Nexus citizens had died. Dedelux appeared on the screen:

‘Citizens of Nexus, my friends and family. This is a grave and tragic day which has brought us to mourn the loss of our countrymen. Terrorists have attacked our people! They are jealous of our prosperity and wish to sink our city into chaos. Stay strong, Zarxians. We will not let these terrorists and their collaborators get away with this. They will be brought to justice and your safety and warmth will once again be assured.

‘The Nexus Civil Police Corps have assured me that everything will be under control shortly. In the meanwhile, we will need to tolerate some restrictive procedures. Curfews will now be in effect. Please refer to your wrist-tab for notices. Bridges will also now be under control by NCPC. To accommodate this change, private enterprise will be put under control of the state. Grag-Tec has been found to be collaborating with the Zonian terrorists and will now be treated as a criminal entity. Please report any sightings of known Grag-Tec officials and employees to NCPC. Rewards will be provided.

‘Once again, citizens, these are dark times. But Nova Zarxa is a dark planet and Nexus is a shining beacon in this void of evil. Strength and unity. Hail Nexus!’

The news report ended and the programme was changed to the news that Titan beat Pluto in the Astro-races, a fact that would result in many suicides by doting fans of the defending champions.

‘Seems your people are a lot less tolerant of dictators than the usual bunch, eh,’ Alex stated, picking his nails with a plastic fork.

‘Never knew Zonians to bomb anything. We were more prone to shooting and stabbing. This is odd.’

James was concerned. He could believe that his people, a violent people, would kill Nexus citizens who got in their way, but not wantonly blow up an entire building causing the residents to choke on crystal fumes. That wasn’t the Zonian way.

‘This isn’t Zonian work.’

A few of the inmates turned to him. Alex was interested, but half-watching the Astro-race replays.

‘How’d you know?’ a Zarxian convict asked. He was booked for smuggling and had killed a Yellow in the process of being arrested.

‘When a Zonian wants to kill, they look you in the eyes first. They let you know they’re there.’

James stood and walked towards the convict.

‘They take the knife out slowly, make sure you hear the flick. They don’t hide their colours. They make sure you know which gang they’re from – then they gut you.’

The Zarxian was leaning back. He nodded and James nodded back, returning to his seat.



James nimbly dodged to the side as a shock lance flew towards him. Its sparks illuminated his face in blue. He grabbed the staff and pulled its owner towards him. The Yellow Trooper was wide-eyed as James ripped off his mask and punched him straight in the jaw. The man dropped and James used his new weapon to put down another charging guard. Alex Yurgan was also making headway, head-butting a Yellow and beating him with his own baton.

The cafeteria was a mess. Chairs and tables had been erected as barricades. The convicts used the furniture as a laager against the waves of riot control troops.

Few of them believed that this riot would amount to anything, but James and Marshal did not care. It had been made clear to them weeks ago that the guards were not cleared to kill them. Until a point, the guards would have to tolerate most of their actions – even riots.

James had no problem batting a thrown flashbang back into the hall. He even laughed as he did so. This was a game. It was a contest of Zarxian sensibilities versus Zonian brinkmanship. James didn’t care who broke first. He knew that he had very little time and not much to lose. Destabilising Dedelux’s regime from the prison was all he could accomplish at present. It would have to do.

A convict cried out as a projectile hit him in the stomach. James took cover as rubber balls pelted the tables at high speed. These were fake guns. They did not kill honestly. They wounded and hurt, so that the enemy would give up. Many of the Zarxian convicts did give up. The Zonians did not.

James picked up a dining tray, indicating for others to do the same. A group of them then charged, stolen riot gear and make-shift shields, towards the rubber gunners. The guards broke before they could close the gap, retreating in fear.

After weeks behind electrified bars, James and Marshal, unbeknownst to the other, had reached breaking point. They knew of the tight schedule. Their lives were forfeit if Nova Zarxa was unable to establish a strong enough defence, and that defence would require the end of Dedelux’s rule. So, they did the only thing they knew how. They fought. They beat up guards. They incited riots. They committed arson and vandalism so that the prison guards could never relax. After the first riot, they were knocked out and returned to their cells. This had bemused James.

Why not kill us?

After careful experimentation, involving the assault of Dedelux’s Yellows, they determined that political prisoners were not allowed to be killed. While curious about the reason for this bizarre policy, James had not hesitated to use it to his advantage.

Over the weeks, he and Marshal would sabotage and riot – doing their part for the Zonian rebellion that they viewed on the screens. They battered the prison guards – never killing, but taking up their time as much as possible.

In this most recent riot, they had held the cafeteria past curfew for around three hours. They had plenty of food to sustain the rebellion and had become practiced in batting away stun grenades and blocking rubber bullets. Eventually, James and his comrades began to tire.

‘Okay, chaps. Time to rest. Let’s give them a breather,’ James ordered.

They laid down their arms and assembled in the middle of the hall, hands on their heads. Yellows poured in, slowly and calmly. They knew that this was not a trick. That was against the rules. They also knew not to harm the prisoners, or restrain them, for that would result in yet another riot – one that could result in death.

Yet, this did not calm James. Killing was natural. In the Yellow’s shoes, he would have killed all the convicts after the first riot. There had to be a reason for this unreasonable sense of leniency. A reason that was much darker and terrifying than anything within this colossal prison.



The bandana-masked individual with the stolen Trooper helmet counted down with his fingers, silently being watched by three more individuals.

Three fingers. Two. One.

As he closed his hand in a fist, he tossed a cooked grenade through the doorway. The individual opposite him followed the explosion, opening fire on the occupants of the room with a home-made shotgun.

‘Clear!’ Dixie announced.

Darren followed Annabelle into the room.

Three had been killed by the grenade. Two more by Dixie. The Zonian rebels fanned out into the storeroom. Annabelle and Jordan had been Zenites back in Galis. They knew how to clear a room. Their insane boss had wanted to build an army to take Galis, after all. They had been trained to be professional. They now used this military precision to clear the room and check it for danger.

‘Darren, we have three minutes to take what we need,’ Jordan explained.

Darren nodded and got to work. Dixie was put on guard duty, at the doorway. The rest of them filled carry bags with gas tanks, batteries and charge crystals. These resources would keep their people alive for a few more days.

‘Time’s up.’

They didn’t delay their exit. When the Yellows came to investigate the disturbance, they were already long gone.



‘What brutes!’

‘Savages…’

‘Yes, complete barbarians.’

These were the utterances across the main hall of the Peixes do espaço. Erryn Kolheim listened on from her table by the window, glancing occasionally from the menu of Grengen imported fish. The powdered and plastic people of the hall were very different from her. While they wore the gaudy and neon mono-coloured clothes of the Zarxian rich, she wore her work clothes – a greasy black dark grey tank top and cargo pants. She had been stopped at the door, but a credit check allowed her through.

A ship’s pilot may be unkempt, but they were seldom poor.

Erryn Kolheim was a Zarxian by birth – technically. She was born in a ship docked in Nexus. This ship had been her home ever since, as it travelled human space – shipping goods wherever they needed shipping. The Kolheim had stood the test of time for a century and would continue to do so if she had anything to say about it.

‘Turn it up, concierge!’ one of the patrons ordered. There was no opposition.

Erryn half-listened, half-ordered, as the screen’s volume was turned up.

‘Zonian terrorists have murdered five civilians in a brutal attack. Trooper officials state that the civilians were murdered in a desperate effort to attack a Trooper ammunition storeroom. No Troopers were killed, as they managed to scare off the terrorists. This comes as the fifth attack this week. No Zonian official has agreed to comment.’

Erryn snorted. More likely they weren’t being allowed to comment.

‘Scum. Murderous scum. Did you know any of them?’

‘No, no. But they must have had families. Poor dears.’

Erryn dug into her fish, Grengen carp, as she listened to the screen. She didn’t truly care for the details. It was just to pass the time. She seldom spent time on Nova Zarxa. In fact, she was only here to try out the fish that they had recently shipped in. The rebellion of these Zonian refugees was a small affair to her. She had been to Zona Nox once and had not been impressed. Most of its inhabitants had never even gone into space. Bunch of dirt-birthers, as she and her comrades would disparage them. There was very little mutual ground. Neither did their plight mean much to her. There were wars, famines, plagues and refugee crises every day across human space. She witnessed many. This was no different. This rebellion was just growing pains. She was accustomed to Dedelux’s repression. She didn’t like it, but she knew to keep her head down while planet-side. She had space to be free. She felt sorry for the dirt-birthing Zonians, but they’d learn. They’d have to. To be honest, she didn’t much care. She had her ship. The Kolheim was all she needed to be free. This wasn’t a fight she was going to get involved in. She had enough of those dodging Pegg pirates and brigands.

‘In light of repeated terrorist attacks, Governor Dedelux has ordered all space vessels to be impounded until further notice. This prohibition on space travel will end once the crisis is over.’

Erryn spat out her cola.

She ran to the screen. Her ears hadn’t deceived her. On the screen, a reporter stood in front of the Kolheim, as Yellow Troopers marched its crew outside, clamping it to the docking bay.

Filled with fury, Erryn paid her bill and marched outside of the restaurant. This was now her fight.



James had lost count of the days. They were no longer allowed to meet in the cafeteria. Everyone was confined to their rooms. The last time he had seen a screen, the news was that an entire skyscraper had been taken by the Zonian terrorists. Dedelux had declared martial law to maintain order.

Zonian – it was an odd term. James had never thought of himself as a Zonian. He was a Galisian, at most. Mostly, he had been a Marzio made-man. His identity was in his allegiance, not some arbitrary place of birth. But now Zonians did find identity in a form of allegiance. By attacking them all as one, Dedelux had ensured that the Zonians had become one. Ironic that the Zonian nation had been formed by attempts at its destruction.

But wasn’t that always the way? You push too hard, and something pushes back. Yellows shot at Zonians, so Zonians shot back. That was the way of the world.

James only hoped that his people wouldn’t go too out of control. His was a violent people. He recognised that. Violence was natural. It was a necessity in a harsh reality – but not the optimum. While James had told the convict that Zonians wouldn’t kill civilians, he knew otherwise. Zonians would kill. There would be reason to the killing, yes, but killing civilians could be justified. But was it worth it? James hoped it never would be.

James was a killer. One of the best killers. But even he wished that he would not have to kill again. As he lay in his cell, he dreamed of such a place but knew that to get there, there would be plenty of killing along the way.

The Zonians would continue killing. Dedelux didn’t give them a choice. He was a born tyrant. He was used to subjects, not individuals. Zonians weren’t subjects nor citizens. They were individuals. James, as one of them, knew this. Zonians formed groups not to be ruled over, but to work together for their own and each other’s benefit. It wasn’t by the obedience of the Zonian that things got done, but by the simple fact that things needed doing. This was what made them free. Zonians refused to be dependent. They refused to be slaves.

James, in chains and behind bars, refused to be a slave. He contemplated what Krag-Zot had once told him, that freedom could only be given by the powerful. That wasn’t freedom. That was permissive slavery. Freedom wasn’t a state of permissiveness – it was independence. In a group or alone, but by choice and not by the whims of a tyrant.

James knew this and so did his people. Zonians were free because they chose to be so. James was free, even behind bars, because he refused to give up. Freedom wasn’t given. It was taken from the bloodied hands of tyrants.

“The arms of the law are long - but most often, not long enough.” – Former Sheriff Glint of Red City

Chapter 15.                   Mutagen

Searchlights, drone patrols, automated turrets…Leri was getting tired of the lack of challenge.

His Bexong Rebels were not a seasoned or trained fighting force but their attacks on the Xank showed the extent of their frustration. No metallic shell could defend the Xank drones against Leri’s people. With spear, talon and beak, they broke the armour of their oppressors. There had been deaths, but that was to be expected. Only Gura-Teng showed gloom at the loss of his comrades. Everyone else was too busy moving forward, slaying their enemies. Revolution did not stop to mourn.

Leri, Rii as they called him, crouched low on the brink of a cliff-face overlooking a large metal structure. The building was a shining black cube. It had no windows and no entrances. It seemed impenetrable. Leri knew better. Peron had sent him all information that he needed on how to assault these facilities. The design itself was based purely on keeping enemies out. It was a prison, but its inhabitants were more mentally enslaved than physically. Regardless, the future of his people depended upon its destruction. The gargantuan cube was a breeding facility and Leri knew that the male Zangorians had been too long without family. The same went for the females.

As night fell, they made their way down the slopes of the surrounding cliff faces. The cube had been shot down from orbit by the Xank all those decades ago and the act had left a massive crater. Xank engineers had found themselves regretting this means of construction as the craters had the habit of being filled with water. Drainage pipes had been installed, but the costs had surpassed the alternative means of construction.

They had been watching the floating drone patrols for hours and had a decent idea of their patterns. They determined an opening and went for it. In a storm of sand, covered by darkness, a group of ten Zangorians found themselves alongside Leri at the base of the cube. None of them spoke and only the slight thump of their footfalls betrayed their presence.

If Leri’s memory served him right, this was the right place. He took a device out of his satchel and placed it upon the wall. He stomped his foot twice to signal his comrades. After three seconds, there was a pop and a sizzle. Leri and another Zangorian took their position in the dark and clutched the edges of the now cut-out piece of metal.

The plasma-cutter had done its job, as Peron had promised. One by one, Leri and his rebels entered the facility.

The halls were bright. Piercing white walls and tiles hurt Leri’s night-tuned eyes. The passages reminded Leri of the bunkers beneath Fort Nox. White was not a normal colour to be used by the Xank, and now that Leri thought about it, not by the Human Troopers. The reason for its use was that it was exceptionally easy to spot enemies within it. The orange feathers of a Zangorian would stand out like an oasis in the desert.

Leri was not afraid of the drones within the facility – only the turrets surrounding it. Now that they were bypassed, he had no qualms fighting the drones within. As much as it benefitted him, Leri couldn’t help but find the drones shameful. They were almost useless in a fight and relied on fear and indoctrination for their power. Leri’s fighters slew them easily. Yet, Leri had never ventured into a facility such as this. He did not know what the Xank had in case of breaches. There may or may not be something far greater than puny drones in these metal halls. Regardless, they had to press on. Kuru-spear and tiao-swords at the ready.

Behind them, two Zangorians lifted the circular metal sheet that had fallen as a result of the plasma-cutter and placed it back in the hole. The sheet melded back into the wall as if it hadn’t fallen at all. Only the trained eye could see the seams. They had used the device many times before. Peron had gifted an armoury of them to get Leri’s forces used to the idea of stealthy sabotage. It was working and the Bexong Rebels had successfully used the Word Lectorate technology to enter many enemy facilities, unbeknownst to the Xank.

Ten-pa, a young Bexong Zangorian, signed to Leri that their point of entry was now hidden. Leri nodded. Ten-pa was a studious and devoted young-one. His feathers were still a light orange and his beak had yet to accumulate the growths of age. Despite this, his tenacity and loyalty soon saw him rise to Leri’s second-in-command.

They advanced further into the facility.

There were no signs or any means of finding direction, so Leri chose paths randomly.

‘There is only one target in the breeding cube – the Main Console. Everything can be shut down from that machine,’ Leri recalled his orders from Peron.

They turned through a doorway, where Leri stopped. Lines and lines of pods filled a titanic hall. The room was black with every pod emanating a sullen blue.

Leri approached a pod and gazed at its contents.

‘Rii…’ one of the rebels, Xupa squeaked. Leri did not chastise him for speaking. He was also shocked enough to break protocol.

In the pod was a child.

Its beak was small and its feathers yet to grow fully. It looked like something out of a horror – a malformed mutant. Leri knew better. This was how the Xank altered their Zangorians to fulfil their purpose. To the Xank, every Zangorian was a tool. They were used as cannon fodder, lab experiments, breeders and slaves. Xank generals referred to them as the Body Budget.

Leri smashed his metal fist into the pod, smashing the glass. Released of its genetically modifying ooze, the child Zangorian withered and died. The Bexong rebels stared, aghast.

‘You killed it,’ Xupa whispered.

‘There was nothing left to kill.’

Leri stared down the long stretch of coffins. There was nothing in here to save.

It was hours later when they reached their first closed door. The steel door was round and seemed to roll open and closed, with clamps to keep it in place.

There were no buttons or keypads, so Leri presumed that the gate was opened remotely, most probably by an organic official. There was no way that they were waiting for an Immortal to appear on one of his annual rounds. They had to get in now.

‘Do we have any more plasma cutters?’ Leri signed.

‘No,’ was the reply from Yuy.

Leri made his way to the door and tapped. They weren’t getting in without plasma.

At that moment, triggered by the sound of metal on metal, an automated turret descended from a tile on the roof and fired a gush of blue energy at Yuy. The plasma disintegrated the Zangorian’s chest in one hit.

Everyone dove for cover but Leri. As the turret swivelled, firing at the panicking Zangorians, Leri threw his kuru. The spear glanced off the turret, but Leri wasn’t hoping for any damage. What he was counting on was threat classification. The turret swivelled 360 degrees and aimed at him. He was the threat.

Leri stood completely still.

‘Rii!’ Xupa shouted, as a blast of energy was released from the turret.

At the last moment, Leri dodged out of the way, allowing the blast to penetrate the steel door, revealing a hole the size of a fist. Leri waited for another blast and dodged again. A bigger hole. He kept doing this until the hole was big enough to climb through, then he sprinted towards the turret and jumped. His metal talon dug into the weak artificial alloy. Leri found it pitifully easy to crush the machine.

Threat averted, the group approached Yuy.

‘We’ll give him a proper funeral,’ Ten-pa avowed, closing Yuy’s terrified eyes with his knuckles.

‘Gura-teng will be saddened. Another death,’ Tepri added.

‘Some must die for all to be free,’ Leri announced, with a tone of finality.

Everyone nodded. Leri led the way through the hole. This room was dark and dusty. It was seldom used and with good reason. From here, the facility was shut down. It was a small room, gloomy. A single screen in a large boxy machine was the only source of light.

‘When you come to the Main Console,’ Peron had said, ‘you’ll know the password.’

Leri was dubious but didn’t question the Gleran.

With his Bexong Rebels watching him, Leri advanced towards the terminal.

Upon its white screen was a single black symbol. It was a scratchy symbol of a forgotten language. Gone…not forgotten, Leri corrected himself. He remembered, even though he was not there. It was his past self who remembered.

The Xank used to let Zangorians man and guard the facilities. It was only five decades ago that they introduced drone guards. Leri – no - Leri’s ancestor was one of the last Zangorian guards here. He had been put to death, as he too knew the truth of Zeruit. He had shut down the facility with the console he had made, ensuring that it was so entrenched into the facility that removing it would destroy everything.

Leri saw an entire life in the span of a second. This was not like the garbled memories he had once mistaken as his own. This was an observation of an existence. Like a voyeur, Leri saw his ancestor born, live and die. Right down to the final crushing of his ancestor’s head by an Immortal, Leri remembered.

He saluted a life lived and a sacrifice made. He knew that the password could not be changed. His ancestor had started this plot fifty years ago. He knew that someone of his seed would finally reach this point.

Leri tapped the screen to reveal an onscreen keyboard. He wrote the password: Kazh-aira.

It was accepted and at once, the facility shut down. The distant hum of drones and electricity stopped and all the lights went off at once.

Kazh-aira had ended this atrocity. Leri was disappointed to find that this was not a breeding ground where he could save females, but rather a mutation centre, but he felt relief at ending the suffering of these impure Zangorians.

With his ancestor’s memory, he didn’t only find the password, however. He also found his next target. Kazh-aira was their new goal, and they would save their women.

“No matter how cunning or clever, a traitor is still a wretched being, unworthy of trust.” – General Morog of the Merka Horde, a year before his betrayal of the Emperor, and the subsequent dissolving of the Horde by a Trooper and Exanoid Federation coalition

Chapter 16.                   Liberation

Danny had been sitting in the same position for Terra knows how long. Sometimes they fed him ration paste. It was just enough to keep him alive. Sometimes, they even let him sleep for more than an hour.

Danny had lost track of time. His last count was around two days, after that he had blacked out from pain.

They kept questioning him on his orders and allegiances. They questioned him on his source of Aegis funds and his relation to Zona Nox. Danny didn’t say a word.

He had never realised how hard that could be till now. They kept promising him that the pain would stop when he gave in. They kept offering him salvation and an end to torment. He didn’t tell them a thing.

He felt dead already – he had numbed to the pain. It was his now. He was but a conductor of the electricity. His torment was now his tool. He would not give up – he had no need to. He was pain.

Of course, Danny could have been over exaggerating his acceptance of his predicament but the fact remained that he didn’t give in to any of the interrogators’ demands and had only recently stopped trying to lie to them.

Danny had woken up naturally this morning (he always called the time he woke up morning). This was unusual as he was normally awoken by sharp jolts of electricity surging through him.

Not today. Today he awoke feeling refreshed. He felt as if he had managed to get a full night’s rest. It was glorious.

He didn’t feel any concern from the straying of procedure. He was just happy to have managed to sleep properly.

‘Guys,’ he shouted, ‘you trying something new today?’

No reply.

‘Come on, I think I can handle a little more volts. Try me.’

Obviously, Danny did not wish to be shocked any more but he had a suspicion that his days of being electrocuted were now over. No voice came from the intercom and Danny was assured that the office overlooking his cell was deserted.

Smiling, he examined his restraints. They were simple plastic bands with metal locks. Danny knew them well – he had used them against traitors and foes on many occasions. There was a knack to disengaging them. With a few sharp movements and jumps, Danny had loosened his one hand enough to free it from his restraints.

With his free hand, he pulled out the electrical cables which had been shoved into the back of his neck. He felt a warm trickle of blood escape the wound but it wasn’t dangerous. He was relieved to feel a pain other than that of electricity.

In a few minutes, he was free of his confinement. He stood and then fell face first to the floor. His arms caught him as his wobbly legs gave way. It had been too long since he had last stood upright. He would have to take this slowly.

As Danny attempted to stretch and accustom his limbs to use, he felt a vibration. The floors shook, and the discarded restraints fell onto the floor. Echoes of explosions and alarms sounded in the distance. This did not concern him. Any explosions here were obviously in opposition to his captors.

To be honest, Danny did not hold any ill will against his captors. They were just doing their job. Like a common foot soldier couldn’t be blamed for his kills on the battlefield, an interrogator could not be blamed for his harsh treatment of his prisoner.

Danny held all his resentment against the leader of his foes – whoever that may be. He would find out soon enough, and then Aegis would have just cause to take Nova Zarxa.

First things first, he had to get out of this cell. Gazing at the flat metal surfaces around him, Danny realised that that was easier said than done.



Upon the decision to escape the Zonian Trooper holding area, Yobu and Nathan stormed the nearest arsenal with fifteen fellow ex-Troopers. The skeleton crew of two Zarxian Troopers fell easily. They regretted murdering their comrades, but it was necessity. Each and every one of them escaped Nexus covered in firearms, explosives and ammunition. They fled by shuttle to an abandoned mining facility some distance away from Nexus. There, they consolidated their hold. In disguise, they took turns travelling to Nexus.

The news they brought back was horrifying. In response to Zonian insurgency, Dedelux had instated martial law. Innocents were being slaughtered by Zonian terrorists, according to the news, and by Yellow Troopers. Grag-Tec had been expelled from the city and was in the process of moving out. The planetary CEO had promised retribution from a Grag-Tec cruiser, which now orbited Nova Zarxa.

What they had also found out was the location of Dedelux’s private prison.

Now they were attacking it.

‘Get a charge on that door!’ Nathan ordered, his voice transmitting through his mask to all the Troopers out of earshot. Ex-Troopers to be accurate but none of them truly believed that they were no longer Troopers.

Ruble stuck a charge onto the door and took cover. The door exploded with inward force and Nathan took cover by its side. He tossed a flashbang through the doorway and entered, guns blazing. With a few kicks of his shotgun, the two Dedelux guards inside were killed.

‘Move, move!’ Yobu commanded.

The group had no formal leader but both Nathan and Yobu dominated the command. Nathan’s superior rank as a Lieutenant made him the official CO, but the group really deferred to Yobu and him due to their combat experience. In actuality, the need for command was limited. They were all good soldiers. They knew what they had to do.

They surged forward as one.

The prison took the form of a huge tower on the other side of Nova Zarxa from Nexus. With a stolen fighter shuttle, it was easy to get there. Storming it was a different matter.

They had been held at each checkpoint for nearly half an hour apiece but were yet to take a single loss. Like their prison back in Nexus, this prison was run by a skeleton crew.

‘I need two men watching our rear. The rest, move forward. When we get to a split, I will take half and the rest go with Yobu.’

A split did come and they separated, both teams freeing convicts from their cells as they went. Nathan knew the convicts to all be political prisoners. They didn’t belong behind bars.

In one cell, Nathan even found Frank McGraff. His confinement hadn’t changed him one bit.

‘What took ye so long?’

Nathan passed him a gun and they continued down the facility, killing Yellows as they went. Nathan was glad to be saving his fellow Troopers, but there was only one Trooper he cared about.



The explosion in the distance had happened around half an hour earlier. James waited patiently in his cell, conserving his energy in order to attempt to steal a Conduit from the Imperials that he suspected were now raiding the prison.

Let them come.

He heard footsteps. He exhaled his breath and then stood up from his bed. He took a combat position and waited. The electric bars fell and he charged out. He stopped as he saw those who had freed him. They weren’t Imperials. Standing in front of him was an assorted group of inmates, Troopers and Marshal. Standing next to him was none other than Nathan himself.

‘Captain, it’s time that you return to your command.’



A few more explosions had somehow revealed a passage way. The facility proved to be a prison as orange clothed inmates were running in all manner of directions. All the guards lay dead – local Trooper guards wearing Yellow armbands.

Danny sneered. It seemed the local governor wasn’t a fan of Aegis.

Later, Danny was able to catch a pod to a nearby mining town called GragMin IX. From there, he washed himself up and prepared to travel back to Nexus where he could find an Aegis contact. A commercial shuttle took him to Nexus where he was met by chaos.

The building he found himself in had become a place of protest for fired Grag-Tec employees and discontented Zarxians. They voiced their frustrations and shouted at Yellow Troopers.

It was not the shouts or placards which interested Danny, though, but the whispers. Every so often he could hear word of a figure called the Defiant – a man who had stood up to the governor; a man who had sacrificed his freedom, fighting for the freedom of all.

It sounded like the start of a cult. Danny just hoped this ‘Defiant’ was a good man. Danny was sick of bad leaders ruining everything.

He bought a snack from a merchant servicing the protesters and then moved on.

“A leader can rule through force, through diplomacy or through the love people hold for him. Most often, the latter is the most powerful – and the most unwieldy.” – Commentaries on Power by Martian Philosopher David Keye

Chapter 17.                   Turncoats

Bexong had fallen. Its humble clay homes had become smoking gravestones. The worm fields were craters and the hall in which Leri had started his great insurrection was no more. One worm farm compared to planetary rebellion was reason enough for the Xank to shell Bexong. It didn’t take much effort.

For once, Gura-teng looked thankful towards Leri, as he had ordered the evacuation of Bexong days before. The leader despised the changes to his way of life, but he held the lives of his people in higher regard. He was a good person, Leri thought, but weak.

Peron had provided an elaborate cave network to house the Bexong refugees. With Word Lectorate technology, they lived in comfort. Yet, still they yearned for open skies. Caves were strong and safe but they were not freedom.

His people needed a city. Kazh-aira could be that city.

‘Kazh-aira is the capital of the heartland of this hemisphere of Zeruit. It is the largest female breeding facility on the planet and the only one which females are allowed to live semi-freely. It has houses, walls and defences. To take it, you will sacrifice many but once secured, your rebellion will become a galactic force.’

Peron’s explanation excited Leri. As Rii, he would work with caution, but as Leri, he was begging for the chance to take Kazh-aira. They could not take Kazh-aira with their petty few, so Rii and his Bexong rebels changed their tactics. No more sabotage. No more stealth. They were now a political force on Zeruit. Like how Leri freed Bexong before, they now went and freed worm farms and male settlements around the continent.

Gifts from Peron and the Lector became more abundant and more advanced. Hovering personnel vehicles allowed them to speed across the swamps and jungles of Zeruit with ease – contacting Zangorians, freeing them and slaying their oppressors. Their campaign no longer went unnoticed. With the War Lectorate not receiving as large a Body Budget or their worm rations, the Xank were forced to act.

The grey clouds on Zona Nox had forced the Xank forces to retreat and replace their losses, but now Leri’s rebellion was becoming a real thorn to the Empire. No longer were Leri and his forces facing only drones and turrets, but now the forces of Glerans and Zangorian warrior slaves. The latter was what disturbed Leri the most. He was now being forced to kill his kindred. He had done so many times in the fighting pits while serving the Xank, but he had thought himself past this. He came to Zeruit to free Zangorians, not kill them. His comrades took it even worse. They had never killed before. Drones were inanimate oppressors. Zangorian warrior slaves were living, breathing, thinking enemies. With Leri’s help, Bexong forces won, but not without some sort of loss.

‘You have sent my people to their death,’ Gura-teng had said all those weeks before.

He had been right. The Bexong people were not dying outright but they were no longer the innocent people that had danced and sung in that hall. They were killers. They were like Leri.

Leri clenched his cybernetic fist when he thought of this. The Xank had forced them to become killers. Now they would fall to their own creation.

‘Rii…Rii…’

Leri awoke from his brooding to see Xupa. The youngling was holding one of the Xank blasters that they had looted a few days before.

‘The Gleran wishes to see you.’

Leri nodded and proceeded to Peron’s small office at the back of the cave.

He passed a myriad of sights. Children learning to fight. Infants being fed with worm rations. Rebels checking their weaponry for defects. Blacksmiths making and sharpening kuru and tiao.

Peron’s office was dug into the cave wall itself. A glass door marked the entrance and Leri entered without knocking.

As Leri entered, the six-eyed little anomaly handed him a tablet computer.

‘War Lectorate has split in two. Kurags have mutinied and have returned to their home worlds. The Xank have had to pull back completely.’

Leri looked up into Peron’s eyes.

Peron assured him, ‘Straight from the Lector himself.’

There was no inhibition as Leri rushed out of the room.

‘Our people are rebelling! The Xank will fall!’

News quickly spread and Leri felt the energy. Soon after, cheers erupted throughout the cave.

His people wanted to be free.



This village stood on the edge of a cliff face overlooking an ocean the likes of which Leri had never seen. The village had no name but was strategic nonetheless. It held a cannery for seafood. A food source that Leri’s now expanding rebellion sorely needed. His forces now ranged in the thousands, but almost none of them were professional soldiers. They still fought a guerrilla war.

Despite the efforts of the Xank, many villages and compounds had fallen and risen up under Leri’s banner. The spirit of Zeruit was still strong with its people and they wanted to be free.

From his vantage, Leri could not see any enemy forces. Only fish mongers, factory workers and fishermen. It seemed to be a peacefully unoccupied village. There were many like it on Zeruit. Male Zangorians were expected to grow up and work for their entire lives without leaving the confines of their home village. Leri would soon put that to an end.

Leri stomped his foot three times to signal the advance and at once, three squads of five Zangorians each placed boards upon the sandy slopes of their vantage point and surfed down.

Onlookers in the village stopped to stare at the cloud of brown dust tearing towards their home. None of them bore weapons. They were fishermen and factory workers, not fighters. Besides, they did not even seem phased, only curious.

As Leri’s vanguard squads secured the perimeter of the village, Leri descended the hill. A crowd had gathered to watch his men work. There wasn’t any fear. Leri landed and was steadied with the help of a rebel. Flanked by two guards, he went forward, red cape fluttering behind him in the wind. The crowd made way for him as he surveyed the area for a perch. A ventilation box along the side of a factory was appropriate enough. He clambered on top of the box and saw that everyone had already followed him.

The people stared idly. Only their actions betrayed their curiosity. A sea of varying orange covered the black-grey asphalt below. Leri’s rebels surrounded the crowd, without need, and him. Leri cleared his throat and did what he had now done hundreds of times before.

‘My people, I have come to free you!’

It always started with that line. He would then speak about the evils of the Xank, the breeding programs, the pogroms and the rebellion. The reactions varied. Sometimes he received the feedback that he had originally found at Bexong, other times he was met with dull looks.

These people fell into the latter category.

Leri secretly wished for some sort of drone presence in the village. The drones were always placed to guard against unruliness. This village did not have any drones and that was because its residents were complacent.

Disappointed, Leri got off the ventilation box. These people were little better than robots, but they would serve. Just not in the way Leri had hoped. Already, Xupa had been organising search parties to find and destroy Xank communication and distribution tech. This village now belonged to the rebellion.

As his forces undertook their work with a vigour that belied their long work hours over these last few months, Leri stood at the end of the settlement. He was overlooking the ocean. A vast ocean. Leri did not have a waking memory of an ocean, besides the brackish excuse for one near Galis City on Zona Nox. On Zona Nox, one could see the land on the other side of all bodies of water. Here, Leri could see nothing. An empty horizon. Only sparkling fields of gold reflected off varying shades of blue. From here, he could not smell the fish. Only the clean, salt air. It calmed him.

The sun was setting as Xupa reported back to him that the entire village had been rid of pipes and wires. All production would now go towards Leri’s armies. Leri opened his mouth to say something when a gush of water knocked him back. The salty water assaulted his throat and nostrils and he found himself coughing and wheezing. A huge group of Leri’s Zangorians had rushed to the scene, spears and blasters at the ready. Leri didn’t know what was happening until Xupa helped him up.

A golden vessel hovered meters away from the edge of the cliff. It shone in the red, dying light. It bore the flag of the Xank, a blue and orange banner dominated by the emblem of a crystal and crossed spears. The War Lector.

Only the Zangorian Master of the Hordes and lapdog of the Avenger owned such a vessel. It was no attack ship and was designed to act as his mobile base of operations while on the field. It hovered only metres from the drop, allowing Leri to examine it in every splendid detail. It was not nearly as large as the Word Lectorate ship, but Leri knew that this was only one such vessel in a fleet. The War Lectorate was the largest of all the Xank ministries, after all.

Leri’s troops surrounded him, making a wall of feathery flesh to protect him from the new enemy. Leri was not afraid. He had studied the ship and it did not possess any weaponry. It was a dropship, sacrificing fighting capacity for speed. They would have to land to fight. So, it did.

Still hovering, the ship’s doorway opened, sending forth a beam of energy towards the edge of the cliff. Eight Zangorians, all bearing the feathered helmets of a Kurag officer, exited the vessel and created a path on either side of the energy bridge. They seemed to ignore the forces lined up against them.

After a defensive wall had been formed between the energy bridge and any possible fall off the cliff, a figure clad in gold and blitz metal appeared from the darkness. His helmet bore three feathers of varying colours (blue, orange and gold), his beak was flanked by miniature Sylith blades. Strapped to his one arm was an extended plasma blaster, strapped to the other was an energy blade. His armour carried trophies and insignia of countless wars.

Tek’roa nuro La’rz – the War Lector.

This was a man who every free Zangorian should hate. He was the one who managed the body budget. The one who sent his own kind to die in another race’s war. He was more than a puppet. He was the cause of his own race’s slaughter.

‘When I heard of the famous Rii, I didn’t expect him to be so puny,’ the golden-clad figure boomed from across the bridge.

‘When I heard of the famous War Lector, I expected him to be a Zangorian,’ Leri retorted.

The comment seemed to sting the ostentatiously decorated warlord. He advanced, his metal-boots generating static bumps as he trod on the energy bridge. Leri’s guards attempted to block the Lector’s way but Leri waved them off. This was fight between the two of them.

Leri had been a War Lectorate whelp before. Even in the Word Lectorate, there was only one way to settle a conflict.

Tek’roa pulled back his talon-fist and charged at the smaller Leri. Leri ducked and fell into a sweeping kick. Tek’roa jumped just in time, bringing his foot into Leri’s shoulder. The force pushed Leri to the ground in an explosion of sand. Tek’roa used the opportunity to take off his gloves and weapons.

‘A warrior fights fairly and honourably.’

Leri stood and dusted himself off.

‘So, you serve non-warriors?’

Tek’roa spat. ‘You don’t know who or why I serve. I have crushed civilisations like insects. They fought back – fair – but they died – fair.’

Before Leri could reply, Tek’roa dashed forward, following with an uppercut. Leri moved with the vertical blow, clutching Tek’roa’s shoulders and lifting himself over his larger foe. Leri leapt over the Lector’s shoulders, kicking him in the back of the head. He followed through with a shove and another kick. His rebels cheered as the Lector fell to the ground. Tek’roa lifted himself up. Blood smattered his beak as stones had cut into his face.

‘Your wiliness shows in your strategy and fighting. Most impressive…’

Tek’roa, mid-sentence, threw a handful of sand at Leri. Blinded, Leri staggered back. The rebels booed and some tried to intervene, but Leri’s officers held them back.

Tek’roa pummelled into the helpless Leri. Fists rained on Leri’s beak, his arms pinned by armoured legs. Before his vision cleared, Leri manoeuvred his legs between him and his enemy. He kicked forward, pushing Tek’roa away from him.

Slowly, his vision cleared but he couldn’t see the War Lector. His guards looked worried, but they did not move. A pair of talons held onto the edge of the cliff-face, buried deep but slipping. Leri had shoved him to the side of the cliff.

Gasps and anxious panting could be heard from the edge as Leri approached. The Lector’s honour guard did nothing. This was a Blood Duel. While not their own culture, it had been ingrained in them for centuries. Interrupting a Blood Duel was unthinkable.

Tek’roa’s adorned helmet had fallen to reveal a fragile feathered head. The proud War Lector looked on, part acceptance, part regret.

‘Do it, Rii. At least I know our people will be in good hands.’

‘It doesn’t have to be this way…’

‘I’ve killed billions. My own people and others. I can’t handle it anymore. Just let me fall. Let me die with honour.’

‘As much as I would like swift justice for your slaughter of my kind, this is no justice. Blood duels are not our faith. We’re Zangorians, we don’t follow the Avenger’s gods. I don’t have to kill you here.’

Tek’roa’s face was the visage of despair. ‘It’s not about the duel. I don’t owe any loyalty to the Xank. I obeyed them for power. I was a puppet.’

‘Then be more…don’t let them control you. Take my hand…’

Leri put his cybernetic arm forward, offering it to the War Lector.

A spark of hope appeared in the old Zangorian’s eye, but not enough.

‘What would I tell my men? What would you of yours?’

‘My men are free Zangorians. They will listen because they know what is right. Yours? If you are as good a leader as I am to mine, then they will follow you to the grave.’

Soil and rocks were slipping and falling into the torrents below.

‘Make a choice, Lector.’

‘What are you planning, Rii?’

Leri paused and looked behind him to the faces lined behind him. A myriad of individuals, not the drones of any empire.

‘I’m going to free our people.’

Tek’roa closed his eyes and smiled.

‘It’s about damn time.’

He pulled himself up without aid. Leri backed away, without caution. He knew his victory.

Tek’roa nuro La’rz, ruler of a million Zangorian, closed his talon and banged it against his chest.

‘I am yours. My armies are yours. My worlds are yours. Let us free our people!’

“Exanoids are one of the few examples of a race, who despite ascending to space technology, did so without any wars. Prior to their contact with other races, the Exanoid species’ largest conflict had been a bar fight where one man died after slipping on spilt liquid.” – History of the Exanoid: Peace through Commerce

Chapter 18.                   Cult

‘There is only one who can free us – a saviour, a Defiant!’ a preacher clad in white shouted to an audience teetering on the brink of righteous protest. The preacher held them in the palm of his hand. Never had he ever gripped a crowd so fervently. It was ecstasy and for once in Gretswald’s life, he felt that he had accomplished something.

‘The Governor’s Troopers are no servants of yours or the people! They are monsters and puppets led by the corrupt. Nexus is a prison but the Defiant does not allow its bars to hold him. He broke free, he will break us free!’

Shouts of agreement echoed throughout the large confines of the parking centre where many Zona Nox refugees had made their home in assorted shacks and spontaneously allotted areas. After securing the ghettos initially assigned to them, the Zonians annexed adjacent building, securing much needed living space. Through their conquests, they brought more under their fold – including Gretswald.

Zonians, Red Sanders and Tundra-dwellers, had always been hard. They valued freedom more than security; because they knew that with a little freedom, they could have all the security they wanted. When the Yellows arrived in the refugee camps with an eviction notice, the Zonians sent it back covered with red.

The war had begun and Nexus’ lower levels were the battleground.

‘The Yellows torment us, murder us and force us into the snow! What do you say to that?’

‘NO!’ the crowd shouted in unison, many holding up weaponry.

Gretswald took a breath and with the loudest voice he had used this day, bellowed.

‘The Defiant will rise and he will free us all!’

‘Defiant!’



The calm atmosphere of the Central Nexus market was a carefully constructed ploy to keep money flowing on Zarxa. Dedelux knew that his city was falling apart but he also knew that troops needed to be paid and that frightened merchants didn’t pay their taxes.

Aven knew the art of artificial peace. He also knew how to break it. There was a war going on in the underbelly of this shining citadel and it was his job to bring it to the surface. He took in a deep breath and let it out. It had been ages since he had been planet-side. Nova Zarxa wasn’t his first choice, but it would have to do.

Ever since James’ rescue from Dedelux’s prison, the Word Lectorate had been sowing dissent among the populace. The Zonians did not need any motivation, but the Zarxians did. After some reconnaissance, Smith discovered that there was already a high level of malcontents in the seemingly apathetic city. The drugs and blinking lights of the nightlife, normally so astute at keeping the plebs in line, was no longer enough. Entire districts had been quarantined by Yellows. Dedelux had even recruited Berrin pirates to keep people in line. But repression is an elastic band. The further you went, the harsher your violence, the more draconian your dictates, the harder it would snap back. And it was going to snap hard, with fire. Nexus was on the verge of exploding.

Normally, in the wake of an invading army, a planet would need a united defence. But James’ arrest was proof enough that Dedelux was an Imperial agent.

Smith’s back ached as he made his way to a corner café located in the plaza. He seldom walked further than a few metres on his ship and the long years of fitness drugs and muscle therapy rather than real exercise had finally caught up with him. He was relieved to finally find a seat at the Martian style teashop. A pretty, young waitress skipped up to him and asked him his order. He ordered some Atlasian-style tea and watched her go. She seemed fine but Aven knew how to read people. She was terrified. Anyone with half a brain was. Even with censorship of the news, Dedelux was failing to keep his people in the dark about the civil war. Aven wasn’t helping his cause.

While he waited for his tea, he took out a tablet computer and went to work. From his mobile workplace, he could bypass the communication blocking satellites and forward a message to anyone with a computer on the planet.

‘The Defiant is here. The Governor must be overthrown. Rise up and take your freedom.’

A simple and ineloquent piece of propaganda, but it did the job. From there, the charismatic, and maybe a bit insane, constructed their own mythos. The Defiant had become a cult figure and he hadn’t said a word. He didn’t even know that he was the Defiant.

James was unwilling to take Marshal’s advice and lead actively, so Aven had been forced to push him into the position.

So Aven circulated the propaganda. He scoured the network for dissidents and fuelled their fervour. He acted as a prophet – waiting for his god to take the reins.

He just hoped that his reluctant god would not punish him too harshly for it.



Erryn did not have much to do with the Kolheim impounded. Flying was her life. Space was her home and she was being barred from it. All she could do planet-side was gamble away her pay and take out her frustrations at the gym, where she had already destroyed at least one punching bag. The fact that she was not allowed to get a job planet-side without a license perturbed her even more.

Many of her crewmates blamed the Zonians for causing the ruckus and justifying the martial law. Some had even signed up to an auxiliary wing of the Yellows. Her best friend, Barry Kolheim, was not there to tell them otherwise. The Kolheim’s Captain had passed away peacefully soon after his ship had been impounded. Not only were they trapped, they were leaderless. Erryn couldn’t blame many of her crewmates for supporting Dedelux, but she disagreed with them. The Zonians were putting up a fight, but they weren’t the instigators. Dedelux gave the order to cleanse Nexus of all Zonians. It was his fault alone. Couldn’t blame zots for biting back.

What had not been helping her disagreement with her crewmates was her browsing of message boards on the internal network of Nexus. From her tablet computer, she browsed the network and found anonymous messages spreading the alleged truth of what was happening. It seemed some enterprising Zonians were providing photo and video evidence of Yellow instigation and deceit. When the news claimed they had bombed a civilian home, photos proved that the home was a weapon’s cache. When the news claimed the Zonians were all bloodthirsty criminals, these messages showed children and families. Erryn was compelled to disagree with her crewmates, despite her loyalty to the Kolheim, after they couldn’t see how the Zonians were not the enemy here.

But what was she to do? She was a pilot without a ship. An entrepreneur tied down by regulations.

This depression had wracked her once again as she procrastinated on her tablet in the corner of the gym. Dismally, she scrolled through the messages with her index finger. Eventually, she grew bored of mindless advertising and posts about astro-races. Glancing around, she confirmed she wasn’t being watched, and then logged into the darknet, where she couldn’t be watched.

In the darknet, she was met with more messages refuting the Dedelux’s regimes claims. There was a new addition, however, a call to arms.

‘Let all those who wish to be free follow the Defiant. Assemble at Cargo 11B. Yellows will be shot. Freemen will be welcomed.’

Erryn frowned. Am I frustrated enough to join the rebellion?

It had been weeks. She missed her ship. She missed a crew that she liked. Planet-side, people changed. She didn’t like her friends when they were on the ground. They were too tolerant of oppression. These Zonians, despite their trouble-making and despite them being dirt-birthers, knew what it meant to be free.

She continued scrolling.

Would I be of any use in a rebellion? Her wings were snipped. She was a flightless pilot, good as any dirt-birther. What use was she? She wasn’t built for rebellions. Guerrilla warfare was on the ground. She belonged in the air.

‘All free folk, be it on the ground, air or space, need to be Defiant. Gather at Cargo 11B. Take back our freedom!’

Erryn smiled. She packed up her things and left the gym.



After the escape from Dedelux’s prison, James and his motley group of Troopers and ex-cons travelled to a remote shuttle bay on the outskirts of Nexus. From here, he rested for a week. No one was completely sure what was happening in Nexus, but they had an idea. All they knew was the Dedelux ruled with an iron fist. They did not know the status of the Zonians.

‘We need to make a move, Captain,’ Marshal or a Trooper would tell him every day.

‘I know,’ James would reply, simply. Yet he would do nothing. He spent his days thinking, while sitting in one of the cold metal rooms of the shuttle bay. The rest of his group concerned themselves with the maintaining of their weapons, even when there was no need. Among them, there were only enough weapons for half the group. James and Marshal had already assigned those weapons in order of firearm proficiency. Above that, James did nothing.

This was not for lack of trying, however. It was a claustrophobic feeling, needing to act but being unable to do so. He knew he had to oust Dedelux if Nova Zarxa had any chance against an Imperial invasion. It was not enough to just hope that Dedelux’s divided city could put up a sufficient fight. Dedelux was an Imperial puppet, he would hand the Imperials the key. No, James knew that the Trooper loyalists would have to make a stand by themselves. But how?

With Grag-Tec expelled, their property would have been expropriated. All their starports would be under guard by Yellows. Without a safe means of entry into Nexus, they could do nothing but slowly freeze to death.

‘I’m freezin’ me ass off here,’ Frank said matter-of-factly. ‘When we making a move?’

‘We can’t risk entering Nexus until we find a safe place to land. They would slaughter us otherwise,’ Nathan answered, echoing James’ thoughts.

‘That’s if we don’t freeze first,’ Ruble muttered.

The shuttle bay was small and James could hear most of the conversations going around the facility from his ‘thinking-room’. The constant noise made it hard to think, but he wasn’t going to be the one to tell his men to keep quiet. He knew that the quiet wouldn’t make a difference. They were trapped here until Dedelux slipped up.

Yobu knocked on the door at that moment.

‘You don’t have to knock, Yobu. Any news from the city?’

‘Yes, sir,’ Yobu beamed. ‘Dedelux has attempted to keep it a secret, but the network is blaring. Refugees have taken Cargo 11. It’s completely linked to the building they have dubbed Underbelly Alpha. They have complete control over the landing port there. We can get into Nexus!’

James jumped up and thanked Yobu for the news all in one movement. They had no time to lose.

‘Yobu says we have an entry, we’re taking it!’

The Troopers and other members of James’ retinue cheered and they made their way to the shuttle. A Trooper manned the controls and the group sped off towards Nexus. Their group numbered around a dozen ex-Trooper/Trooper loyalists and a group of political dissidents who had begged to join them back at the prison, Alex Yurgan included. With this group, James hoped he could bring down a city. He couldn’t help but laugh.

It was a short flight and James could already see the harsh, fake metal walls of Nexus with its captivating sea of crystals below. The glow still made him weak at the knees. That is what powered him, and what powered the Imperial war-machine. He couldn’t let them take it.

As they approached the entrance to the cargo bay in Underbelly Alpha, Ruble pointed at something.

‘What’s that?’

James looked and was also dumbfounded. Draped along either side of the cargo-bay entrance were two large banners. The banners were mainly black but possessed two blue streaks, crossing along the top.

James felt Marshal’s presence behind him.

‘It means ‘one who does not bow’ in the Grengen tongue,’ Marshal whispered. ‘It seems that Aven finally made his move.’

‘What move?’

Marshal winked. ‘You’ll see.’

James did see. The cargo bay was full of Zonians wearing blue headbands and carrying guns. They were cheering. The black and blue banner was streaked everywhere, but what truly surprised James was the presence of a huge poster, depicting him leading his squad against the Xank.

A black and blue clad man seemed to be fuelling their fervour. The man’s back was to James but as he turned, he revealed himself to be Gretswald. James caught Gretswald’s eye and the smarmy man from Red Sand ran up to him, childlike joy on his face.

‘Defiant! Defiant! I have spread the word of your deeds. These people know you now. They know how you saved me when you could have, should have, slew me. They want you to lead them. Yes, I’ve spread word of the Defiant. Please lead them!’

James was dumbfounded but soon found himself being pulled in by a crowd screaming: ‘Defiant!’

The group who had come with him were initially shocked, but they soon realised that there was no real danger here. These people worshipped James.

So, this is what Aven has been doing.

Marshal had wanted him to lead his people and Krag-Zot had wanted him to be a god. James wanted an army but this didn’t put him at ease.

Everyone wanted to touch him. To feel that he was real. He was their freedom made flesh. It was not so much him that they adored, but what Aven had told them.

Then a gunshot sounded. Then more. Machine gun clatter brought the cheering to an abrupt stop.

‘Yellows! A man shouted, and the crowd dispersed into battle formation. Guns were at the ready and James’ group was ready for combat. Some Zonians passed James’ men additional guns.

Many turned to James for reassurance. Reluctant god or not, he owed it to his people.

‘Zonians! For our people! For our planet! For freedom!’

The cheer that followed was thunderous as the militia charged out to meet the Yellows in hand-to-hand combat.

James followed, his Troopers by his side. All he had was a pistol, but it was all he needed.

He never thought he would shoot a Trooper. Well, after his life as a gangster in Galis, but the Yellow armbands on these men discounted them as true Troopers. They were puppets to the monsters who had destroyed his homeworld. They would receive no mercy.

A slight squeeze of the trigger and a hole appeared in a Yellow’s helmet. Another and blood spurted from his comrade’s shoulder. When the gap closed, James slid through the melee and kicked a Yellow in the leg, flipping it up straight afterwards and hitting the Yellow’s submachine gun out of his hands. Swinging the weapon as a club, James shattered the Yellow’s gasmask.

Shouting and gunshots overrode the sounds of crunching bones and masks. This was Zona Nox. James was where he belonged. In the blood bath.

His heart was thumping in his chest and ears. All that mattered was himself and the enemies that he dispatched. He felt himself being grabbed from behind but as he turned, the culprit had already been beaten to death by Zonians. They looked at him with devotion and charged at new enemies.

‘Don’t let them slaughter our families!’ a man shouted from atop a metal container, wildly firing an assault rifle. Normally, a man like that would be making a target of himself, but no bullet hit him. As if by divine will, he continued shouting and spraying his rounds at his oppressors.

‘We ain’t no Zarxian zots!’ Frank taunted at his opponents, turning to Yobu to reassure him that he was excluded from the insult.

This was unlike any battle James had ever fought. There was no strategy. It was a struggle, one which they were winning.

Bullets flew and the melee left Yellow armbands covered with the true Trooper colours.

As quickly as it had started, the remaining Yellow Troopers retreated and left the Zonians cheering.

‘Defiant! Defiant!’

Gretswald had climbed atop a parked shuttle, holding a bloodstained machete.

‘Our saviour…is here!’

The crowd roared.

‘Our freedom,’ Gretswald continued, ‘is upon us!’

An indescribable explosion of fervour and excitement erupted louder than the Xank bombs on Galis. If voices could level cities, then Nexus would have fallen deep past the crystals that funded it.

As the people, James’ people, shouted their defiance, devotion, hate, love and adoration, a young woman approached James carrying a box.

‘Defiant, I have something of yours.’

James accepted the parcel and opened it. A smile spread across his face. It was his Aegis FireBolt.

He was complete. He was the Defiant.

“The Grays are subjugated throughout known space, apart from Grag-Tec owned planets which have them as a founding race alongside the omni-present Exanoid businessmen. They have existed for as long as any spacefaring race can remember and despite their weaknesses, persist like the stars.” – Extract from Grays: A Lost Empire?

Chapter 19.                   Dreaming in Grey

The room swirled in patterns of grey, red and black. The colours glared as if through a fishbowl. Kurt could sense movement around him but not much more. He felt a sudden overwhelming bout of nausea. He attempted to repress it. Acidity grew and gas filled his closed mouth. His restraint was to no avail, and he found himself spewing vomit onto the metal operating table and floor.

The sounds were just as disorientating. What seemed a thousand aliens, were taunting him.

What was that about aliens?

Ah, yes. He’d been killing them a moment before. No, no…they were killing him. Were they killing him? Kurt wasn’t quite sure. He was quite sure that he had been killed, but if that was the case, he wouldn’t be here right now.

Kurt was not a religious man, and did not believe in an afterlife of any sort. He was a wisecrack, a joker, younger than his years and most of all, a cynic. He had not thought about life after death, and had just presumed that there was nothingness. But this was something. Was he dead? It was like nothingness. All he perceived was a grey void dappled with red and black. It was like waking up in the middle of a movie that you could not remember starting. Kurt often dreamt in grey, but this was different. Like a child who hadn’t ridden a bike in an age, he was in dire need of some training wheels. He had an inkling that he may be in a dream, but if that was the case, he would probably have woken up. This was different, and Kurt did not feel his usual honed instincts give him the clarity of the world he often took for granted.

A dark and swirling figure approached him from the side and Kurt tried to ask it to help him get back on his bicycle. The figure did not comply and immediately proceeded to stab Kurt in the chest. In an instant, Kurt’s vision cleared and he let out a thunderous gasp. A loud beep almost burst his eardrums, leaving him in shell shock. But then it cleared to reveal the anxious chatter of countless people. He was in a stark metallic medical room. Blood stained the floors and the table he lay upon. A small nurse with her mouth covered stood in the corner of the room. Her small hands were covered in blood and the bags under her eyes revealed that she had not seen a bed in quite some time. Sticking out of his chest was a syringe with a hand-long needle.

‘Clear. Next,’ a voice to Kurt’s side ordered.

The nurse wheeled him out of the room, only pausing once outside to take the adrenaline shot out of his chest. The hall in front of Kurt was littered with the sitting and sleeping wounded. Men were missing limbs, had stitched up guts and head wounds which would put them in a home for the rest of their lives. The most terrifying of the wounded had no bloodied bandages, however. They were the bluish, greenish, grey tint skinned. Their skin bore a myriad of colours so dramatic that Kurt could not identify the hue. Besides their skin colour, they seemed fine – all except for the look in their eyes. Kurt somehow knew that he was one of them.

The nurses called them ‘Cloudstruck.’ They were the ones who had seen the sky blacken. They still acted like they always did. Kurt still joked around. He was a wise-guy and a prankster. But when left alone, he stared into the abyss. He never spoke with other Cloudstruck, but all they needed was a look. They had seen eternity come to an end. They had seen the embodiment of death.

Kurt did not need to watch Earth blacken as their ship sped out of orbit. The aliens let them flee. They had sent their message. Humanity had lost. Kurt did not need to watch his planet die to know that.

Rumours spread fast and the news that was most prevalent was the surrender of the Exanoids. Humanity’s greatest ally against the Imperials had capitulated soon after the Fall of Earth. They did not want to see Eran fall in the same manner. A lot of the soldiers on-board the ship called them traitors. Pig-snouted, cowardly, greedy traitors. Kurt was not one of them. He saw the skies blacken, and he knew that no amount of bravery could face that.

Their trip took longer than expected, as the pilot did not want to risk detection by any Imperial vessel. They landed in New London days after Kurt’s awakening to the grey dream. Upon exiting the ship, his vision was assaulted by reddish brown.

This was Mars. The closest thing humans now had to a homeworld.

Kurt never really adjusted to life on Mars. He re-joined the military but there didn’t seem to be a need. The aliens did not attack Mars and the only threat seemed to be that of lawlessness. It was not so bad on Mars, where the Cape Federation military were active, but news spread fast that gangs and pirates had taken over the smaller colonies of the human empire. It was an empire no longer, Kurt repeatedly had to remind himself. With their armies decimated, only a few governments had survived the Fall. With desperation came chaos and chaos led to the rise of unsavoury leaders. All the leaders of Mars could do was sit by idly and keep their own planet from tearing itself apart.

That was until the day in which Kurt and his platoon were ordered to marshal in the courtyard of Cape Nova’s military headquarters.

The courtyard was huge, being able to house a small suburb. It was designed to house all manner of landed spacecrafts. Within the gargantuan courtyard, seemed to be the main force of every single surviving military from Earth. The Cape Federation were represented in Khaki, the British states in Red, the Nippon Shogunate in white, and the Grand Duchies of Brazil in Green. A few squads existed from other nations, but they were overwhelmed by the quantity of other troops. All stood facing a stage. For those out of range, hovering screens allowed them to see the activities from their position.

On this stage, a man dressed in a combination of each major uniform walked onto the stage. The very notion of his outfit would normally be laughable, but this man managed to uphold it with a dignity that Kurt could only dream of. Kurt could not fathom mocking the man, as he wore the united colours of the survivors of Earth.

He was the only man on the stage, yet his presence filled the courtyard.

He was Colonel Rothhardt, the highest ranking military official left of all the nations of Earth. He had never promoted himself to General, as in his words, someone higher ranked than him was responsible for that.

‘Soldiers of Mars and soldiers of our now dead Earth. I come here now, not as your commanding officer, but as a fellow man of arms who has lost something to fight for. When we lost our home and the skies blackened and consumed us, we lost our reason for being. We are fighting men, and we gave them all the fight we got. Never forget that. You men are the greatest that our race had to offer. Despite that, we failed in our duty. We’ve been living here for a year now, acting as police when we all know in our hearts that we are soldiers. We are soldiers, but there aren’t any battles here. Mars is conquered and peaceful, but there are other places that need our help. At this moment, our kin worlds are being tormented by criminals, aliens and terrorists. We hibernate here, scared of those who killed our home, but that’s not us.’

Rothhardt paused. The crowd was as quiet as Mars was before humans arrived.

‘We’re soldiers and soldiers protect and serve those who cannot defend themselves. We may have our own cities on this red-hunk of rock, but we’re all human. We may all be single troopers fighting for our dead flags, but we’re all Troopers serving our race. We waste our talents and the lives of those we love when we refuse to help them.

‘With that, I have one question. Are you, soldier, willing to fight for your people?’

There was silence. Only the faint sound of traffic on a distant highway could be heard. Kurt held his breath, then he let loose. There was a deafening roar as the veil of hopelessness lifted from the armies of humanity. Mars had given them shelter and security. Their survival had been assured, but they had no purpose. Not until Rothhardt had united them.

The haze that Kurt had lived with for the years since the Fall of Earth had finally dissipated as he roared in unison with his fellow soldiers and Troopers. There was no grey left in his vision. There was only black and red.

Kurt had woken up.

“The Network is the ultimate testament to the effectiveness of anarchy. No government controls it. No corporation controls it. Everyone can use it. It transcends borders and cultures. It is the collective effort of the galaxy.” – Extract from ‘Transcending Barriers’ by Dr Gyarun Smitt, University of Cape Nova

Chapter 20.                 Voices in the Dark

A presence in the room gave James pause before he could ponder his dream.

He had been sleeping in a private room located in a disused shuttle in Underbelly Alpha. The room had been carefully constructed by his devotees. He had, at first, refused the privilege and claimed that he would be more than comfortable sleeping in the same quarters as everyone else. Marshal advised against that, stating that his life was now more important than the rest of theirs. They could not risk him being out in the open. So, while his followers slept in plastic hovels and under the high, cold ceiling of the hangar, he was granted use of a metal structure as his home. On Galis, it would have been considered a good house.

James had reluctantly accepted the room, while his fellow Zonians slept on the cold geradite floors. A strange term that. James had never thought of himself or anyone else as a Zonian. Strange that their united identity only formed because of their planet being destroyed.

James pretended to be asleep, as he felt the strange presence stare at him from across the room. It made no sound and emitted no warmth, but James’ Warp-enhanced senses could pinpoint its exact location.

‘There’s no use feigning sleep, Warpmancer. I know that you know I’m here.’

James lifted himself from bed and examined the source of the deep-voiced exclamation. Shimmering blackness, like smoke, filled the corner. But it couldn’t have been smoke. It was too think. Too solid. James focused and within the smoke, he could see what seemed to be the top of a cowl. All other human features were too obscured by the mysterious fog.

‘Who are you?’ James asked, hand on his pistol.

‘It is not really a question of who I am,’ the figure answered in a deep voice that seemed to reverberate while remaining quiet, ‘but who we are.’

‘Okay, then. Who are you, in the plural sense of the word?’

The figure was not amused.

‘We’ve been watching you, Warpmancer. We make it our business to watch those of humanity who show talents in the arts of our collective foes. It is believed by our enemies that they are the only ones with powers over the Warp. Your existence, and ours, is proof against that. But we find it best that the Imperials do not learn of humanity’s inclination towards what they like to believe is their craft. We have made sure to keep our existence secret for centuries.’

James didn’t respond.

‘We’ve been watching you, and the Areq. Don’t play dumb. We know what you are.’

‘Fine, what do you want?’

‘A little bit of…discretion. It is imperative that humanity, and our enemies, do not learn of our Warpmancy.’

‘Why?’

‘This ice wasteland is a testament to the arrogance of Warpmancers – and more. Earth fell, but humanity survived. The Areq were hunted to veritable extinction because they were a threat. Don’t give the Imperials an excuse to wipe out humanity.’

‘They are trying already…’

‘Zona Nox was a small casualty in a bigger game, Warpmancer.’

James gritted his teeth and clenched his fist. Small casualty!

‘Don’t meddle in affairs you know little about. Have your little revolution on this rock, but don’t validate those who call you god.’

‘Why should I listen to some fog in the shadow?’

The figure chuckled, a deep and raspy laugh. ‘Just as your cult’s namesake suggests.’

The humour in his voice disappeared as quickly as it had entered.

‘We survive because we restrain ourselves. We stick to the shadows. We let the Troopers wage their wars. We know the Imperials don’t care. But a Warpmancer threat…don’t give them a reason to blight anymore planets. Don’t give them a reason to blight, Terre help us, Mars.

‘Consider this a greeting, but also a warning. We don’t take kindly to those who threaten our race.’

As quickly as it had appeared, the fog disappeared.

Marshal came in a few seconds later.

‘I heard you talking…’

‘Marshal, I need you to contact Aven. Can you do that?’

Marshal raised his eyebrow suspiciously. ‘Sure, I can do that. What do you need?’

‘I need to know if he’s ever heard about any organised society of human Warpmancers. Maybe Krag-Zot will know.’

‘I doubt that the Immortal would know anything. He seemed shocked to even see that you had the ability. I don’t know anything of the sort, either. Why do you need to know?’

‘There’s another force at work here, and I want to know all I can about it before we meet again.’



Gretswald had never felt wanted, until now. As he strolled through the shambles of dirty people and shacks, he did not take notice of the grime but rather the looks. Throughout his life as a Glaris missionary of the Imperial doctrine, he had never received a welcoming. Those he had sought to save, tossed him off like an unwanted pitslug. He had been a parasite, and treated like one.

But now, things were different. Now that he wore black and blue, and not white, he had become accepted. It had not been hard to revoke loyalty to the Council after seeing the Fall of Zona Nox. Nathan’s explanations of how the Imperial Council had harmed him and much of humanity was only an appetiser. His teachings, of course, had tried to prepare him to cope with such scenario. The teachings would have told him to excuse the death as the mere crushing of an anthill. The removal of zots. A necessity for a greater good. An unfortunate, but sometimes necessary, act. Gretswald’s time with humanity had taught him otherwise. Every face and every figure, glaring at him. Not him, he corrected himself. His faith. What he represented. To these people, like Nathan, who had lost friends and family to the Council, he was the gravest insult. That was no longer the case. He saw the Council destroy Zona Nox. He recognised the white vessels, cloaked or not, as they sped off out of the now toxic atmosphere. The Imperial Council were dead to him.

For a time, Gretswald wandered the metal halls of the ship and Nexus without aim. He was a peddler without goods and a soldier without a flag. He spent his days in free Network cafes. The technology was new to him and allowed him to learn much of the world. It was here that he found his new purpose.

While reading old records on the Ganymede Incident, a war a decade prior where the Troopers and Imperials had skirmished, a message filled Gretswald’s screen.

‘The Defiant is here. Zonians unite! The Governor must be overthrown. Fight for survival. Rise up! Rise up and secure your freedom.’

Gretswald was intrigued and searched the Network for mention of this Defiant. It had not taken long for message boards to fill up with discussions on the Defiant and his message of freedom. A page had been set up speaking about the atrocities that the Nexus security forces had been conducting upon the Zonian refugees. It was on this page that he saw a face that he recognised. A young man with dark hair and pale skin, carrying a rifle. Leading a squad against all odds. Crushing the Xank, freeing his people.

He was the Defiant – and Gretswald knew him.

James. The Trooper Captain who had abused him on Zona Nox, but understandably so. The Defiant’s message was one of freedom, not one of oppression. Gretswald had since learnt how his old mantra had been one of hate and dictatorship.

He followed a new path now.

So, he preached a new word. The people listened. They cheered. They clung to his every word – and when their god finally appeared, he had become the prophet.



James was ecstatic when he spotted a familiar red and green creature moving around the camp. He had been undertaking one of his usual patrols of the camp at the behest of Gretswald, when he spotted a familiar face and creature speaking to Marshal.

He sprinted between the lines of shacks, drawing a lot of glances, some dubious but others reverent.

Marshal saw him coming and stopped talking.

‘Urg’a! You’re here!’ James was giddy with excitement. He never thought he’d see the kindly Vacaraptor again.

Urg’a grinned with razor-sharp teeth. ‘Long time, Captain.’

Behind the short reptilian creature stood a timid looking boy of about fifteen.

‘Tim, I’m glad to see you.’

‘Me too, Strike Leader,’ Tim smiled, shyly.

‘What happened to you guys?’

‘I found them baking in Red Sand atop a tank,’ Nathan interjected. He gave a nod to Urg’a and a wink to Tim.

‘I was searching for you when we found an Earth tank with these guys atop it and Gretswald running into the distance. Lost track of them after we had to evacuate Fort Nox.’

‘I was contacted by Marshal,’ Urg’a explained. ‘He sent me a message once we docked. Sent me to find his family and keep them safe.’

‘And I am eternally grateful for it.’

Marshal’s relief was palpable as he had his arms around his wife and child.

‘It was my duty as a Vel’ar and your friend. The traitor, Dedelux, was killing all Zonians and we all have an obligation to defend our brethren. Terra and all that.’

Marshal nodded.

Nathan took the pause to turn to Tim.

‘So, where’ve you been? Haven’t seen you planet-side.’

‘My pa and I were staying with family. Yellows shut down shuttles from outposts, though. So, dad decided to move to Underbelly Alpha. We got in an hour ago.’

Nathan nodded and then grinned.

‘Watch out for Gretswald here. He’s turned over a new leaf but is still holier-than-thou.’

Tim looked sceptical. ‘He turn to Terra?’

‘No. He turned to James. The Zonians are worshipping him as a being called the Defiant.’

‘Is this true, Strike leader?’

James blushed. ‘Sort of. They seem to have remembered my notoriety from Galis and our trip across Red Sand and decided that made me a worthy leader.’

‘It’s not only them,’ Marshal looked serious now. ‘I got word from Quok and Molok from the Grag-Tec ship. They want to meet you at an abandoned mine across the planet. Quok implied that that Molok was a lot more animated than usual.’

James was curious. ‘I wonder why. When they want to meet?’

‘In a few hours. You should use this opportunity to cement some loyalty with the Defiant followers. They would be honoured to accompany you.’

Nathan looked worried.

‘What is it, Nathan?’ James asked.

‘Why are we encouraging them? It gives them hope, yes, but I don’t like how fervent they are. They are dangerously fervent. They look as if they’d be willing to slaughter Nexus if you gave the command. Or even if you didn’t. Even if it means them risking themselves being slaughtered.’

‘They’re angry,’ James replied. ‘It’s understandable.’

‘Yeah, but that’s what’s worrying me. They act out of revenge today, but where does it stop? Will we even be able to stop Dedelux? We have a lot of good fighters here, but he has syns and gunships. All we’re doing is inciting an impending massacre.’

‘On the contrary,’ Marshal exclaimed. ‘We are more than capable of overthrowing Dedelux. We’re a hard bunch, but we also have help.’

‘Even then, we have no choice,’ James interjected. ‘Dedelux is an Imperial puppet. We can’t let him stay! The Imperials could arrive any day now. He’ll just hand them the keys to the city. It’s either an unlikely victory, or a guaranteed loss. It’ll be a hard fight, but we have to fight it.’

Nathan nodded and excused himself, rubbing the silver T around his neck.

James frowned. He didn’t like seeing Nathan like this. The Trooper had saved him back in Galis and even after that. He had provided the support that James had needed after Andrew’s death and Billy’s suicide. He was the closest thing to a family that James had left.

Nathan’s doubts about the Defiant hit James much more poignantly than he made obvious. He still had doubts himself about this idea. Krag-Zot had told him all that time ago that he was to be a god and Marshal had instilled the importance of the Zonians having a leader. It seemed that Aven had gone ahead and made James’ decision for him.

But why? Why him? Marshal was the war hero. Krag-Zot was the Immortal. Aven was the head of an intergalactic intelligence agency. Why was he to be the god while so many men so much more powerful than he could take up the mantle? But James knew the answer, as much as he didn’t like it. Simply, they couldn’t.

Marshal was old and tired of fighting and leading. Aven was a recluse dominated by hatred and insecurity. Both were not Warpmancers. Krag-Zot, a Warpmancer a thousand years older than James, could lead by his powers alone – but these weren’t his people. He was an artefact and his reason for being was already dead. He served out of hatred.

James’ brooding was interrupted as a man in his middle years walked up to him, hand outstretched. His eyes were watering but his mouth held an honest smile of relief and joy.

‘Defiant, I am Tim’s father. I would like to thank you…for looking after him.’

James shook his hand. ‘No need to thank me. It was what anyone would have done. You should rather be grateful to Urg’a. He defended Tim when I could not.’

What anyone would have done? James had only included Tim because Vick had vouched for him. Vick, whose ashes now lay on a dead world under a blackened sun. James seldom thought about what had happened to the rest of his squad. He seldom wanted to. So much pain and memories of his violent arrogance. The realisation that he loved the kill more than he loved his companions. Where were Grugo, Ryan and Leroy? Only Tim, Yobu and Gretswald were left. With the pogroms around the planet, there was no guarantee that the others lived. Then there were the hundreds he had not chosen to take with him.

‘I have thanked Urg’a already. Please accept my gratitude, Defiant.’

A desperate glint appeared in his eyes. He was a true believer, seeking the acceptance of his deity.

‘Of… of course…’

‘Arnald, Arnald Herman.’

‘Well, Arnald. I am honoured to have had your son in my squad and would be honoured to have you accompany me now on a small excursion.’

‘Me?! I…I don’t know what to say. I’m only a mechanic…’

‘The army is built upon the backs of good mechanics. Can you maintain and run a shuttle?’

‘Nexus shuttles? Yes, they’re completely different from what we had in Galis but I can get them to run perfectly well.’

‘Excellent, then you will be in charge of making sure my movement around the planet is uninhibited.’

Arnald seemed at a loss for words. ‘Of course, Defiant.’

What was it that Marshal wanted? To cement the loyalty of the Defiant through giving them jobs? James understood that clearly. The greatest loss that the Zonians had had to face was not only the loss of their planet but the loss of meaning. James had to give them a purpose.

‘It’s time to go, James. Should I pick out a few extra guards?’ Marshal asked. His family was now in the make-shift house behind him.

‘No. I’ll choose them. I owe them that much.’

James had failed his people once by not taking his leadership seriously. He would not do it again.

“Gwok, the Exanoid epitome of business sociopathy, went too far when he segregated the Grays of Glotos III. The previously feeble beings had been complacent in the beginning, doing their work as if their due, but when Gwok overstepped his authority, the people burnt him and his empire alive.” – Quok, Grag-Tec official and Glotos III historian

Chapter 21.                   Old Empire

The shuttle trip was uneventful, as trips on Nova Zarxa tended to be. There were no rolling hills, rivers and grasslands to break up the monotony. Zarxa was a frozen rock. Nothing more. The realisation that this is what would become of Zona Nox stung James.

Back at Underbelly Alpha, named after the district in Titan City, James had elected a group of eager Zonians to accompany him. Some knew him but others did not. Those that did know him remembered him as the Shadow of Galis and Billy’s boy. They now knew him as Defiant. James felt a tinge of regret. These faces he knew, but expressions he did not. Galisians did not worship and bow. They were scumbags, thieves and fighters. James loved Galis for that. This new Zonian identity made them more servants than free men.

Despite this, James went on.

It was night on the side of the planet where Grag-Tec was now hiding. The streaks of crystals along the surface illuminated their path. James was still drawn by the unearthly glow but it no longer made him weak. He felt his power growing.

They were fast approaching one of the few oddities on Nova Zarxa – a gargantuan lone mountain. James did not know its name. As they drew closer, they flew towards an entrance nestled in the crags of the mountain.

‘This is where many of the Grag-Tec workers had to escape after Dedelux’s sanctions,’ Marshal explained. ‘A vast community has formed within this hollowed rock.’

James only truly understood what Marshal had meant upon entering. The caverns of the mountain were alive with rainbows of paper lanterns, artwork and brightly coloured houses. Compared to the icy, metallic architecture of Nexus, this world was a dream. Grays of almost identical features walked between their festive shacks garbed with a variety of vibrant cloths and silks. James had never seen anything so joyful. The colours were warm, with red and orange dominating the decorations. It wasn’t a bloody red, however, like the Trooper colours, but an invigorating scarlet.

There to meet them at the loading bay were the welcome faces of Molok and Quok. James had not expected them to come to harm, but was relieved to see them nonetheless.

‘Captain James, it is great to see you,’ Quok greeted, his pig snout bearing a grin.

‘Captain no longer. Dedelux court-marshalled me.’

Quok chuckled. ‘He’s no Trooper leader and has no authority to fire you, much less arrest you!’

‘Regardless,’ James shook his head, ‘he still holds the rank and therefore I am no longer a Trooper.’

‘On the contrary, his rank no longer holds. I have received information from Grag-Tec intelligence that Dedelux has been taking bribes from the Zerian Corporation, a known associate of the Imperial Council, if Aegis reports are to be believed. It is Trooper law that any official found guilty of corruption be removed of all authority. This is one such case. When High Command hears about this from my superiors and, probably Aegis, Dedelux’s decisions will all be reverted.’

‘I’m glad to hear that, but my responsibilities have grown much larger than the black-red banner. You must have heard how the Zonians see me now…It would not do for a Trooper Captain to be in the position I am in.’

‘The Trooper Order has resources far beyond that of many corporations and even that of the Exanoid Federation,’ Quok replied. ‘Captain or not, connections with it can only be for the better. It does not have to mean choosing between the Strike Leader James or the Defiant. We’re at war, James, and we don’t need merely an idol. We need a war leader. Keep the credentials. Be the Captain and the Defiant.’

James smiled. ‘I’m glad to see you in better spirits – without spirits, that is. I missed Quok the philosopher.’

Quok laughed. ‘Yes, and I definitely feel better. The repression isn’t so great here. There’s a sense of urgency, danger, importance. It feels like Zona Nox. It gets the brain thinking. It demands thoughtfulness.’

‘Then let us act on that urgency. To business! Is the news about Dedelux the reason you called for me?’

Quok looked slightly quizzical. ‘The Great Exchange, no! Dedelux’s villainy is self-evident. We called you for a greater reason.’

He indicated for Molok to speak.

‘Defiant, my people have heard about you and would very much like to meet you.’

James was taken aback by Molok’s words, especially as the eccentric alien turned around and began walking. James’ retinue followed.

Excited shouting stopped them as a large brute of a man burst through the fabric doors of a shack.

‘James! James! By the Great Exchange, is that you?’

Two of James’ guards stepped in the way but James quickly indicated for them to stand down. The attack, which he accepted, was crushing.

Ryan Rebeck took him in a vise grip and squeezed him with the power of an adult Mozar. James’ relief to see his friend was almost equal to the relief he felt after the squeezing ended.

‘Ryan, you don’t realise how glad I am to see you!’

‘You glad? When I heard that you’d been sent to the slammer, Molok almost failed to stop me from trying to break Dedelux’s neck. I heard you got out, but not much else. Grag-Tec has been working me as hard as Sylith plate mail.’

‘You regret becoming an Ines?’

‘Not at all,’ Ryan waved away the comment. ‘We’ve moved on from the basics. I’m now onto applied mathematics and macroeconomics. The world is an amazing place with numbers by your side!’

‘Well, it takes all types,’ James shrugged. He had never had a penchant for mathematics.

They both turned as they heard Molok clear his throat.

‘If we can continue…’

They both apologised and followed the Gray.

Ryan whispered, ‘I’m still scared of him. Even more now that he talks.’

James didn’t blame him. Molok wasn’t a usual Gray, like from the stories. He wasn’t feeble. He was a warrior in spirit and body.

Molok halted at a large double door crafted of rock but swung on hover-aided hinges. The doors were currently closed and Molok turned around as they all stopped.

James’ retinue was uneasy but James knew that was purely the natural level of xenophobia that they had always possessed. Being close to the Grag-Tec workers would fix that, eventually.

‘Shadow, Captain and now Defiant, I followed you on the blood-stained stretch of Red Sand, of the now blighted world.’

This was the most verbose the alien had ever been.

‘I have seen your skill and I was struck with awe. I knew there were great things to come for you.’

‘What’s he going on about,’ Ryan whispered.

‘My people now know as well…’

James now noticed that many Grays were looking towards the group - not with distrust or curiosity, but admiration.

‘The Shamans have spoken!’ the volume of Molok’s speech was like a crack of a whip. He turned and opened the double doors, entering.

James, group in tow, followed and were met with a sea of grey.

‘The Shamans have spoken!’ Molok repeated, his voice a thunderbolt being answered by the cheers of thousands of Gray voices.

‘Our saviour is reborn!’

James made his way to the edge of the balcony overlooking countless Grays. He now realised that this was no mere community. This was a nation. The Grays in the village had been homemakers and children. This was their army.

With his Warp-improved vision, he could see armour and weapons cladding the normally feeble frames of the Gray horde.

Molok’s large, black eyes were afire, shining despite the lack of sun. His voice sounded like it would crack under the strain of his passion, but it did not. It channelled a thousand sermons. It was only James’ imagination, but the Gray seemed to quadruple in size.

But he wasn’t what the horde was cheering for. They were cheering for James.

‘The slaver-slayer, the guru and the light. Our worship, our freer, our defiance and our saviour! Grag-Po has been reborn!’

The cry that rang out threatened to push James off his feet. But it didn’t. He didn’t waver, as much as he wanted to. The weight of leadership was crushing. To be the focus of a thousand cheers was not for the likes of him, home in the shadows. But he stood his ground. Not because he wanted to. But because he needed to. This was the solution to Nathan’s concerns. The Zonians were skilled, but there were too few. Even if they took down Dedelux, they could not withstand the Imperials. But things were different now.

James had an army.

“The Xank formed because the Areq could not wage war with their dwindling numbers. Humanity survived their blighting due to their lack of established Warpmancy. They were not seen as too much of a threat by the Council. The Areq, with a culture of Warpmancy, like the Edal’s, could not be allowed to survive the Fall of Resh. Only a few, the Immortals, survived by virtue of their Warpmancy. The irony that their great power led to their downfall was not lost on the Avenger and his Immortals.” – Commentary on the Founding of the Xank, Aven Smith.

Chapter 22.                 Ancient Cartel

‘Focus your grasp. Spread it out. Put forth your tendrils and exert your power over the physical realm.’

James listened to Krag-Zot only sparingly as he attempted to bang two pans together. While he had excelled at launching pieces of furniture at Krag-Zot in their fight on the Word Lectorate ship, he was struggling with precision control. The pans were not even that small, yet James could not get them to collide.

His Conduit Glove still felt odd on his hand. He seldom wore it, lest someone recognise its purpose, and was not accustomed to its tight, stabbing grip. As much as he had defied the mysterious fog, he didn’t take its advice lightly. Revealing his Warpmancy bore too many dangers. Nathan feared that the Zonians wanted to wage an all-out war on Nexus. Only fear held them back. If they found out about James’ godlike abilities, they would no longer have that fear. Above that, James needed to keep the Warpmancy as a trump card, lest his enemies prepare for it.

‘You can practice all day, Defiant,’ Krag-Zot smirked with his under-bite fangs, ‘we have endless crystals.’

‘How are you getting them, by the way?’

‘I harvest them myself. The air is toxic for you but I have no lungs to be damaged. Whenever we need crystals, I only need to drop through a hatch, hover to the surface and scrape a few off a giant shard.’

‘Did you say hover? Could I do that? Could I fly with Warpmancy?’

The prospect excited James. To be able to fly and defy gravity would be a liberating.

‘Not you.’

James showed disappointment. The Areq laughed.

‘Don’t pout. My entire body, excluding the head, is a Conduit. I can channel Warp energy throughout myself. You are restricted to your hand. Don’t feel sad by that. If I was to have flesh again, I’d trade the power of flight a thousand times over.’

James was hard-pressed to agree, but let the point die. Focusing on the metal-ware stubbornly refusing to make contact. He spent a while longer, both pans in mid-air, steadily missing each other on each rotation, when an incessant and sudden beep caused James to drop both.

Krag-Zot pressed a button on his shoulder plate and then started speaking.

‘Yes, Smith? The boy? Yes. We’ll come now.’

Krag-Zot pressed the button again and turned to James.

‘Smith wants to meet with you. Something about human Warpmancers.’

James nodded. ‘Where?’

‘Human Warpmancers? Not sure.’

‘No, I mean, where are we going to meet?’

‘He’s setup in a small base at an abandoned mining depot. We can use my craft to get there.’

They left the training room that they had set up underneath Underbelly Alpha and descended the service stairs to a platform jutting out from the gargantuan geradite column which kept this portion of Nexus above the surface.

The icy wind chilled James. His gasmask kept his lungs safe, but his skin was still freezing. Luckily, it was warm in the shuttle. James never thought he’d ride shotgun in the same craft that had been used to carry him to the Word Lectorate ship.

‘How did you come to work for Aven?’ James asked, while Krag-Zot flew.

‘I was assigned to him. Each non-Areq Lector is assigned an Immortal to aid him and to make sure he remains loyal to the Avenger.’

‘So you failed? Keeping him loyal, I mean.’

‘Hah! The Avenger was never my lord. He was a means to an end. A uniting force to keep us Immortals in check long enough to crush the Imperials for what they did to Resh. I played along. They assigned me a human and I didn’t care much. I had my faith and as much as Smith may be puny, he can get things done.’

That was true. James wouldn’t be surprised if the Lector was conducting five other operations and a war without his knowledge. It mattered little. He had the Lector’s loyalty. That was what counted.

The depot was carved out of a small boulder surrounded by crystals, with a landing bay on top. A masked and suited figure was standing above the structure to wave them in.

Upon landing, Aven rushed them into the depot. A single Krugar was in the centre of the room, working on a computer with two hands and filing documents with the others. The room was cosy, with bookshelves lining the walls and an electric heater giving off a warm-glow.

Aven took off his mask to reveal a much more pleasant face than James remembered. He was smiling.

‘Well, James. Long time, no see! You’ve grown!’

‘It hasn’t even been a year, Aven. You do look different though. A lot more colour in your cheeks.’

‘You think so? I’m glad. Enthusiasm is the best medicine.’

The Krugar snorted in agreement.

‘Don’t keep standing around,’ Aven ordered, motioning for James and Krag-Zot to sit, ‘Urai, tushta!’

The Krugar stood up and with his multiple arms made his way into a side-room.

Aven sat down and picked up a document from the coffee table, handing it to James.

‘I did some research as per your enquiry. I’ve compiled some information from the network as well as some documents from my informants. Human Warpmancers are rare, indeed, but it seems that there are a few. They are not nearly as powerful as you, however, suggesting why they keep themselves secret. There are rumours on a few old sites about a group calling themselves the Shadow Cabal. The site is from fifty years ago, though. So more like a dead-end than a find. My apologies if this is not enough.’

‘It’s more than enough. I also wished to talk to you about something else. A little bit of light conversation, so to speak.’

‘Go ahead,’ Aven nodded thanks to Urai, the Krugar, as he placed a tray of tea and biscuits on the coffee table. Instead of going back to work, Urai sat on an egg-shaped chair and proceeded to drink his own cup of tea.

James took a sip and then spoke.

‘Why blue?’

‘Pardon?’

‘Blue, on the flag. Black for rebellion. The cross-cuts for the Grengen symbol for defiance, but why the blue?’

Aven looked thoughtful. ‘A passing fancy. Blue skies? Blue waves? I was born on Ganymede. We seldom had a cloud in the sky and had oceans of fresh water. That was freedom. I picked blue because I missed it and I had a chance to see it again.’

‘It’s caught on well enough,’ Krag-Zot chuckled.

Aven chuckled alongside him and then added. ‘I was convinced that you were going to confront me on my nominating you as their leader.’

James shrugged. ‘I’ve come to terms with that, for the most part. If I lead them, at least I can control what type of leader they get.’

Krag-Zot seemed proud at that pronouncement. James smirked. He wasn’t going to let the Areq off the hook.

‘And you,’ James turned to Krag-Zot, ‘how do you stay unnoticed among the Zonians and on Nexus? Stealth tech, Warpmancy?’

‘This an interrogation?’

James glared, non-seriously. Krag-Zot chuckled deeply.

‘Sneaking. People don’t expect a lumbering metal-clad Areq to sneak. So, I do it. It amuses me. I could get a stealth suit or obscure myself in gas, but that wouldn’t be as fun.’

James couldn’t help but smile. The others were smiling as well. An Areq, a Krugar, an intergalactic spymaster and a god.

They spoke for a long while after that. Of their homes. Of their childhoods. It wasn’t deep. It was light-hearted. Frivolous. They didn’t speak of war. There was no Ganymede Incident haunting Aven. There was no Fall of Resh. No gang wars, or Xank, or Imperials. It was about life between the violence. The friends, the adventures, the memories, the hobbies.

James hadn’t had this much fun in a long while. Even Urai contributed to the conversation. He couldn’t speak English, so spoke through Aven. He spoke of his time in the tree cities of Lerine. He had been a weaver there. Aven hadn’t known before this and offered to acquire some material for Urai to practice his craft. The Krugar appreciated it.

Above the fun, James felt a palpable relief. There was no pretense here. This wasn’t a forced peace. It was an honest discussion of better times, among better people.

James’ communicator interrupted them with an abrupt beep and a subsequent buzz. Looking at the screen, he saw Marshal’s name.

‘Better take this.’

Aven and the others nodded as James stood and walked to the kitchen.

‘Hey. Something wrong?’

‘No,’ Marshal answered, ‘just that you’re needed at Cargo Delta. A local gang called the Ganru want to talk. I think they’re looking for an alliance. They’re well-armed. We could use them.’

‘Can they be trusted?’

‘They seem pretty honourable. Like Nippon Samurai.’

‘What?’

‘Samurai…they’re like ancient swordsmen from Earth. Really cool. I’ll find some movies on them if you want.’

‘Later. I’ll meet you there.’

James walked back to the sitting area.

‘Krag-Zot, I need a lift to Cargo Delta. Can you drop me off?’

He nodded. James proceeded to take a final biscuit and then wished Aven and Urai farewell.



Cargo Delta was an integral part of the plan for the Defiant. It was the only energy-shielded loading dock in their possession and thus was heavily defended by the best armed of the Defiant. Most of Nathan’s Troopers guarded the area, armoured and armed with stolen equipment from the Defiant’s raids on Dedelux loyalist facilities around the planet. The Ganru would want to meet here due to it being the one port not controlled by Dedelux. That may also be the reason they wanted to throw in their lot with the Defiant. James liked gangs, with their brutal honesty, but knew that they seldom did anything out of generosity. The Ganru saw the Defiant as a means to profit. James was perfectly fine with that.

Krag-Zot dropped him off by a service entrance, where he ascended the stairs to the hangar. At the top, he saw Marshal talking to a group of smartly dressed men with slanted eyes and dark hair. Standing off to the side, speaking to Yobu, were Leroy and Grugo.

‘Captain!’ Leroy and Grugo said in unison.

Both wore matching jackets. White pseudo-leather with a red circle on the back. James noticed that the Ganru not wearing business suits also wore similar jackets. James’ enhanced senses allowed him to notice that each guard was concealing a pistol and a knife. James did not fear an assassination or ambush. Zona Nox was known for concealed and open carry. Zarxian law necessitated the former.

‘Leroy, Grugo – I’m glad to see you! I feared that you were caught up in the pogroms,’ James’ concern was genuine. Grugo had grown on him during their escapade on Zona Nox and Leroy was always agreeable, especially seeing they had been members of the same gang.

‘We’ve been off-world,’ Leroy replied. ‘Found a job to get off this ice rock. Jobs a lot like working with Marzio.’

‘Not a bit like the Zenites. A lot more professional,’ Grugo added.

A clearing of the throat interrupted them and Grugo and Leroy gave way to a short middle-aged man with a walking cane.

‘Apologies, Kumichō-sama,’ Leroy said with a bow, Grugo following suit.

Kumichō waved them away and proceeded to James. His face was stern and smooth. The only wrinkles were the worry lines creasing his forehead. He had a thin moustache flanking either side of his mouth like wisps of smoke. His cane bore the carved head of a Sylith. He stopped, wordlessly, in front of James and stood. A guard nearby swiftly ran up to him and retrieved his cane. With creaky, pained movements, Kumichō bent his back and bowed. He wasn’t that old, so James presumed he was suffering from an injury.

‘It is an honour to finally meet the Defiant.’

‘Likewise, for one of my old profession,’ James replied, bowing back.

Standing straight, Kumichō accepted back his cane.

‘I heard from Grugo-san and Leroy-san that you were once a conductor of the illicit. I am glad. It means we can speak to each other plainly.’

James nodded, relieved. Kumichō was a kindred spirit. A professional criminal. It had been awhile since James had been involved in crime, but he still understood the mind-set.

‘My organisation, the Ganru, are different from your Zenites and Marzios on Galis. We are outlaws, yes, but we conduct our business in accordance with a strict doctrine handed down through thousands of years. On our homeworld, Sekai, we are the traditional leaders of those with common ancestry to ancient Nippon. Otherwise, we’re a syndicate conducting business despite the law. Typically, we engage in activities you may be familiar with – protection, smuggling, racketeering. Nexus’ situation gave us an interesting opportunity. The people here are starved for freedom and the bloated corrupt administration continues to tighten restrictions until all semblance of the human spirit is crushed.

‘There’s where we come in. The Ganru provide protection. Not from criminals but from so-called enforcers of the law. We allow businesses to function freely. We smuggle in goods that people desire. We fulfil the wants that dictatorship disallows.’

‘So Dedelux has been profitable for the Ganru?’

‘Undoubtedly. Yet he has also been costly. The Ganru don’t exist solely for our own profit. We exist to aid Sekai. All our income goes into aiding the diaspora and uplifting our new desired homeworld. Dedelux doesn’t stop our activities on the planet. He sees them as a necessary means to maintain happiness while retaining his authoritarian demeanour. He does, however, stop our shipments from leaving the planet. Our profits on Nova Zarxa are all for nought now that we are trapped here. We are rich, but without our homes. It would be logical for the professional crook to oppose the one who removes their means of profit, but we’re more than just a gang. We’re seeking to aid our people.’

‘That is why we met here, then? You need a hangar that Dedelux has no influence over.’

‘More than that. Nexus has no dedicated starport. It relies on a myriad of satellite ships for out of system warp travel. Dedelux has dedicated guards eliminating all non-loyal vessels trying to reach these ships. We cannot leave the planet, let alone bring our profits to Sekai. The Defiant, your army, may be our only means of getting home.’

‘What do you propose?’

‘An alliance. Simple as that. We have the firepower. We have connections. We don’t have an army. My intelligence suggests that the Zonian refugees are not your only forces. There are some mountains on Nova Zarxa suspiciously receiving a lot of traffic recently.’

‘It’s no secret, Kumichō-sama…’

‘Call me Kota,’ Kumichō interjected, ‘we’re equals.’

James nodded in respect.

‘Then call me James. The existence of the Grays is not being kept a secret among enemies of Dedelux and I trust in your sincerity and honour. The Defiant are, indeed, amassing an army to rival Dedelux’s control of the planet. The Troopers are tied up with multiple Xank attacks on the human republics and a Squogg assault on a frontier Askaia. They don’t have the resources or the inkling to overthrow the traitor Dedelux. Thus, we have to do it for them.’

‘There’s more to it than that, though, isn’t there?’

Despite his weathered gait, Kota was astute. His gaze pierced James’ withheld information.

‘It’s more than Dedelux’s corruption and draconian policies. It’s the effect on the people here. I was born on a planet of pain and struggle, yet we were free. Here, bread and games are sufficient to keep people in check when what they truly desire is to simply be allowed to breathe. What Dedelux has planned will make matters worse here for their freedom. For my people’s lives and freedom. Dedelux is allied with the Imperial Council.’

‘How do you know this?’ Kota raised his eyebrow. Questioning, but not cynical.

‘I have eyes and ears across the galaxy. Extos III is being embroiled in a galactic plot and Nova Zarxa is at the middle of it. Zona Nox was not conquered. It was Blighted. The Xank, also enemies of the Imperial Council, were attempting to create a fortified foothold to attack the Imperials after they invaded Nova Zarxa. They sought to keep this planet out of enemy hands – else the Imperials will have enough crystals to power up a new war machine. If that happens: Sekai, Ganymede, the republics, Eran, Mars…all will fall.’

Kota looked unnerved, his plate-mail expression moistened by nervous sweat. He licked his lips nervously and then composed himself.

‘So, it is even more pressing that we destroy this threat. My duty is to my people, as it seems so is yours. We have common interest in this alliance.’

‘So, are you with us?’

Kota walked forward, the clank of his cane on the metal flooring clanging three times and stopping as he offered his hand. James gripped it and they shared a look of true mutual respect.

A loud sucking sound was soon followed by the deathly shouts of a Ganru and a Defiant guard as they were pulled out of the hangar. Gale-force winds threatened to pull them all out of the hangar as the toxic fumes of the crystals below sought to invade their senses.

‘Masks on!’ Marshal shouted.

A Ganru officer also shouted, ‘Masuku!’

Gunshots echoed from the entrance. Marshal turned to a Defiant running from the scene.

‘Yellows?’

‘No, they’re not wearing Trooper uniforms. They have tags with crossed swords.’

‘Berrin Pirates,’ Kota spat. ‘They’re Dedelux’s lackeys. He pays them to keep anyone from leaving the atmosphere.’

‘Setup a barricade! Marshal, call for reinforcements. We can’t lose Cargo Delta. And for Terra’s sake, close the force gate!’

‘Easier said than done, Captain,’ Grugo lamented, pointing towards the gate.

Two gunships were hovering outside the hangar. They were black as night, bearing a blood red skull and crossed swords on their fronts. They were both equipped with pulse cannons and twin gatlings. There was no cover in the hangar that could withstand such an onslaught. They were targets at the firing range. James knew what he had to do.

He couldn’t control some frying pans, but he trusted that two gunships would be easy enough. Reaching into his tactical vest’s pocket, he pulled out his Conduit Glove. Marshal’s eyes widened as he put it on.

‘What are you doing?’ Marshal shouted.

‘It’s the only way.’

Marshal’s consternations were rendered mute by the sound of the gatlings as they started spinning. James had no time to lose. He mustered all the power of the Warp forming around him and created a magnetic grip. He directed the grip in a slow-motion trance, grabbing the Berrin gunship as it prepared to wreak havoc. It was as easy as flinging furniture. James grinned.

With a flick of his wrist, blue power shot out of his hand and engulfed the one gunship. Savouring the moment, James pulled his arm to the side, then slapped the air. The gunships exploded as they collided into one another.

It took barely a second. Everyone stared silently towards him. Marshal shook his head. He knew that it was the only way, but he also knew what was going to happen now. The only thing holding back the Defiant from all-out war was the limits of their power. News would spread that their leader did not have such limits. With a god on their side, there was nothing to fear.

Nathan and Yobu looked on from the hangar entrance. They had eliminated the Berrin attackers easily but knew that the gunships would have slaughtered them. Except for the blast of energy that had exploded from James’ hand. Yobu seemed to have an epiphany as he realised how his Captain had saved them from the Xank vessel. Nathan could not believe his eyes. He spent his life praising Terra as his form of God, yet now he was faced with true divine power and that power came from a boy whom he’d found crying over the corpse of his best friend.

Kota held a mix of fear and awe. The power to rend metal with the mind was a force to desire, but now he knew that this alliance would never be one of mutual respect. The Ganru would be subjugated. That was the natural order of things. When faced with a god, all else was secondary.

James looked down to his Conduit glove. Energy still spiralled around it, trapping the Warp energy rising from the crystals below. He considered putting the glove away. There was no need anymore. News would spread.

The Defiant was ready for war.

“Despite the unifying factor of the Troopers, humanity contains countless factions, ranging from corporations, cults, nations, organisations and empires. While the Troopers pledge themselves to humanity, other factions are much less selfless.” – Quentin Wivern, Human Power

Chapter 23.                 Boss

The Kolheim seemed the world away. It was hard to think that it was only in the next building. Erryn, pilot without a ship, stood now at the frontier of the war that embroiled Nova Zarxa. It had been easy to be let into Defiant held territory. A Zonian named McIntyre had known Barry. From there, she tried to help where she could. Truth was, there wasn’t much that needed doing. Zonians were hard workers, leaving her with little to nothing to do. What she truly yearned for was a ship. The shuttles barely satisfied the itch. They were too slow, too cumbersome. In addition, she hadn’t earned her place among the Defiant’s armed forces, yet. This was more her fault than any sort of distrust from the Zonians. She lacked the enthusiasm to ask. She didn’t need the pay. Only time she had tried some sort of pilot duty was for a civilian craft running supplies between outposts. It was for fun, not pay. That had happened once. She hadn’t asked afterwards. All she did now was hang out in what the Zonians called the Block of Storms. It was the frontier between Dedelux and Defiant held territory, acting as a chokepoint for both sides. Here, she hoped to find something to do. She had thought joining the Defiant would have brought her some sort of meaning, something to justify her abandoning her crew, but she didn’t even have the nerve to ask to join. She hated to admit it to herself, but she was scared.

Erryn held her legs for warmth while sitting with her back to a shop. The owner had been terrified when the Defiant took the building, but eventually grew to love the occupiers. He was now finally allowed to hawk his wares. He didn’t mind accepting Galis notes for it either, as he realised the multitude of Zonian tradesmen who would accept the currency. The owner called out a number. Erryn stood and rubbed her hands together for warmth. The cashier smiled and held out a plastic bowl. Erryn smiled back, half-heartedly, and accepted.

She ate her ramen as she walked. The hot noodles did wonders to warm her up. Along her stroll, she observed her surroundings. Defiant rebels, armed and armoured haphazardly, patrolled, marched and hung about every turn. It wasn’t the same as life under the Yellows, however. These were all volunteers, accustomed to a free way of life. Even some Zarxians had joined their ranks, as Dedelux’s repression grew too much. One wasn’t afraid to see a Defiant, unless one was a Yellow or Berrin pirate. Erryn felt at ease with them. She had even bedded a few, even thought they were dirt-birther. She had to admit. They weren’t that bad…fort dirt-birthers.

Erryn stopped as a novel sight presented itself. A young girl, wearing a black and blue scarf and revolver by her side, was attempting to put up a large roll of paper. She was small. Erryn guessed around ten years old, maybe younger. Erryn put down her almost finished ramen and approached the girl.

‘Need help?’

‘Nope, nope,’ the girl squirmed, jumping to try unroll the large plastic poster.

Erryn rolled her eyes. When the girl wasn’t looking, she grabbed the top of the poster and lifted it up.

‘There,’ the girl announced, looking satisfied. She examined it with her arms on her sides.

The poster bore a picture of the Defiant himself. He was gazing into the distance, bearing his prized Aegis Firebolt in his one hand and a clenched fist in the other. The text read:

‘The Defiant needs all fighters. If you can bear a firearm, operate artillery, fly a spaceship or shuttle, report to Underbelly Alpha for assignment. Only volunteers welcome. Fight for a free Nova Zarxa!’

‘Inspiring. Ain’t it?’ the girl asked.

‘Very,’ Erryn nodded, hands on her hips.

‘Didn’t catch your name, miss.’

‘Erryn. Erryn Kolheim.’

The girl put out her hand, having to stretch up to meet Erryn’s height. Erryn accepted.

‘Jilly. Jilly Mergan. I’m a Defiant.’

‘Are you now?’

Jilly didn’t notice the patronising tone.

‘Yep. You said your name was Kolheim? That a ship, ain’t it?’

‘Yep. I’m the pilot.’

‘You shipborn then? Pa said that shipborns get named after their ship.’

Erryn nodded. ‘What about Mergan? Where that come from?’

‘My great-great grandfather was the first Mergan,’ Jilly recounted. ‘Was the name of his posse in Red Sand. They overthrew two warlords. One was Merg and the other was Throttle. To ‘member it, they named themselves after the warlords. Was too long though, so they cut out the Throttle, cause he was just a small-fry and left the an.’

‘You a Zonian, then?’

Jilly looked a bit confused but then responded. ‘Yep, but we hardly ever call ourselves that. Seems odd.’

Erryn laughed. Jilly didn’t seem to find it offensive and smiled.

‘In my line of work, gotta call people by their planetary demonym. I go to too many places to do it otherwise.’

‘Demo-what?’

‘Never mind.’

‘Well, miss Kolheim, loved to meet ya. Need to get back to the Underbelly though. Need more posters.’

‘Wait up. I’m going that way too.’

Erryn jogged up to the now waiting Jilly, who had not delayed scampering off.

They walked in awkward silence for a bit, until Erryn broke it.

‘Why you want to be a Defiant?’

‘Already am.’

‘Why you wanted to be Defiant, then?’

‘Gotta do something. The Defiant protects us. I want to protect people too. The Yellows killed my uncle. Defiant shot ‘em down. I want to do that. I want to make sure there’s no Yellows left to kill anymore uncles.’

‘And the Defiant are fine with a…’

‘Kid? They make fun, but they let me do stuff. They didn’t give me this gun, if that’s what you’re wondering. Was my dad’s. He died in Titan. Big explosion. This is all I got left.’

‘Your mom?’

‘Died in Galis. Big explosion. Was Xank that time, though. Dad thought we’d be safe in Titan City. He was wrong.’

Jilly looked down.

Erryn frowned. ‘Don’t cry...’

Jilly looked up. Her eyes were dry. ‘I’ve cried enough already. For my mom, dad and uncle. I’m done crying. I’m Defiant now. Defiant don’t cry.’

‘Sure they do,’ Erryn tried to smile. ‘They only human.’

‘Defiant cry when they’re home. When they’re being civvies. They don’t cry when they wear these colours.’ Jilly indicated to her scarf.

‘While I wear this, I don’t cry.’

They continued in silence until they finally reached Underbelly Alpha. Erryn followed Jilly to a prefabricated building with a window open along the side. A man of middle years stood inside.

‘Mr Peterson, need more posters,’ Jilly exclaimed, her head only barely coming to the edge of the window.

Mr Peterson smiled. ‘Good work, Jilly. No need to hang up more though. You done good work. Take a breather.’

‘No thanks, Mr Peterson. Work is good. Need work.’

He sighed. Well, go find Sgt Yobu. You know the one? One of the Defiant’s right-hands. He was looking for someone to help vet pilots. You’ve already memorised all the manifests, right?’

Jilly nodded.

‘Good. Help Yobu separate the chaff from the genuine article.’

‘Erryn here is a pilot,’ Jilly blurted out.

‘Is she now?’ Mr Peterson turned towards Erryn, who was barely holding down a blush.

‘She flies the Kolheim. Name’s Erryn Kolheim.’

Erryn nodded.

‘Well then, take her to Yobu. That’s one pilot down, an armada more to go.’

Mr Peterson turned around, ending all conversation. Erryn stood, dumbstruck. Jilly tugged on her arm, pulling her away. It seemed she had joined the Defiant.



To add to Danny’s problems, Berrin pirates were making it much harder to get back to the Athena. Not only were all the ports in Nexus on lockdown, the damn zots of the sky were intent on making a nuisance of themselves by shooting any vessel that didn’t bear their ghastly colour scheme. Red and black worked for the Troopers but that was in equal amounts. Overwhelming red with just a little black was just gaudy, Danny thought as he sneered at the buzzing red insects from his seat on top of one of Nexus’ many towers. The gunships were only specks, but as they were the only ships in the sky, it was accurate to say that they either belonged to Berrin or Dedelux, both equally detestable.

A sharp and chilling wind hit Danny and he was sure that his teeth would be chattering if he hadn’t lost all feeling already.

‘Bloody governor,’ Danny swore as he twisted a knob on his transmitter. If Dedelux hadn’t shut down the Network, marvellous thing, Danny could have been contacting Aegis from the comfort of a skyscraper café. Dictators would be dictators, though, and now Danny was being forced to set up a relay on top of the old Grag-Tec tower. He had bought the scaling equipment from a member of a gang called the Ganru. They were much more willing to do business with him now that Dedelux’s policies had been challenged by the Defiant.

The Defiant sounded like someone Danny wanted to meet. Anyone willing to stick it to Dedelux was okay in his books. Secretly, Danny also bore gratitude for the Defiant as the Zonian pogroms had been put to a violent stop. Galisians, gangsters, Red Sanders, Titans, Tribals – they were his people and nobody got away with slaughtering his people.

The transmitter screen started flickering to life and Danny halted his tinkering. An Aegis logo, a red globe with an orbiting satellite, filled the screen. Then the footage changed to the much-desired sight of Krena of Iron.

‘Krena,’ Danny exclaimed, ‘long time no see!’

‘Yes, Danny. It’s been quiet here without you. Viper, Boris and Gloria left orbit long ago on a secret mission. Quentin hasn’t assigned me to anything, so I haven’t been doing anything. Only my swords and guns to look after. Only that…’

She was talking fast, anxiously, as if she was hiding something. Krena was never like this. She was calm, cold and above all else, professional.

‘Krena, stop,’ Danny whispered.

She stopped. Her eye started twitching and then she burst out crying.

Danny was taken aback.

‘What’s wrong? Krena, speak to me.’

‘They’re all gone! Every single one of them. Arthur, the Irons, the Grooks, Titan, Zona Nox…you. I’m alone here. There’s nothing for me here. When we hadn’t heard from you for months, we were sure you were dead. I didn’t want to lose another one. Please, I didn’t want to lose you.’

‘I’m not lost anymore,’ Danny responded, as gently as he could. He wouldn’t abide this in his gang, but Krena had every right to be distraught. Everyone she had ever been close to died when the skies went black.

‘Trust me, Krena. If there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s not dying. When my job here is done, I’ll be seeing you again.’

‘It’ll be sooner than that. Quentin is planning something. With or without his permission, if we go planet-side, I’m coming along. I need to kill someone.’

Charming, Danny thought, but that’s what he found so attractive in her.

‘You’ll have all the killing you want when the Imperials drop down.’

Krena jumped as Quentin appeared behind her.

‘Hello, Danny,’ he said to the screen. ‘Krena, can you excuse us for a little bit.’

She nodded her head and reluctantly shrank away.

Once she had left the room, Quentin spoke to Danny in a much sterner tone than Danny was used to from the usually enthusiastic CEO.

‘Odd to call your girlfriend before your boss, or maybe not.’

‘No choice. Dedelux has shut down the Network here. I’m using an old radio transmitter. I took the first signal I could find on the Athena. Happened to be Krena, who is not my girlfriend.’

‘My apologies. We’ve been in the dark here. I’ve been directing our forces on Grengen to distract myself. We honestly thought you were dead.’

‘Not yet. I was captured but all they got was that I’m Galisian and that I don’t like cheese. I got out during a prison break.’

‘Please fill me in, Don. How should we proceed?’

‘Dedelux has shut down all external flight and communication. Grag-Tec has been declared illegal and has been driven underground. Dedelux loyalists rule the streets alongside hired goons. It’s a nightmare but there’s some hope. A cult figure known as the Defiant has gained the loyalty of the Zonian diaspora and has taken over swathes of Nexus and the planetary depots. Some of the gangs have joined them.’

‘Have you contacted this Defiant?’

‘Not yet. The Yellows, that’s what we call the Dedelux Troopers, have all the entrances to Defiant territory barred and guarded. I’d have to climb there from the outside.’

‘Then do so, agent. See how this Defiant feels about a humanity re-united and Aegis. Maybe they might have a means to contact us from their territory, so you can report back from there.’

Quentin said goodbye and then called Krena back in.

‘What does he want you to do?’

The tears were dry but her eyes were still red.

‘Climb across a few sky scrapers, apparently.’

Krena nodded, as if it wasn’t a ludicrous thing to do.

‘Danny.’

‘Yes?’

‘Stay safe.’

‘I will.’

The screen went black.



Danny regretted never asking James for climbing advice as he clung from a rope off the edge of a smooth, windowless tower. If it was not for the scaling equipment, Danny was sure that he would be food for the crystal harvesters below. What made the traversal truly difficult were the number of patrol gunships surrounding Nexus. He was camouflaged but would much rather be safe than riddled with holes like the cheese he so despised. Thus, he scuttled like a bogup beetle – stealthy and slow. The magnetics on his gloves were decent but were somewhat inadequate when out of battery power. Unfortunately, they were somewhat inadequate now. Only Danny’s rope guaranteed him his life as held for dear life onto a small crack, unable to move. He wasn’t going to fall, but his filters were limited. He could only wait for the filters to run out, allowing the toxic gas to claim him.

‘Damn that Quentin!’ Danny swore once again.

It seems something heard him as he felt a rumble. The patch of Geradite he was on began to move. He clung for his life as the patch revealed itself to be a gate that was sliding upwards. He clung on as the secret doorway revealed an opening. He waited.

A figure poked its head out and looked left and right. It wore a civilian gas mask, probably bought at a corner shop and a full-body suit made of pseudo-leather. The suit was black with blue armbands on either arm.

When the figure determined that everything was all clear, he retrieved a firearm from his companion and then aimed it at an adjacent building. He fired. A rope trailed across the gap between the two buildings. The figure then attached another device and used it to slide across the rope to the other side, where another opening had been made. Two more figures followed.

The other opening began to close as the last figure was received. Danny didn’t want to miss this chance. He slid down and into the opening.

A Zerian Mk-54 was there to greet him. A Trooper wearing a blue armband over his red/black one bore the budget weapon while his compatriot, a Ganru soldier, bound Danny’s hands.

‘He’s no Yellow,’ the Trooper said as they escorted him through winding Geradite hallways.

‘Seen him before. He was trying to solicit info in the clubs a few months back,’ the Ganru said.

‘Who should we take him to? Yobu, Ryan, Marshal? The Defiant?’

‘Marvellous!’ Danny said aloud, without any sarcasm. ‘I needed a guide.’

They stopped and the Trooper shoved Danny to the wall.

‘What do you want with the Defiant?’

As the Trooper looked closely at Danny’s face, however, his eyes widened through his goggles.

‘Holy Mozar milk! You’re Don Marzio!’

‘Who?’ the Ganru asked, incredulous.

‘Crime boss back on Zona Nox. This guy was big! Too big for even us to rein in. I suspect he had more funding and guns than we did.’

‘Don’t sell yourselves short,’ Danny grinned. ‘You had Reapers.’

The Trooper laughed at that.

‘What use were they when you just scurried off into the warehouse district. About that… What was that shootout all about before the Xank arrived?’

‘Terra damn me if I know. Zenites are insane and Purgers were feeling left out.’

The Trooper guffawed. He had even let go of Danny. The Ganru looked completely lost.

The Trooper took off his mask to wipe a laughter-wrought tear away.

‘Anyway, Don. Enough reminiscing. What are you doing here? I doubt you’re a Dedelux spy. Too many rules.’

‘Aegis spy, actually. I’ve been tasked to contact the Defiant to broker an alliance.’

‘Aegis? Terra-damn Aegis? You working for them. First Zona Nox gets Blighted and now you’re informing for a tech and media corporation? Makes the Defiant’s powers much more believable, eh Togaya?’

The Ganru shrugged.

‘Defiant’s powers?’

‘You haven’t heard? Course you haven’t. The Defiant destroyed two Berrin gunships with his mind. Some of the scientists say it’s some form of space magic thing but all I know is that we have a Terra-damn god on our side. Can’t believe I was chasing him on Galis all that time ago. No wonder we never caught him.’

‘You know his name?’

‘I know it now. But we just call him Defiant. Seems odd not to.’

‘Well, what is it?’

‘He was actually one of yours back in the day. Name is James Roman. James Terrin on the Trooper registry.’

Danny was truly shocked and for those who knew him, that was not something that happened often. Well, it seemed that Terra-damned James, the Shadow of Galis, was a god. Who would have guessed?



The Defiant territory was much more alive than the central areas of Nexus. Shanties had been erected to segment the open hangar areas, but there was a general feeling of warmth and community. It felt like Galis. Not the gang warfare or the underworld, but the shanty communities that stood together. Danny saw many a familiar face, old gang members and clients. They recognised him. Some pointed and waved. Flags were strewn on many buildings – a black flag with blue lines crossing at the top. Besides the obvious newfound patriotism, it felt like home.

The Trooper, Jasper, escorted him to a parked passenger ship. Standing guard was none other than Leroy.

‘Boss! I thought you were dead!’

‘Takes a lot more to take me down. You should know that.’

‘Sorry, boss.’

‘Don’t be, and don’t call me boss. You have a new boss.’

‘Yes, boss. Have you heard who it is?’

‘I heard.’

‘I trekked with him across Red Sand. We got captured by Xank and survived. Then, only a few days ago, he flung a gunship into another one next to it. No wonder he was the Shadow of Galis.’

‘We do have a lot of catching up to do.’

Leroy let them through and Jasper doffed his helmet at him in thanks. Leroy shook his head.

James was standing at a table with a bearded man, a scarred Trooper Lieutenant, an Exanoid and an old Ganru wearing a business suit and tie.

‘Between our raids, thefts and sabotages, we’ve effectively bled the Yellows dry. We may be reaching the point where we outgun them,’ the Trooper explained.

‘There’s still the problem with the Berrin,’ the Ganru countered.

‘Of course, but if we mount an offensive through the tunnels, then we can use the captured hangars to bleed them out until they crash,’ the Trooper responded.

‘That won’t work,’ the bearded man shook his head. ‘All routes to Nexus proper are sealed off. We’d have to use Cargo Delta if we are to mount a full offensive.’

‘Then what do you suggest, Marshal?’ the Exanoid asked.

‘If I may interject,’ James interrupted, ‘I don’t believe a full offensive to be prudent. We have been using stealth to great effect until now. Let us continue to do so to take Nexus.’

‘What of the Grays?’ the Exanoid replied.

‘They will have all the fight they can handle after the Imperials get here. We need to keep them fresh. Defiant will be sufficient for a coup.’

‘Defiant!’

Danny cringed as Jasper called out, interrupting the war meeting.

‘Your ex-boss wants to talk to you.’

All eyes turned to Danny.

The scarred Trooper stared wide eyed. ‘Don Marzio?’

James also looked shocked. ‘Don? You’re alive.’

‘Seems that way.’

‘What you been up to? How are you?’

‘Went for a little drive south after the butchery was bombed. Got to Titan, overthrew the Zerian CEO, joined Aegis... Not much, yourself?’

‘You’re working for Aegis?’ the Exanoid asked. Danny saw now that he wore a Grag-Tec uniform.

‘Pretty much. I don’t know about the pay because I’ve not received any yet, but the benefits include getting trapped on ice planets and police states, so it’s not all bad.’

‘You seem a lot more chipper than usual, Don,’ James observed, ‘if a bit sarcastic.’

‘Not being the boss has worked wonders for my demeanour. How’s it been treating you?’

A glower took over James’ face. ‘Necessity prohibits my ability to feel anything contrary to contentment.’

‘Understood. Now, I don’t want to keep you longer than necessary, but I may have some information that will help you and your little gang here.’

‘Gang!’

A balding, goateed man in a black and blue robe burst in.

‘Not now, Gretswald,’ James waved him away.

Gretswald disappeared back around the corner.

‘It basically is a gang, Don, but don’t let some of them catch you saying it.’

Danny ignored the interruption and continued.

‘My new employer, Aegis, has a mutual enemy in the Imperials. They want to know if the Defiant want to enter into an alliance.’

‘Terms?’

‘He didn’t specify anything concrete. Just wants to know what you feel about a humanity re-united and Aegis.’

‘Aegis makes bloody good firearms. Don’t much care for a re-united humanity. What I care about now is safety for my people and an end to the Imperial threat.’

‘Quentin…the Aegis CEO, I mean, is no friend of the Council. He also wants to end its threat. Aegis has vast resources. They can help you. They can help us find a new home for our people.’

James brought his fingers to his chin, thoughtfully.

‘James,’ the Grag-Tec Exanoid piped in, ‘Aegis does have the ability to help us. They have star bombers docked in the Athena. But I don’t trust this Quentin. He’s too…racialist.’

James waved away the comment.

‘Our deadline doesn’t give us the luxury of choosing people by ideology. We need results. Don, how soon until you can get in contact with your CEO and see if he would be willing to bomb some pirates for us?’

‘Depends. Do you have any antennae, radio experts?’

The scarred Trooper Lieutenant nodded.

‘Yes. I can direct you.’

The Trooper stood.

‘Speak carefully to your CEO, Don,’ James added. ‘I don’t know where your loyalties lie, but I hope they’re still with you and your own. We need his support, but not at the cost of our freedom or our people.’

‘Of course, boss,’ Danny saluted, just before being whisked away by the Trooper.



‘What’s your game, punk?’ the Trooper rammed Danny up against an isolated geradite wall on the way to the alleged radio area.

Danny sighed. ‘I spent Terra-knows how long being tortured in Dedelux’s private prison. This isn’t really impressive.’

‘Don’t smart-mouth me. James trusts you, but doesn’t mean I have to. It’s been an age since he served in your crew. He’s moved on.’

‘I know that. So have I. Did you miss my salute?’

The Trooper hit him against the wall. Danny wasn’t that phased.

‘What are you really here for?’

‘Is being a messenger really such a hard thing to believe?’

The Trooper glared.

‘What is this really about?’ Danny asked, raising his eyebrow.

‘It’s about your true intentions. What’re the odds? James’ long lost boss, a man he respected, pops up as Dedelux is losing ground. A man who has very few scruples. A scumbag mobster who turned a young boy into a murderer.’

Danny laughed, much to the Trooper’s anger. ‘Seems you ain’t from Zona Nox. Martian? Young boys had to kill in Galis. It’s how you survived. I killed when I was ten. Shot a robber between the eyes.’

‘People like you make it that way.’

‘Nature made it this way. Our place in the system made it this way. Forgive my curtness, Mr Trooper, but we don’t have the luxury that you Trooper academy whelps had on the red homeworld. We survive by blood, and grit. Seriously, don’t talk skite to me. I didn’t make James do a thing. He did what he had to do.’

The Trooper let go of him.

‘Radio is up the stairs. Tell the Trooper there that Nathan and James want you to contact the Athena.’

Danny dusted himself off as the Trooper, Nathan he presumed, disappeared around the corner.

“Our war is a prerequisite for peace. Only the sword can bring true peace to the galaxy. Peace by the Sword - that is what we believe.” – Peratyn Myax, Imperial Councillor

Chapter 24.                 Kazh-aira

Three…two…one.

Immense heat. Searing blue ripped through stone, flesh and metal. Debris flew, crushing those too near to the blast. The plasma charges had worked. Kazh-aira’s gargantuan stone and steel walls had been breached.

‘Charge!’ called countless voices, as seas of orange poured over the green hills to the north and the swamps to the south.

More explosions racked the city walls, being followed by squads of speeding hover-needles. These vanguard squads were sent forth on their quick vessels to secure gaps in the walls. Armed with elongated kuru, the hover-needlers speared any Zangorian slave that tried to get in their way. Following them were hordes of Zangorian mixed troops. They were armed with blasters, spears, lances and swords. Platoons were coordinated by officers, who were given overarching orders by Leri, Peron and Tek’roa.

Leri watched as the first wave of vanguard fell to a volley of projectiles from the defenders. The next wave was luckier, shredding the slaves and robots apart with kuru and short-ranged energy blasts. From his vantage point, he could see the vanguard followed by a phalanx of shield-bearers, backed up by a blaster unit. Leri could see the flashes of plasma and laser, but couldn’t see who were being shot at. The phalanx pushed forward and disappeared inside. A mass of bodies followed. They were in.

‘After we secure a district, I will be moving into the city to coordinate the effort. Keep two platoons available outside the city per an entrance,’ Leri announced, turning back to face his war council, as they oversaw a holographic map provided by Tek’roa. They inhabited a Lectorate war tent upon a green hill. A single side of the tent was open, allowing the inhabitants to survey the field of battle. They didn’t worry about ambushes, for even if there were any Xank scum to ambush them, the tent was equipped with all manner of shields and armoured plating.

‘It may be risky, Rii. The Xank are not honourable. They will have traps. You will be much safer if you are to remain here until the city is secured,’ Tek’roa argued.

Leri shook his head. ‘No, Lector. In a war, yes, but this is more than a war. This is a revolution. My people believe in me and I must show that I believe in them to the point that I’d willingly die by their side.’

‘If you die…’

‘Then I die, but don’t underestimate me. I survived decades in the Body Budget. I can handle Xank treachery.’

‘Rii is right,’ Peron added. ‘This is much more than a conventional war. It’s a battle of the spirit. For better or worse, Rii is the face of this revolution. If he dies, it may fall under our substitution, but the potential loss of morale in this attack through his absence is not worth the risk. He will ride out after we take proper precautions.’

‘Some of mine will act as part of your guard,’ Tek’roa added, conceding.

‘In addition to some of the original Bexong rebels. Tenpa, Tepri and Xupa will do. They have grown to be exemplary fighters.’

Xupa, who had been standing guard behind Leri, stood at attention.

‘Tek’roa, please tell Xupa which of your troops to assign to my guard. Xupa, please inform the others once Tek’roa is done.’

As Tek’roa and Xupa went off to conduct their tasks, Leri could not help but notice that Peron was emanating an unusual aura.

‘Peron, is that a smile?’

The insect features of the Gleran were unlike any Zangorian, but the twinkle in some of his six eyes betrayed his emotion.

‘This has been my life’s work, and to finally see it come fruition is…elating.’

‘Did it really mean that much to you?’

‘Very much, yes. Since I came to meet the Word Lector, we had discussed the idea of freeing the Zangorians. For one of my species, meant to be a slave, freedom has become very important to me. Freedom to live, to breathe, to breed…to think. My species cannot be coaxed into free will. My existence was a mistake of evolution. Perhaps it suggests a change in my species, but I doubt it. The hive minds are too strong. With Zangorians, I saw a chance to achieve my dream of free Glerans, by proxy. The Xank are a problem that can be rectified. And as this past year has proven, we are winning. We’re letting a people live as they would like to live. We’re giving them the chance to not be slaves.’

Peron turned to Leri.

‘Thank you.’

‘You don’t need to thank me. These are my people. Your sentiments are your own, and while I am glad for the success of our mutual self-interest, my ultimate goal is the freeing of my people, for themselves, not for lofty ideals.’

Peron looked slightly disappointed, his eyes drooping slightly lower than usual.

‘Regardless, Rii, it seems that a district on this flank has been taken. It is time you ride out. Carry forth this revolution. Free your people, for themselves or for lofty ideals.’



The fighting in the streets was gruesome. In his days in the Body Budget, Leri had seen countless deaths of Zangorians by the hands of their kin. This was similar, but concentrated. The drone defenders had been slain within minutes, but Xank slaves, comprising Zangorians and Gleran, were posing a violent threat to the rebels.

‘Fight on! For freedom!’ Leri shouted from atop a toppled walker drone.

‘Rii!’ his rebels shouted in unison as they charged past towards the Gleran lancer squads. Kuru met shock-spear. The blitz metal of the rebels held. That of the Glerans did not. Yellow-green blood sprayed and smattered the first row of rebels. Blasters followed, securing kill zones to eliminate flankers.

‘Don’t give them any mercy. Slay the slaves! Take Kazh-aira! Free our women!’

‘Rii!’

A spear flew at Leri. He caught it and tossed it to a rebel who had lost his kuru. The rebel re-joined the phalanx, which had since become a full-on charge.

‘They broke us before. They’ll never break us again. Charge forward! Charge forward! For freedom! For Zeruit!’

The cry that followed was incomprehensible and filled with the bloodlust of generations. The free Zangorians of Zeruit, Leri among them, broke the Gleran shield-wall. Capturing the plasma-proof shielding, a line of rebels defended their comrades from a wave of Xank blasters. When they were close enough for the melee, the slaves fell to the righteous horde.

Beak, blade, blast, blood. Kazh-aira was consumed by violence. By revolution.

The Kazh-airan streets were a far cry from the other settlements on Zeruit. It had winding streets and areas used for community rather than military. This was Zeruit’s old capital. This was where Leri’s great ancestors had held court. It was his city. The buildings had been coated with Xank metallic shielding. Their doors sealed closed. Leri was sure that the HQ dominating the central part of the city held the command console, which would allow them to open the doors and even rip them apart. This would become a real city once again – after this revolution. This glorious revolution.

As the rebels took districts of the city, they used captured weapons and equipment for their own advantage. Damaged drone parts were fabricated into ladders to scale buildings for the high ground, armour, new weapons, explosives. In only a brief period, the restricted creativity of the Zangorian was allowed to flourish, and previous slave crafters could invent and innovate the means to their victory.

It had been around eighteen hours. The rebellion command had secured every district. The buildings within had been empty and free of traps. Leri rested, as well as he could.

Tek’roa entered the command tent that they had erected between two large buildings. He held his helmet in his talons. The blood of Gleran and Zangorian stained his armour and feathers.

‘I hope you are resting well, Rii. Our troops have set up for a long siege. The slaves have secured themselves in the HQ. We won’t be able to get them out for a while.’

‘How goes our supply lines?’

‘If at least a quarter of our settlements deliver, we’ll be stocked. Peron says we’ll be able to use the mag-rails to carry in new supplies.’

‘Excellent. Only thing that could stop us now is a…’

The ground shook, giving Leri pause. Tek’roa put on his helmet and turned to the guard outside the tent.

‘Artillery?’

‘Rii, there’s something coming down…’ the guard’s voice was quivering.

Leri put his helmet on and followed Tek’roa outside. In the sky were, at a quick count, around twenty deathly-black vessels. Leri knew what they were – Sylith containers.

They seemed to freeze, those ships of death. Leri knew them too well. He had handled Sylith attacks before. He had never fought one off, however. He wasn’t sure he would be able to do so. With bangs, rockets shot from the ships and plummeted into the city.

‘Battle-stations!’ Leri shouted.

‘Those demons will destroy this entire city…’ Tek’roa was shocked. He also recognised the vessels.

A rocket landed metres away from them, two Sylith crawling out. The six-eyed, razor mouthed monsters were the bane of the frontier. Entire planets had fallen to their swarms. The Xank used them to great effect.

The Sylith didn’t attack them, however. They just stared at them. Leri, the guard and Tek’roa didn’t provoke them. They moved into a defensive formation.

There were the occasional sounds of battle, but nothing as loud as the conflicts just hours ago. It seemed that the hive-controller wanted a parley.

A small black craft hovered down from the formation of dropships. Tek’roa swore. The guard asked what was happening. Leri waited.

The craft landed and the doorway opened to reveal an obsidian-black clad figure wearing a human-like skull mask. Dark-blue energy twisted and sparked around the figure’s arms.

An Immortal.

It lifted its arm and in a split-second, Tek’roa was lifted off the ground, grasping for breath.

‘You betray us, War Lector? Those who gave you power unimaginable. You betray us?!’

The grip tightened. Tek’roa looked close to bursting. His eyes filled with primal desperation. He clawed fruitlessly at his neck, water pouring from his eyes. His legs were flailing.

‘Stop!’

Surprisingly, the Immortal let go at Leri’s request.

The black-metal figure, the epitome of all Leri was supposed to fear, advanced towards him. Even with his fear, Leri’s guard tried to get in the way, but Leri patted his shoulder. This wasn’t his fight.

The Immortal brought up swathes of dust and cracked stones as he pounded his way to Leri. He leant down and with his dead eyes, stared right into Leri’s soul.

‘You are the one who started this all. Did the human help you? I always told the Avenger that the Word Lectorate would be the death of us. But nobody ever listens to Krag-Zolith.’

Leri didn’t answer.

‘Mark my words, bird. When I’m done with you, you will be begging for death.’

‘Is it your way to capture and torture before the kill? No regards for honour? I thought the Blood Duel was your religion.’

The Immortal seemed to be stung by that. It stood at full height.

‘Very well. A Blood Duel it is.’

Leri knew he had very little chance to beat an Immortal, even in a fair fight without their magic – but this gave him some chance.

The Immortal backed away and took off its helmet to reveal a face as white as clouds, with a mohawk leading into a tail at the nape of its neck. The face was oddly feminine and its voice revealed that the Immortal was female.

It – she – raised her fists and bent into a martial arts stance. Leri took off his helm and laid it at his feet.

‘Rii…’ the guard croaked. Even he knew his leader was going to die.

Leri didn’t fear his death. He had lived free. He charged.

The Immortal dodged nonchalantly, catching Leri by his flesh arm and then breaking it over her knee. Leri cried out, but made sure to swipe at her face with his metal talon. He missed as she ducked, throwing him into a wall. With an oomph, he fell to the ground. The Immortal, standing beside him as he tried to breathe, kicked him in the stomach. He gagged and spat blood.

‘This is what you wanted, bird.’

She lifted him up with both hands and looked him in the eyes.

‘You don’t know what we lost. Your suffering is nothing.’

Leri tried to kick and slash but her metal armour resisted all his blows.

The Immortal sighed. ‘Pitiful.’

She leant down slowly and placed Leri face up on her knee. She grasped his head and his legs. She meant to snap him like a twig.

‘This was a glorious revolution, whelp, but nobody can truly beat the Areq…’

The Immortal gurgled as a blade stuck through her head. Blood collected around the slit and sprayed as the blade pulled out. Released of its bonding, her head split into two and fell. The Immortal dropped to the ground, her armour causing a thud that echoed throughout the alley. Leri stood and saw his saviour – a Sylith staring blankly at him.

The Sylith began gargling speech, clicking and then warping into something akin to the whistles of a Zangorian.

‘This is Peron. I have gained control of this Sylith hive.’

Leri could have cried with joy.

‘Rii, I am using the Sylith to storm the HQ. We will win within the hour.’

‘Thank you, Peron.’

‘Don’t thank me. I did what I had to.’

Leri turned to Tek’roa, who was staring disbelieving at the dead Immortal.

‘It’s…dead.’

‘Yes. They can die.’

‘Why did we serve them?’

‘Because we were afraid.’

Tek’roa looked at him with a new fire. ‘Not anymore.’



The march to the HQ was a parade. Rii’s righteous horde lined up along the streets. There was cheering, jumping and dancing. Helmets were thrown into the air to be caught and thrown up again. Jubilation permeated the once dead streets. To contrast this joyful sight, dotted among every few celebrants was a completely still Sylith. Peron maintained an iron grip on them, creating morose statues covered with the blood of Zangorian-slaves. The Gleran never ceased to amaze Leri. He just hoped that the Sylith would remain docile.

What truly drove Leri onward, however, was not the cheering or the victory but the prospect that they would finally encounter their women. His only experience with Zangorian females were from long-dead memories and every attempt to meet them on Zeruit had been met with disappointment as the Xank isolated them more and more from Leri’s grasp.

But finally, he was ready to save them. For the first time in ages, he would see the women-folk of his kind. No longer would blood and war be his prerogative. He would have the ability to love. To build a family. His people could finally stop being an army and succumb to peace.

The vanguard troops, armoured and bloodstained, saluted Leri as he reached the titanium reinforced gate of the HQ. Peron was waiting within.

‘Rii…’

He was tentative. Just excited, or stressed from his need to control the Sylith, Leri surmised.

‘We have secured the facility. Traps and guards have all been eliminated by my Sylith forces.’

‘Glory to you, Thinker! We have you to owe for our victory.’

Peron was still anxious. Two of his six eyes were darting side to side.

‘As much as this is a time for jubilation. I feel we need to discuss something…in private.’

Leri didn’t hesitate to follow Peron to the next room, a sterile grey hallway.

‘What is it? I thought the facility was secure.’

‘It is…I have discovered something. Something that not even the Lector was aware of. We must not tell the men, yet.’

Leri felt a cold chill dance upon his spine. His voice and mood lowered.

‘What is it?’

Peron indicated for Leri to follow him further into the facility. The halls and rooms were abandoned except for the occasional Sylith, standing as if furniture themselves. There were no corpses or remains of drones and sentry guns. There had been no fight. The facility had been unguarded from within. Whatever this building hid, the Xank wanted absolutely no possibility of becoming known.

Peron stopped at a mechanical sliding door.

‘Are you sure you want to see this?’

‘I can’t be sure until I see it. Open the door.’

Peron nodded and pressed a button.

Lined from floor till a dark and ominous ceiling, held in barely lit capsules, were rows and rows of Zangorians. Their feathers were duller in colour than the usual orange. They were smaller and stunted. Their beaks were small, and looked soft. They were not as hard as Leri’s battle-hardened beak, capable of cracking open soft metal. Their eyes were too small. They bore no pattern upon their feathers. They were dull. A pale, brownish orange. They were the most beautiful thing Leri had ever seen.

‘Monsters,’ Leri said of the Xank aloud. Peron did not respond.

He moved towards a console and pressed a few buttons, summoning a capsule to be brought down on a magnetic rail system and placed near them.

Leri approached the sleeping Zangorian woman. She had a feathery twirl atop her head. Small lids hid her eyes, as they topped a spikeless beak. Leri touched her cheek.

Peron stared. His eyes taking turns to blink.

‘How can we wake them up?’ Leri asked, never glancing away.

‘I’m sorry, Leri. We can’t.’

Leri looked away from both the female and the Gleran. He knew this already. Somehow. Hope was a spurious thing.

He smashed his metal fist into the capsule, to be answered by a small electronic explosion as sparks erupted around the braindead female.

The Xank did not let the females have even the privilege of thought. They were wombs. Nothing more.

‘I will tell the men. We must begin a breeding programme immediately so that we may assure the survival of our species.’

‘With who?’ Peron looked shocked. He knew what Leri meant.

‘These sacks. These painful monstrous…Xank-wrought abominations.’

‘Leri…this is rape. They can’t think…consent. It’s like mating with children.’

‘Children have prospects. These do not. They’re barely alive in any sense of the word. I’m going now. I’m giving the word. We will breed an army – and we will destroy the Xank for what they have done.’

“The Troopers have never known peace. After their founding, they found enemies in the pirates and brigands of their own race. After that, the Squogg invaders and Pegg pirates. Then came the Xank, a worthy threat for humanities’ armies. But even they were not the genuine enemies of mankind.” – Introduction to a ‘History of the Trooper Order’

Chapter 25.                 Civilisation

Society is precarious. Civilisation is transient. Order is an illusion. The people of Nexus had come to learn this in the long months of insurgent attacks and Dedelux’s brutal responses. The once thriving capital of civilisation on the frontier was now a flaming pit of ash and blood. The shiny, glamourous and apathetic façade of luxurious civilisation had been torn away to reveal the dark underbelly of violence. Nexus had never been peaceful. It had just once been better at pretending.

The outskirts of Nexus had been annexed by the so-called Zonian terrorists. Only the central hub remained under Dedelux’s control. The Defiant had pushed and taken most of the city. Now all they needed to do was secure the throne.

Erryn Kolheim had her hand on her namesake. The Kolheim shone in all her glory. Erryn noted to never doubt the Defiant again. She couldn’t even call them dirt-birthers anymore. Only days after her registration as a pilot, a small team managed to take the hangar in which the Kolheim had been parked.

‘Captain Erryn,’ Yobu advanced towards her, carrying a tablet computer.

‘Pilot, Sergeant. Just pilot.’

‘No, Captain. The rest of your crew was killed. By spacefaring law, you are now Captain.’

Erryn nodded, sadly. She didn’t know how her crew died. She didn’t want to know.

‘Does the Kolheim have weapons fitted, Captain?’

‘Of course. Pegg don’t care if you’re unarmed or not. It had twin-photon lances and three shafts for rockets. It ain’t built for war, but it will sure fight one. Needs a crew, though.’

Yobu pointed behind him with his stylus. ‘Go take your pick. These are all the volunteers.’

Erryn looked past him and approached the group. Standing below the height of any of them was Jilly. She smiled, her toothy grin missing a tooth, when she saw Erryn.

‘Miss Kolheim! You got your ship back?’

‘Yep. Defiant did it. Protected me and my stuff,’ Erryn winked.

‘You needing any help with it? I can be real handy. Only been in space once but can learn quick.’

‘I’m sure you can.’

Erryn glanced around, clutching her chin thoughtfully. Jilly started to squirm. Erryn chuckled.

‘Come on, then. Could always use more cabin-girls. Welcome aboard.’

Jilly smiled.

‘Thanks, Miss Kolheim!’



James didn’t sleep all night. He had never had this problem before a fight back in Galis. He hadn’t been prone to anxiety back then. Life was simpler. It was Don Marzio having the sleepless nights in Galis, not the Shadow of Galis, who owned the night. James no longer had the luxury of restful nights, or days. His people needed him.

A knock sounded on his door. His lack of apprehension was cause for the door to open.

‘Rise and shine,’ Marshal announced. He stopped as he saw the bags under James’ eyes. ‘Bad sleep?’

‘No sleep.’

He took a seat next to James’ bed.

‘What’s troubling you, lad?’

‘Don’t have the luxury of complaining, Marshal.’

‘That’s a problem itself, but it’s mozar-skite. You might feel you can’t brood out there, but here, you can tell me what’s up.’

‘It’s just…I don’t know what to do.’

‘We have a plan. No need for trepidation. It’s a good one. We have the ships to secure the central hub. We can do it. You can do it.’

‘It’s not that. I know we can do it. I’m also feeling confident we may be able to not die instantly when the Imperials get here. But I didn’t do this. The Zonians did. They took Underbelly Alpha. They stopped the pogroms. They accomplished all this while I languished in prison. I don’t deserve the credit. I can live with being a symbol, but I’m terrified. I’m terrified that I’ll let them down. They built all this up. If I fail…all they did will be for nothing.’

Marshal stood and sat next to James on the bed, placing his hand on James’ back.

‘You are scared because you want to succeed. That means something. You want to win this. You want to be the Defiant they believe you to be. But you must never forget something.’

James looked up to his bearded, grizzled friend.

‘Those who exist only for others don’t exist at all. Exist for yourself. Have your own ends. If those ends help others, good, but don’t do it just because you feel some arbitrary sense of obligation. Don’t do it just to look good. Do it because you believe it to be right. Our people don’t need some selfless symbol who will burn out. They need someone like them. They need someone who has hopes, ambitions. Aven and that Immortal keep saying they need a God. I disagree. They need a human. Duty didn’t get us anywhere on Zona Nox. Duty’s for the army. The Defiant, we’re different. We fight for ourselves. Never forget that. We ain’t slaves. We’re free folk. We fight by your side, not under you. Don’t let them forget that either.’

‘What is civilisation without duty?’

‘Beg your pardon?’

‘I’ve been reading.’

‘Ah, yes. Sounds like Lukke? Was never a fan of him myself. Too draconian. I got a simple answer for him. Is civilisation worth it if it ain’t good for its people?’

James didn’t respond. Marshal continued.

‘Dedelux built a civilisation here. It gleamed. It now burns at the hands of not only us, but by its own citizens. Civilisation exists for its members. We don’t owe a duty to civilisation. It exists for us. We don’t like it; we burn it to the ground.’

‘What does this mean to me, Marshal?’

Marshal stood up.

‘Means you don’t have a duty to these people, me or anyone else. You exist for your own sake. Be the Defiant. Be James. Be neither. Abandon your post. Keep on fighting. Be the God, the Human. Do not crush yourself with the weight of leadership. Know that at any time, you can leave.’

‘There’ll be consequences if I do.’

‘There’s always consequences. If you stay or if you don’t.’

James nodded. Marshal nodded back.

‘Thanks, Marshal.’

‘No need. I’m here, Strike Leader.’

James stood and strapped on his combat gear.

‘No more dallying. Let’s destroy a civilisation.’



‘Full throttle! We need ramming speed. Technicians! Why is the engine not at full-power?’

‘Sorry, Captain,’ the technician panted over the intercom. ‘We’re taking fire. Engine’s taken damage.’

‘Grako Berrin skite-eating zots,’ Erryn swore. Jilly, to her side, didn’t seem to mind.

‘Kolheim needs immediate fire support, off the starboard bow.’

‘Jameson-I coming in Kolheim.’

‘Purple Menace coming in Kolheim.’

‘Taking evasive action,’ Erryn responded. ‘Engage in three.’

‘Roger, Kolheim.’

The Jameson-I, followed by Purple Menace, closed in, charging their respective weapons. Three…two…one. Torpedoes fired and two Berrin fighters went down.

‘Delay on that battering ram, Dixie,’ Erryn announced into her transmitter.

‘ETA?’

‘We need to circle for a minute.’

‘We’ll hold the line. Over.’

Dixie put the radio back in the front of his vest. The sound of gunfire did not abate and the whizz of rounds over his cover necessitated him keeping his head down.

‘I need some suppressive fire! Where are the Ganru?’

‘Slanty-eyes are taking the flank, Dixie,’ Jordan responded, firing with an SMG.

‘Skite.’ Dixie lifted his transmitter. ‘We need reinforcements at incision point Foxtrot. Need heavy firepower.’

His last few words were obscured by the deafening sound of a grenade going off. The firing from the end of the hall abated and Dixie used the opportunity to look over the top using a mirror on a stick. A group of Ganru stood at the end of the hallway, dead Yellows at their feet.

Tenigawa Ruma led the band, Titan AR-15 held in one hand as he waved the group onward. Dixie and his squad of twelve advanced.

‘Status, Ruma?’

‘Berrin have collapsed two of the entrances to the Gatehouse. Only way to get to the keep is by the main tunnel.’

‘Aren’t we zip lining across?’

‘You can do that if you want. I’m quite partial to being turned into Mozar cheese by Yellow turrets.’

‘Air support should be taking care of that.’

‘Regardless, our orders are to secure the main tunnel. Granted, we aren’t given clearance to advance across.’

‘We’ve cleared this sector. Need to contact command.’

Ruma nodded and left, getting his men into position.

‘Commander, south sec is clear. Orders?’

‘Rendezvous at Gatehouse,’ Commander Darren Peterson replied.

‘Roger,’ Dixie responded, then putting his radio away.

Darren, recently made Commander in charge of taking the Nexus Hub, placed his radio back in the pocket of his tactical vest just as he heard heavy footfalls.

His squad dove for cover. He collided with the hard counter of a Nexus storefront. It bruised his shoulder. A shot was fired towards his position. Then a shot sounded from another position.

‘Venus!’ a woman called.

‘Green Wing,’ Darren responded.

‘Clear, Commander,’ Annabelle announced.

Darren stood, followed by three of the men accompanying him. Five more Defiant followed Annabelle.

‘Commander, we took heavy losses but dislodged the Yellows on the Northern flank.’

‘Merge with my squad. We need to do a sweep of the apartments before we rendezvous at Gatehouse.’

Annabelle nodded. They moved out.

They stood in the middle of the main market in Nexus Hub. Once a shining centre of commerce, it had been reduced to smoking ruins dotted with hastily erected barricades and cover. Bullets and shrapnel had torn apart all semblance of a peaceful life.

The nearby entrance to the apartments linked to Nexus Hub used to be marked with an exquisite sign, dubbing the complex ‘Hub Heights’. It was now blackened. Its lights had been shut down, leaving its occupants in shadow. Defiant moved onward, torches attached to the ends of their weapons. The use of light unnerved some of them, but there was no other way they would be able to navigate the labyrinth.

The squad fanned out, Darren nearing the back. An ex-Purger named Guanto led. The light from the torch reflected off the silver walls, shining and occasionally blinding a Defiant. Their footfalls would clank, despite their best efforts and soft shoes. A bang.

The group stopped. Not a gunshot. But something.

Those at the back of the formation turned on their torches to watch their backs. The group formed a mismatched circle, some crouching for cover. Crying, a shushing. Silence.

Darren signed to two Defiant. ‘Check that out, over there.’

The two complied, guns at the ready. They flanked the open doorway where the sound seemed to emanate. The one shined a torch around the corner as the other held a mirror on a stick. Satisfied, they entered.

A scream followed. A female scream. Annabelle and Darren followed, the rest of the squad guarding the perimeter.

‘What are you doing?’ Darren bellowed.

The Defiant let go of the woman’s hair. His partner stood at attention, stone-faced but obviously nervous.

‘This grako and her zot is a Yellow’s, Commander.’

‘I don’t care if this lady was Dedelux’s wife. We hurt Yellows, Berrin and anyone who steps in our way. She’s a civvie. Lay off!’

The Defiant gritted his teeth. ‘Yes, Commander.’

As the two left the room, Darren spoke to the woman.

‘Stay here. Stay quiet. If a Defiant comes in, tell them that you’re under Darren Peterson’s protection.’

He crouched down to her level, staring her in the eyes.

‘But if you make a move against us, don’t think that protection will last. I don’t let innocents come to harm, but only if they remain innocent.’

The terrified woman hesitated for a second but then gulped and nodded.

Annabelle and Darren exited as a flashbang was dropped close to the one flank of the formation.

‘Hit the deck!’ Annabelle shouted.

Those with brains hit the floor as the flashbang blinded the group. Those left standing were torn apart by machinegun fire. Only the rubble and hastily erected cover from previous firefights saved those who had fallen to the ground.

The machinegun fire did not abate for a few more seconds. Then it stopped.

‘Return fire!’

Defiant stood and opened fire.

‘Charge, close the gap!’

The survivors charged to the end of the hallway, darting into rooms for cover.

Guanto fell to a single-shot to the face. Annabelle counted internally. At a certain number, she shouted.

‘Find cover!’

Her timing was impeccable and most of the Defiant could get to cover before the machinegun opened fire once again. A few foolhardy soldiers fell to the hail of bullets. When the gun ran out of ammo, they charged again.

The charging mass reached the end of the hallway and fell upon the Yellows before they could open fire again. The nest of three Yellows, faces as white as snow, was overwhelmed by the Defiant, who immediately engaged them in a melee. While they resisted, the three were no match for the Defiant squad.

As Darren examined the corpses of his comrades strewn throughout the hallway, he couldn’t help but worry that his leniency may have caused this. That maybe a civilian wasn’t always innocent. This thought stuck with him for much of his life, but did not stop him from leading his team throughout the complex, clearing out Yellows.

Finally, they rendezvoused at the entrance to the tunnel which led to Dedelux’s keep. Defiant forces had set up a veritable fortress at the position, awaiting clearance to attack. Ganru, Defiant, some mercenaries…all awaited the signal to storm the home of their oppressor.

Darren took out his radio and changed the channel.

‘Kolheim. Are you ready?’

‘Ramming Gatehouse in T-minus-ten seconds,’ Erryn responded.

‘Jilly, strap yourself in.’

The girl took a seat and clicked the twin straps over her. She checked her revolver a final time and then holstered it.

‘Crew, brace yourselves. Prepare for impact.’

Erryn locked on. Purple Menace and Jameson-I had cleared the way for her, at the expense of Purple Menace’s life.

This is for you, Purple Menace.

Erryn engaged the thrusters, slowly, charging and then when the speed was right…

‘This is for my crew.’

Erryn pulled down the Warp thrust, bolting close to the speed of light into Dedelux’s keep. The jolt shocked all of them as they exploded right into the seemingly impenetrable fortress. When the shock wore off, Erryn took off her seat belt.

‘Jilly, stay here,’ Erryn said, picking up her assault rifle.

‘I want to fight…’

‘No, you’re too…I need someone to guard the ship.’

Jilly sulked but didn’t argue.

‘Command, Kolheim has landed. Mopping up.’

‘Roger, Kolheim.’

Erryn exited the cockpit to see the hallway lined with armoured Defiant vanguard.

‘Let’s give ‘em what for!’ a Trooper Defiant named Frank McGraff shouted.

‘Oorah!’ another Trooper named Ruble responded.

‘For the Defiant,’ another shouted.

‘Defiant!’ the rest responded.

Erryn went to the side of the door, put her hand on the lever and pulled down. The first two Defiant fell to a hail of bullets and plasma blasts.

‘Get those skiting shields up!’

Energy shields activated, the shield-bearers led the charge. Bullets ricocheted off the energy, but every blow shoved the bearers back a bit. They were supported by their comrades, however, who could keep them moving.

There was no cover for the Yellows within these halls. This was a villa, not a fortress. They fell to the Defiant vanguard.

Erryn fired, killing some Yellows who were attempting to flank the formation. This wasn’t her first fight. Pegg pirates gave her lots of practice.

‘Keep moving, we need this room secure!’ Frank shouted. His firing stopped and he fell. Erryn leant down. A bloody hole dominated his right shoulder.

‘I’m skitin’ fine,’ Frank tried to bat her away.

‘No, sir. Getting you inside. Ruble will handle it. Frank didn’t attempt to argue as Erryn lifted him up and supported him as she took him back inside the Kolheim. They didn’t receive much fire, as the Defiant advance had secured most of the chokepoints.

Erryn helped Frank sit on one of the seats in the hallway.

‘Med-kit is in the cockpit.’

‘I’m skitin’ bleedin’ out, lass. Check me vest pockets. Got a band aid.’

‘Need to get the bullet out. You’ll be fine. Keep this on it.’ Erryn handed him a small pillow.

She left him and ran towards the cockpit, hoping to the Void that it wasn’t a hollow point.

In the cockpit, she went straight to the first aid kit. She opened it to look for a shrapnel remover, just in case.

‘Jilly, can you check under your seat for the advanced medic kit?’

There was no answer.

‘Jilly?’ Erryn turned and saw that she was alone.

‘Vushla,’ Erryn swore. She bolted to Jilly’s seat and found what she was looking for.

Lugging both cases back to Frank, she found him pale faced, but alive.

‘What took ya?’

‘Take this,’ Erryn offered some morphine.

Frank complied and administered it himself as Erryn placed a device over his shoulder. She activated it. Even with the painkiller, Frank still swore.

After a few seconds, she pulled it off. Thankfully, it was a normal round, but had lodged itself there. The device had pulled it out easily. She bandaged the wound.

‘Thanks, lass.’

‘Did you see a small girl come past here?’

‘Jilly? Nah.’

‘Vushla!’ Erryn repeated. Frank looked confused. The foul-mouthed Zonian didn’t recognise the alien curse.

Erryn searched the ship top to bottom. She somehow knew it was futile. She knew where that stupid little girl had gone. She just didn’t want it to be true.

Finally, she exited the Kolheim. Frank had since left the ship, feeling strong enough to fight.

The outside was quiet. Only distant gunfire broke up the unnerving silence. Defiant were using the area as a rest-point, but most of the force had moved to take the Keep.

Erryn walked past the wounded on stretchers and the few left to guard the medic bay and Kolheim. As she drifted further into the compound, the fighting became more intense. Rooms she passed were the scene of firefights or melees. None held Jilly.

‘Vushla, vushla, vushla,’ she whispered to herself. She didn’t know what else to do. It was the rudest curse she knew.

Yellows ahead. They fell in a hail of bullets. There was no fight for her here.

She entered an open door to her left. She glanced side to side and advanced to gain a better look. Her breath was knocked out of her as she was tackled from the side. A Yellow held a knife at her face, being held back by only the force of her arm. The Yellow punched her in the face with his free hand. The force broke a tooth, so she spat it and some blood straight into his unmasked face. She then kicked him in the groin and shoved him away. Just as she jumped to her feet, he pulled out a pistol.

Before he could fire, a bang left her shell-shocked. The Yellow slumped. A pool of blood formed from a hole in the side of his head.

Erryn turned and saw Jilly, holding a smoking gun.

‘Jilly!’

Jilly didn’t respond. She dropped the gun and brought her hands to her mouth. She started to hyperventilate, as tears streamed down from her eyes.

Erryn took her in her arms.

‘It’s okay, Jilly.’ Erryn stroked her dark brown, long hair. ‘He’s gone now.’

‘I…I killed him.’

‘You saved me.’

‘I killed him.’

Erryn leant back and looked her in the eyes. They were red and moist. It seems not all Zonians were killers.

‘You did what you had to do.’

‘I did,’ Jilly wiped her nose, still shaking. ‘For the…Defiant…’

‘For the Defiant.’



Automated and manned turrets peppered the perimeter of Gatehouse. The Kolheim had collided with the Keep, but would receive no reinforcements. No Defiant could cross this gap. Some begged to be allowed to cross now. They believed the Defiant would protect them. A lot of these had been Purgers back in Galis. Luckily, those with more sense, and less fanaticism, stopped them.

Dixie watched from the bullet-proof windows of the Hub. The silver Keep was only fifty metres away. He had personally zip-lined across much longer distances these past months. If it wasn’t for the turrets, the main force would have crossed the gap already.

‘That mobster grako,’ Dixie heard a Trooper swear.

‘Give him a chance, Nathan. Corporate’s ain’t to be trusted, but Galis gangs got a code.’

‘Hey!’

‘Sorry, Greg. Not all corporates are zots. Only some.’

‘Aegis was meant to have bombed them by now,’ Nathan continued.

‘Doesn’t mean that Don Marzio’s a zot.’

Nathan grunted.

‘All I know,’ Dixie interjected, leaning against the glass, ‘is that we don’t have the time to wait them out. Got a vanguard there. If they don’t come in…’

Deafening explosions followed by cheers interrupted him. Light blue flashes and fire lit up the Keep. White and red triangle ships swooped down for another run, cleaning up the remainder of the turrets.

‘That’s our cue, ladies and gentlemen,’ Darren Peterson shouted. ‘Masks on, get in your squads, get ready to bloody them up. For the Defiant!’

Dixie put his fist in the air but didn’t cheer with the rest of them. He placed his mask on and got in line. After everyone had put their masks on, the gate was opened. The air was cold but the masks kept them alive. Cannons were used to fire lines across to the other side. Snipers, the Defiant himself included, watched the end to check if it was clear.

‘Clear, go!’ the Defiant shouted.

Squad by squad zipped across the gap, icy crystal fields below emitting a noxious and disconcerting feeling. A few were shot down but the majority reached the end. It was now Dixie’s turn.

He got into position, clipped on and then jumped. He held his gun at the ready as he flew towards the other end. Jordan, to his flank, was hit and slumped in his harness. Dixie retaliated, firing into some murder holes. He landed with a jolt and unclipped. The remainder of his squad spread out, firing at any enemy, occasionally hitting a friendly in the distance. A flashbang was thrown in, Dixie covered his eyes to avoid the blast. Deafened, but still able to see, he fired on the Yellows who entered. They fell, but more replaced them. Unable to find cover, Dixie was shot in the leg and fell. A Yellow levelled his rifle at him and then fell to the ground. His comrades fell with him.

The Defiant came flying in, unclipping as he landed and seamlessly continuing to fire his pistol into the advancing Yellows. A fragmentation grenade was thrown into the room but was caught with the glow of blue energy. This was the first time Dixie had seen the fabled powers of his leader. He had not given the rumours credence. He had chalked it up to cults and fanaticism. He was only fine having James as a leader due to the loyalty he inspired. He had even felt bitter. Darren deserved the leadership. He had inspired the liberation of Underbelly Alpha. James had been a pretender. Dixie just didn’t want to rock the spaceship. Never had he truly thought James to be a God. Now he was a believer.



James caught the grenade and tossed it back through the doorway, keeping it there so it couldn’t be thrown back. It detonated.

‘Medic, take care of him,’ he ordered, pointing at the wounded Defiant bearing a crude strike leader emblem on his shoulder.

‘Why you never do stuff like that in prison?’ Alex Yurgan asked, taking his place by the doorway.

James grunted in response.

A tattooed woman with a short ponytail entered, leading a child. The child had obviously been crying, but her eyes shone when she saw James. Her mouth opened in awe.

‘Captain Erryn, is it?’ James asked.

The lady nodded. To James’ relief, she didn’t bear the same reverence for him that infected many of the other Defiant.

‘Status report, Captain?’

‘Vanguard has secured half the complex. After blowing open these holes for you, we set up footholds and have been expanding.’

‘Casualties?’

‘Not sure, Defiant.’

‘Call me James.’

‘Not sure, James.’

‘Let’s not delay,’ James announced to the room, as it filled with more Defiant. ‘Play it safe. Reinforce the vanguard. Stick to squads. You know the drill. Move out!’

‘Right behind you, Strike Leader,’ Grugo added.

James smiled. ‘Let’s go.’

The hallways were empty of living combatants. Dead Defiant and Yellows were strewn across the complex. Spent shells flooded the floor. Ascending the complex, James did not see any combat. When they met living combatants, they were friendly. They reported no sign of Dedelux.

‘The zot must be at the top,’ Ryan commented, checking his magnum’s rounds despite the lack of fighting. For someone who claimed to be sick of the violence, he was eager to serve in James’ squad.

‘Penthouse would make sense. Should have just let Aegis bomb the top,’ Nathan added.

‘And let us miss out on the fun?’ James replied, snidely. His grin disappeared off his face as he saw movement behind Nathan. Marshal also spotted it.

‘Yellow!’ Marshal shouted.

It was too late. The Yellow shot.

James dove forward and emanated Warp from his conduit. He caught the bullet a centimetre from Nathan’s head. Marshal shot the Yellow as Nathan stared at the bullet as it floated in mid-air.

‘Please get out of its way,’ James asked, straining a little.

Nathan complied, scarred face as white as a blizzard. James released the round and let it fly into a mural of Dedelux fighting Zangorians. Nathan fell to his knees, panting.

James put his hand on his shoulder, smiling. ‘Seems we’re even.’

Nathan only rubbed his Silver-T.



James’ squad met up with others as they reached the top floor of the Keep.

‘We only just got here,’ a Defiant named Annabelle commented.

‘We’re spent, James,’ Frank McGraff explained, indicating his wound and empty magazine.

‘No worries. We’ll take the front. It’s a small room. Can’t be too many.’

James’ squad took the front, Grugo and Ryan holding the energy shields.

‘Fire at will. We don’t need prisoners.’

The shield-bearers kicked open the door. Nathan, now recovered, James and Marshal fired over the shields and hit four Yellows. Dedelux had just left, his body a blur as bullets followed him.

‘After him!’

James took the lead, channelling Warp to pull the inner door off its hinges. Dedelux, his back to James, was within. James opened fire just as Dedelux jumped out the window, cape fluttering in the harsh wind.

James darted to the edge where he could see a hatch on a Berrin ship closing.

‘We need a rocket launcher!’

Marshal and Ryan passed down the message but the man with the rocket launcher arrived too late as the Berrin fighter sped out of range towards the atmosphere.

‘Skite. Grako zot,’ Grugo swore, kicking a waste basket.

Marshal radioed Commander Peterson.

‘Get fighters in the air. Tail the grako!’

Erryn was ripped from Jilly’s arms as duty called. She wasn’t a fighter pilot, but she knew how to fly. Others joined her as they sped to catch the dictator of Nova Zarxa.

James remained in the office, staring out the window where Dedelux had jumped. From his vantage, he could see Nexus Hub and many other buildings aflame. But no Yellow still drew breath.

It was time to get to work.

“You filfs don’t have the talent. What you have is me and your Conduit. So, listen to my instructions or go back to the lancer corps!” Imperial Warpmancer trainer

Chapter 26.                 Mind and Soul

From the rubble of Nexus, the silver city, great fortresses rose. Defiant, Grag-Tec, Aegis and the willing survivors of the civil war all pitched in to construct anti-orbital weapons, bunkers, safe zones and all manner of defences. The starports were once again open, and once traders realised the free market mind-set of the conquerors of Nova Zarxa, commerce flocked to the planet, cheaper tariffs than Dedelux’s being used to fund the Defiant war machine. Aegis and Grag-Tec, from self-interest or duty, both aided in the repair and fortification of the planet.

James was not a leader of peace. He could lead a squad through a battlefield. He could make a man smile as he died. His aura of authority was strong, and his prowess inspired the stronger willed. In times of peace, the interim between conflict, he delegated. The likes of Darren Peterson had risen to strong leadership roles in combat and during these peaceful times. He led the construction efforts in Nexus proper, with his delegates venturing out with Aegis and Grag-Tec officials to construct turrets and fortifications across the planet. While costly, the corporations saw the necessity of this venture and the flourishing trade on the frontier funded most of the defences. Some commented that with the deregulations, business had never been better than it was now. Even the rich and plastic looking cronies of Dedelux began to remain silent as their businesses churned out record profits. The times were good for the Zarxian tradesmen and entrepreneur. Very few outsiders would note that this was a planet preparing for a siege – if they didn’t peer out the window.

Huge mechs, armies of syns, large vehicles, repurposed gunships – all contributed to the construction of the fortresses and defences of the city and planet. Massive guns, force-fields, garrisons, bunkers. Nexus, despite its increasingly liberal atmosphere, was to be a fortress.

James observed this construction from a much lower point than most of Nexus, as he stood facing a giant construction syn as it held up the barrel of an orbital cannon. He wore his gasmask, as there was no protective glass this low down. This was a disused service room. Its old occupants used it too sparingly to justify the expensive sealed windows of Nexus proper. From here, James and Krag-Zot continued his training.

‘The construction will continue with or without your observation, Boymancer,’ Krag-Zot sighed. ‘Pay attention to the lesson.’

James walked away from the opening and sat down opposite the cross-legged Areq.

‘Your raw power is strong, and this helped you win the rebellion for your people. You gave them their freedom with your power. But it will not be enough against the Imperials. The Edal and Ulyx are both races adept at Warpmancy. Like our duel, they will twist your power against you. You need to attain the concentration and willpower befitting a Warpmancer.’

James nodded, the gesture overly emphasised to show through his mask.

Krag-Zot drifted his hand across the space between his crossed legs. A trail of blue smoke followed, forming into groups of people in motley groups.

‘You have gained the power, the followers. By raw force, your rebels overtook this city. But it was a tide against an undefended shore. The Imperials are different. They will come down as a hammer of the apocalypse. They are organised. They are relentless. Your people need discipline. They need a leader who can give them freedom.’

‘My people’s power is their freedom, Krag-Zot.’

Krag-Zot chuckled.

‘Naïve. Your people’s power is their loyalty to you. They do what they need to do, with your guidance. Freedom isn’t taken, it is given by the powerful.’

‘Wrong, Krag-Zot. Your Warp analogy may stand within your conception of freedom, or maybe if referring to your civilisation, but we’re different. Zonians fought oppression long before I became the Defiant. My rule is a sham. I help them and warn them of the coming danger, but I wasn’t their saviour. They saved themselves. They took freedom for themselves.’

Krag-Zot crossed his arms, a very human gesture. James continued.

‘I was in a cell when they took their own freedom. They worked together, yes. They had their leaders. But they chose those leaders. They chose to be led. Maybe, even, they chose me.’

‘The masses are cattle, Boymancer. They are instinctively drawn to the powerful. They naturally fought their oppressor, as is their nature, but despite your claim that they are powerful, they subjugate themselves to you.’

‘I ain’t subjugating anyone,’ James said through gritted teeth.

‘Not willingly. Alas, you are a slave to yourself. We are all slaves to our own whims – often more than others. A greater power grants us freedom from our inward weakness. They give us discipline. They deliver us from the chaos.’

‘Is this what they taught on Resh? Probably good its dead.’

Krag-Zot looked visibly stung, taken aback.

‘I’m sorry,’ James rescinded. ‘That went too far.’

Krag-Zot looked at the ground between his metal legs. His illusions were gone.

‘Have I ever told you what an Immortal was to do on blessed Resh?’

James shook his head, relieved at the change of topic.

‘We were protectors. We became powerful. We sacrificed ourselves so that we could give our people their freedom. We freed them from chaos, from disease, from invaders. We freed them from the bloody urges that constantly almost brought our species to extinction. We tried to protect them until the end. We failed.’

James remained silent.

Krag-Zot eventually looked up.

‘This is why we train. I failed to protect my people on this vile rock that was once my love. Now I will see you succeed or fail in protecting your people, while they are still left. Protect them in any way you want – the dangerous and capricious freedom you so love, or the freedom from strife that we once promised. Maybe you’re right. We failed. We couldn’t end strife. Our freedom was unattainable. Maybe you will have better luck.’

Krag-Zot stood.

‘Our time grows short. Any hour could herald Imperial invasion. Stand up.’

James complied.

‘Toss that pan.’

James bent down and lifted the practice pan. He then threw it like a disc. Krag-Zot pointed at the pan as it flew and then clicked. A shard of energy shot out and snapped the pan in two.

James jumped in a rare showing of surprise.

‘A protector destroys,’ Krag-Zot explained, his white face showing no signs of emotion. ‘A Warpmancer constructs and deconstructs reality to their whim. Grasp the Warp, shape reality. Don’t just take what is there. Bring the Warp into physical existence. Shape it like my illusions, give it form. Then send it into your foes.’

Hours after, James learnt how to send his own Warp shards into the air. The casualties were the entire collection of assorted targets Krag-Zot had been using since the beginning.

James lightly kicked a piece of one of the pans he had struck in two. The seam glowed blue and then faded to a scorched black. James didn’t need them anymore for precision practice. But this wanton destruction was not the cause of James’ sombre jubilation. In shaping the shard, James realised something else. The Warp could be used not only to manipulate what already existed physically, but to completely fabricate reality itself.



Erryn’s mind and soul wept. Her face was dry. Her eyes were not red, but she wept. Nobody stared at her anymore. She had become a common sight outside Jilly’s abode, where the kid brooded these days. Erryn also brooded from outside the charming shanty. Occasionally, all manner of friends, distant family and therapists entered. Jilly remained despondent. Of course, she feigned being okay. She tried to accept what she had done. She was too smart for that though. Erryn knew that Jilly wasn’t some drone that could get over killing a guy. She was a thinker. Unfortunately, this thinking hurt her, deeply.

‘Still sitting here, Captain?’

Erryn looked up to see the face of Sergeant Yobu. He offered a steaming cup. Erryn accepted and drank. It was coffee. Erryn’s eyes widened and she took another gulp, scorching her tongue without any regret.

Yobu chuckled.

‘Shipment came in from Grengen. First real coffee I’ve had in years.’

‘Last time I tasted coffee this good was in Scorpius Prime. Too bad it was just a dream and I woke up missing a kidney. But wow, this stuff is amazing.’

Yobu smiled. And then indicated to the space next to her. She nodded and he sat.

They sat in silence, for a while, just watching. With Dedelux’s reign over, Zonians were now allowed to purchase and rent property around the city. Even the xenophobes complied, first through fear and then through the power of the mighty Credit. The Defiant now paid their soldiers, and the families could upgrade their abodes. Many homes had unfortunately been left ownerless by the civil war, so it was unclear how their allotment would be decided. As much as it visibly seemed to pain the Defiant himself, he had publicly announced the seizure of properties left without any clear owner. The properties were then converted to military means or sold to fund the war effort.

War effort. That was something Erryn was sceptical about. The war was over. Dedelux lost. Zonians had a new planet. Why did they continue to act like they were fighting? All Defiant knew of the mechs and construction crews being used to construct the weapons and fortresses outside. James, the Defiant, was preparing for a siege. Whispers said Imperials. Zarxians and some Zonians tried to refute these claims. Erryn didn’t know what to believe.

Finally, Yobu broke the silence.

‘Why did you join the Defiant? You ain’t a Zonian. Not even a real oppressed Zarxian. You’re shipborn.’

Erryn shrugged.

‘I’m still not sure myself. Revenge, I’d like to think. Dedelux impounded my ship. But could just as easily blame the rebellion for aggravating him. Could also say principle. I don’t like being tethered. I don’t like bullies. Defiant stood up to a bully, should be enough. But even that ain’t it.’

She paused for a long time. Yobu filled the gap.

‘You know my story?’

Erryn shook her head.

‘I was in James’, I mean the Defiant’s, squad back on Zona Nox. He saved us. Took us across that bleeding desert and saved us straight from a Xank ship. I was only serving on Zona Nox for a day. I don’t think he knew, but I didn’t have any idea what I was doing. But I didn’t need to. He led us through there. He inspired us to be greater men. He turned gangsters, Troopers, aliens…into comrades. When we got here and Dedelux, my commander, started killing James’ people...when he arrested him. It wasn’t really a choice. I’m a Trooper. I stick to the black and red, but if being a Trooper meant not serving under that boy, now a man, I’d rather be defiant.’

‘Thanks, Yobu,’ Erryn finally replied. She meant it. Yobu found the response odd, but didn’t press.

Erryn was truly thankful. James inspired Yobu and his men. Erryn was different. James was powerful, but he meant little to her. What meant so much to her, no matter how short a time or how miniscule their life had been together, was seeing a little girl struggling to put up a poster twice her size, but never giving up. That girl now lay in the house behind her, a victim of Erryn’s stupidity.

Why did I bring her with? Because she wanted to come. War is no place for children. Jilly ain’t your child. But she’s still a child.

‘I shouldn’t have let her on that ship.’

‘We all have regrets, Erryn. We let her on because she wanted to go. Simple as that. I couldn’t say no to that look on her face. Not to say that she is to blame, but neither is it us. We were irresponsible. At least she isn’t dead. It is as good a consolation as any to what she went through.’

Before Erryn could reply, metal-footfalls echoed near them. Yobu stood at attention but James, flanked by two lower-ranking Defiant, waved at him dismissively. Yobu stood at ease and sat down again.

‘What’s he doing here?’ Erryn asked, almost coming out as a hiss.

Yobu didn’t seem to notice the tone. ‘Thought you’d been here since the coup. He’s come every day to visit Jilly.’

Erryn raised an eyebrow.

James entered and Erryn, a few minutes afterwards, followed. She was immediately stopped by the two Defiant, who were waved away by Yobu.

Jilly was laughing. James laughed with. Erryn watched from around the corner, Yobu behind her.

‘No, no. That move isn’t allowed,’ Jilly laughed, moving a plastic figurine back to its original position.

‘I’m still not getting this game,’ James frowned. Erryn noticed bags under his eyes, but his smile distracted from that. Erryn had never seen him like this.

‘It’s simple,’ Jilly explained, now serious, ‘you can only move the frigates between adjacent planets.’

‘But starships can warp way further than that!’

‘Rules are rules, dummy. If you could warp past my frontier planets, then the game would end too quickly.’

‘Okay, okay,’ James conceded the point. ‘I’ll try again.’

Erryn left soon after that. She smiled. Jilly’s smile was enough to lift the cloud, but Erryn also felt a tinge of jealousy. Fighting that down, Erryn offered to repay Yobu for the coffee through a free ride around the planet. He accepted.

“There is no greater a tragedy than civil war, whereby brother slays brother, father and son for the petty ideals taught to him by some narcissist he will never meet and who will never know him.” – Opening line of Where Martyrs Lie by an unknown author.

Chapter 27.                 Bad Blood

‘Goddammit, Rob,’ Danny whispered, flicking his cigarette into the bin. A face flashed in his mind’s eye. A pale, young, bloodied face. He fought it down and it disappeared. He shook his head and left his spot by the corner of the temporary Aegis embassy, located in one of the central hub towers. The Defiant Command had moved to Dedelux’s headquarters – the Keep. It was better equipped to run such a large state. And as was the case with states, all manner of groups and entities began to form and surround the Defiant, for profit and power.

Aegis had sent down a small crew to communicate with the Defiant, but nobody that Danny knew. He was disappointed but spent his time running messages between the Defiant and Aegis. All in all, he was a glorified messenger. Rather than use the internal network to contact James, he was expected to use his history with the Shadow of Galis to negotiate. For what, Danny was still not sure.

‘Danny, message for the Defiant,’ he heard one of the clerks shout from the entrance.

Danny waltzed over, his hands in his pockets. The clerk read from his tablet computer.

‘Aegis needs its own starport. Make it happen. – Q.’

Danny sighed and left towards Dedelux’s old keep, now dubbed Fort Nexus. Along the way, he observed all manner of people – traders, soldiers, civilians – both Zonian and Zarxian, as well as many other off-worlders. Only a week before, they had been at each other’s throats. Now, the unifying power of credits brought them all together. It was beautiful.

Jasper the Trooper waved him through into Fort Nexus. The scene inside was a bustle of clerks, soldiers, corporate representatives and Defiant officials refusing their demands. While Quentin had told him to speak to James directly, that was not how things worked. Darren Peterson was the Chancellor, as appointed by the Defiant. He handled all matters of peace in the city and planet. Danny had no special privileges with him.

‘I have an appointment,’ Danny explained to the receptionist. A multitude of individuals from a myriad of organisations and races sat in rows of seats in front of the receptionist’s desk.

‘Daniel Marzio? Yes, Darren will see you as soon as possible. Please take a number.’

Danny put his hand under the machine and allowed it to imprint the top with special ink. He glanced at the screen and saw the number fifty-six. His number was one-hundred and eleven. From experience, Danny knew that these meetings could go on for hours. He decided to go for a stroll. It couldn’t hurt.

Fort Nexus had been transformed from a villa to a command centre reminiscent of the corporate tower’s in Titan City. Murals had been stripped and sold. Guest and trophy rooms had been transformed into offices. The Defiant was ready to govern this city, to ensure that it remained safe and prosperous.

Despite the deregulation of trade, Nexus had never seen such a need for bureaucracy. This was to be expected. While the clipboards had moved from the docks to the desks, there was still a need for mediators, planners and inventory management. Corporates met with Defiant planners to determine the best way that they could work together to defend the planet, citizens took their peers to court over property disputes. Many sought reparations after the war. This was all to be expected after such a violent conflict.

Danny was eyed by some guards, but he was left alone. Many people knew him and knew that James trusted him.

As he turned a hallway, he walked straight into a group of three. James was flanked by a bearded man, who Danny recognised to be Marshal Rekkie, and an Exanoid wearing a Grag-Tec uniform.

‘Don! Good to see you.’

‘Likewise, Defiant. How has being ruler treated you?’

‘Not so bad, actually.’ James half-smiled. ‘I’m a war leader. They don’t expect me to do much besides help plan the defence. My delegates are doing a satisfactory job. What are you doing here?’

‘Meeting with one of your gloriously appointed delegates. The boss wants a starport for Aegis.’

‘He going to pay for it?’ the Exanoid interjected.

Danny shrugged. ‘He always leaves those things out. I presume so.’

‘Could be beneficial having star bombers and fighters planet-side. If their hangars above orbit are destroyed, then they will be dead in the void. A land-hangar will be much more reliable. I’d support such a motion,’ Marshal added.

‘Think about after the siege, James,’ the Exanoid grimaced. ‘Giving a starport to Aegis would give them a disproportionate amount of power here. You would lose your monopoly on the starports.’

‘A monopoly I only hold until we successfully defend the Imperial’s attack. And besides, didn’t Grag-Tec hold a starport?’

‘Yes, but that’s for freighters…’

‘That could be easily replaced by frigates,’ Danny smirked. ‘I don’t hold any misgivings with Grag-Tec, you guys make a decent computer, but don’t play corporate politics here. We have a planet of my people at stake.’

The Exanoid blushed. ‘I hold you no ill will, but I do distrust Aegis. You can tell your boss that. First it will be a hangar for star bombers, and then Nexus will be a ruin with a red globe flag hoisted above it.’

He turned to James.

‘We need military support, yes. We will get it. The Grag-Tec fleet is on route. Don’t rely on these zots. Grag-Tec has defended Nova Zarxa since we settled it. We will continue to do so.’

James sighed and clutched the bridge of his nose in thought.

‘Aegis is here. The Grag-Tec fleet is not,’ the Marshal argued. ‘Politics takes a backseat to survival, Quok.’

‘Politics is survival,’ Quok stated, through gritted teeth.

At that moment, an explosion rocked the building. The group, all except for Quok, immediately steadied themselves. The Exanoid’s inferior balance gave way and he tumbled to the floor.

‘Sector A compromised. Defenders to Sector A. Multiple armed hostiles in Sector A,’ Nathan announced over the intercom.

James and Marshal immediately un-holstered their weapons.

‘You got a piece?’ James asked of Danny.

‘Not coming into a government building with a gun, James.’

‘Your loss. Take one of mine.’

James handed him a Titan manufactured pistol. A sturdy, hard-hitting model.

The three of them, as Quok stayed to catch his breath, bolted towards Sector A, the main foyer. The scene they found there was horrific. Smoke and ash filled the air. People lay wounded and dead. Shrapnel was embedded in their bodies, or had simply sawed their limbs clean off.

‘Open fire! Don’t let him get close!’ a Defiant Captain shouted, pointing at the bridge entrance to the room.

Everyone opened fire on the entrance, but Berrin, Yellows and masked orange and black individuals reflected the rounds with personnel shields. It was too late. A Yellow, sweaty and dishevelled, ran into the foyer and detonated himself.

James raised his hand in a flash and a wall of blue energy protected those near and behind him. Some were not so lucky as geradite shards ripped them to shreds.

‘No more games,’ James announced through gritted teeth. He waved his hand, as if beckoning. The entire front row of enemy shields flew towards him and stopped at the Defiant line. The undefended combatants soon fell.

As the enemies holding the bridge died, allies revealed themselves from the back.

‘James, it’s Berrin,’ Leroy explained.

‘And Yellows, and these odd grako,’ Grugo added.

‘Zerian,’ Danny announced, kicking one of them onto its back so to examine the uniform.

‘Skite! Race traitors. Should have known,’ Marshal swore.

‘It gets worse,’ Kumichō Kota said, hobbling towards James while flanked by two Ganru. ‘They are tearing up Nexus. Ganru headquarters was bombed by some fanatic. This force was one of the smaller ones. A larger force has attacked Underbelly Alpha…’

Marshal swore incomprehensibly and broke off into a run. James pursued him but lost him in the chaos as he watched his new city burn.



Marshal had lost many people in his life. He had lost his parents decades ago. He had lost friends, acquaintances, comrades, superiors, inferiors. At Ganymede, he had lost his soul. A soldier’s life was loss. After that brutal battle on that skiting moon, he never thought he could feel true pain again. Yet he had never felt anything like this.

The air smelled of burnt plastic and geradite. It stung the nostrils. A sweet, cutting sensation through his sinuses. It was hot. Blistering heat came in waves from all directions, as flames immolated homes. Gas ganisters, so crucial for survival, had become explosives. Not everyone died in the flames. Many lay dead, filled with geradite shrapnel, lead or steel bearings. Some were burnt by plasma or laser. Some had simply been beaten to death. Ralph, Marshal’s boy, was riddled with bloody holes. Marshal the Ranger noted that his son’s fatal wounds had been fired using a gauss gun. Marshal the father noted that his son had died with a pistol in his hand. Only anger allowed him to pass his son’s corpse and kick open the door to his bedroom. He dropped his gun and fell to his knees.



Arnald Hermann evaded the pulse blasts and torpedoes of the Berrin ships as if he had been a trained fighter pilot. Flying through the crystal wrought storms of Nexus was good practice for the once civilian mechanic. Missiles and blasts from pirate raiders was child’s play compared to the shield-rending warp bolts.

James was prepping his assault rifle. FireBolt was strung over his shoulder, but he doubted he would be given the opportunity to use it. Underbelly Alpha was a densely packed neighbourhood still, despite the liberation. Many Zonians felt an attachment to the place. Upgrades to its utilities had helped keep many of them in their original abodes. Shanties had been upgraded to houses, densely packed into rows. Because of this, its streets were made for close quarters. But one never knew. A sniper rifle may always come in handy.

He was accompanied by some of his Troopers and a group of Ganru. Alongside his shuttle, Defiant fighters and dropships moved troops around the city. The majority were headed to Underbelly Alpha, where the fighting was hottest and where Marshal had sped madly towards his endangered family.

James winced at the thought.

Please let it not be so. James begged.

‘Landing in ten…nine…eight…’

Arnald counted down and the group unbuckled and got into position on either side of the dropship for deployment.

‘Two…one. Opening doors!’

The doors whooshed open and they were welcomed by gunfire. Personnel shields and returned fire kept most of them alive. James clutched a Zerian with Warp and threw him into a group of his comrades. He then opened fire. The enemies were dead, but there were more. Underbelly Alpha, where this had all started, stood aflame. James only hoped it was not too late.



Marshal climbed over a small home and then leapt over the other side onto an unsuspecting Yellow. His pick, meant to be used for prying open geradite maintenance boards, pierced the helmeted skull with a clunk and a crunch. Marshal used the element of surprise to then kick at the other Yellow, distracting him long enough to be disarmed and held in a strangle hold. Knife to the Yellow’s throat, Marshal demanded.

‘Dedelux?’

‘Go to the Void, zot,’ the Yellow growled.

‘Only after you, unless you’re wanting to live. Where is Dedelux?’

The Yellow spat. Marshal clutched him by the neck and then stabbed him in the thigh, away from any vital arteries. He then twisted it. The Yellow screamed.

‘Where is Dedelux?’

‘He led the attack himself,’ the Yellow eventually panted. ‘He’s somewhere here.’

‘So, the zot wants blood for himself?’

Marshal took out his knife and wiped it on the Yellow’s pants. He then went to retrieve his pick. The Yellow was wheezing and suppressing further screams as he clutched his wound. Marshal shot him in the head.

The attack had a pattern. A trail. One only needed to follow it. Marshal skulked in the shadows. He invoked all his Ranger training. Decades of service culminated in hiding in burnt plastic hovels and behind exploded gas canisters. He heard his allies behind him, but they were too far off. He couldn’t risk going back. He had to catch him.

A lone individual can often always move faster than a group. Especially a group devoted to destroying all in its path. The Rangers were designed to take advantage of this. When the enemies of humanity pillaged and destroyed, the Rangers tracked them and put them down. Marshal had done this hundreds of times before. He had put down countless aliens and countless humans in his quest to defend humanity. It now meant nothing. All that mattered now was putting this one target down.

The main squad was noisy. Marshal could clearly hear and then see them as they marched along the path between flaming shanties. There were around twenty of them. In the centre stood a red and gold armoured individual wearing a crown of roses.

Not all of Underbelly Alpha’s structures were flammable, and Marshal used these to gain the height advantage. Concealed on the second-floor of an unburnt shanty, Marshal waited for Dedelux’s squad to close the gap. As they turned their backs on his position, he tossed a frag grenade.

The back row exploded and splattered all over the geradite. Dedelux turned and ordered his men to open fire as he ran for it, followed by more of his cronies. Marshal had already left.

Dedelux was a vain man. He was hubristic. Marshal knew this. There was no other reason that the man would so foolhardily lead the attack himself. Marshal didn’t try to understand the zot, however. In time, there would be much less to understand.

Dedelux, and his group of now four accompanying Yellows, had stopped near the wall of the Underbelly. They were trapped on either side by buildings. A straight road led up to their position. They would use the clear position as a killing field.

Marshal peaked out from his position. He could smell nauseating perfume and fake roses. He could also smell urine. Dedelux had his back to him.

They stood with their guns towards the empty street, ducking down for cover. Their master had his back almost to the wall. He would be safe from any charging Defiant.

Marshal climbed out of the shattered window of what was once Darren Peterson’s attempted store. He was a hands-width away from Dedelux. He leaned in close, so that the man could feel his breath.

‘This is for my family.’

Dedelux turned just as Marshal brought a pick down into his chest, piercing his heart. Dedelux fell without a word.



James pulled back the bolt and then pulled the trigger. Before the Yellow could turn around, he lay dead. Marshal used the distraction and leapt for cover. Shots followed him. James swore as he pulled back the bolt and fired again. He missed as the last Yellow entered the building after Marshal.

‘After them!’ James shouted.

His squad surged forward. James’ superior speed allowed him to outpace them easily. He arrived slightly before a few other Defiant. Marshal was on the ground, bloodied and bruised. His beard was flecked with blood. A Yellow held a gun to his head. Another pointed one at James.

‘Put the guns down!’ James ordered, sending forth his aura.

It didn’t work. Their adrenaline blocked his manipulation.

‘This criminal executed the lawful governor, terrorist. We must enact the law.’

‘I am the law,’ James rebuked.

‘You are a terrorist!’

James’ squad poured in and surrounded the group. No one fired. Marshal’s eyes were sunken. He didn’t seem to be feeling anything at all.

Revenge, not allowed to fester, was hollow, James mused.

He let out a breath. ‘Let us calm down. You must know that you have few options here. You shoot him, we execute you. You let him go, and we can negotiate.’

‘We will never negotiate with terrorists!’ the Yellow with his gun to Marshal’s head yelled.

His companion’s nervous demeanour showed that the sentiment was not mutual.

‘You negotiate or die. Make a choice.’

There was silence. Deafening silence. Nobody made a move. The Yellows and a few of the Defiant were sweating. Both Marshal and James were stone-faced.

Then there was shouting.

The startled Yellow fired but James had anticipated it and had sent him flying into the wall. His companion immediately dropped his gun and raised his hands. Marshal remained kneeling.

Jasper came flying into the room.

‘Defiant! Defiant!’ Jasper panted.

‘Calm down,’ James ordered.

‘I can’t calm down, Defiant,’ Jasper wheezed through his panting as he doubled over and hurled.

‘It’s all over. They’re here.’

‘Who is here?’

‘The skies gone silver. White and silver-clad zots descend from the Void. Imperials are here, Defiant. Terra save us!’

“Between slavery and extinction, I choose freedom.” - Emperor Mereel of Kragon before the inevitable annexation of his world and his subsequent execution.

Chapter 28.                 All or Nothing

Leri drove his cybernetic fist into the metal wall, denting it. No one thought this rash. Many would do the same if they had the capacity. Instead, they stared at the ground, others into empty space. Many drew their own blood from too tight a clenched talon. The doctor wept, holding Leri’s daughter in his arms. The chicklet was not breathing. She could not breath. The Xank had stripped her of any capacity to run her own faculties. Broken egg shell and fluid clung to the brainless being. She had not been placed in the Xank life support system. She had no chance. No opportunity to survive. For whatever that would have been worth.

Leri kept his fist in the dent for a bit longer, then withdrew it. He clenched his talons and examined them. Nothing was damaged. He looked over to his daughter and then looked away. The doctor disposed of her.

Similar scenes were rife over these past weeks, as all females were born brain-dead from their eggs. Only those with male children were somewhat spared the torment. Leri envied them.

Wordlessly, his comrades left the hatchery. He did not leave with them. He stared at the dent he had made.

So much power. But for what? His daughter’s shell stood cracked and empty atop the incubator table. He couldn’t change her fate.

Peron waited outside. The Gleran blinked interchangeably between his six eyes. He crossed two of his arms behind his back.

‘Rii…’

‘He did this, Peron,’ Leri interrupted him.

Peron blinked, questioningly.

‘The Lector. He must have known. He didn’t tell us.’

‘He had nothing to do with this!’

Leri looked him in the eyes. Peron flinched.

‘Don’t be afraid. I know you’re innocent. You wouldn’t have known. It’s not a part of your plan. Your lofty ideals. No…I know it’s not you. But your, our, master. The Word Lector must have known.’

Peron seemed to take in a breath. He then spoke more calmly.

‘I, and you, have access to the entire Word Lector archives, all personally catalogued, and many written, by the Lector himself. There is no mention of this in any of them.’

‘He censored it,’ Leri waved the response aside, walking briskly down the hallway. The Gleran followed, as best he could.

‘To what end?’

‘To hide guilt, to prevent me from being too demoralised to fight this war for him. Any number of reasons. All that is important is that he lied to us.’

Peron frowned his insectoid frown. He was not sure of the answer himself.

Xupa saluted as Leri entered his office, Peron in tow.

‘Rii! My condolences.’

‘Stand down,’ Leri snapped. Xupa sat down. ‘Gather the horde. I wish to speak to them from atop the citadel.’

Xupa nodded and began contacting the relevant officers around the city using Xank communication tech.

Leri once again sped down the hallway. Peron’s exoskeleton supported legs were able to keep up – a benefit of his species.

‘What are you planning?’ Peron asked, not breaking his stride.

‘The Xank didn’t mutate one generation of our women, Peron. They mutated our species. They made our seed, or their wombs, unable to birth healthy females. Only men, so to serve them.’

Leri stopped. They were in an empty hallway. Leri was facing the floor, resting his fist on the wall. He shivered. Peron reached in, but Leri looked up and continued the stride.

‘I did not spend my entire life, and the lives of all my ancestors, to watch my people become a species made only for war. They earned a family. They earned tenderness!’

Light at the end of the hallway. Peron squinted, closing two of his eyes.

They arrived on a balcony, overlooking a sea of orange. There were no cheers as the baking sun illuminated the city Kazh-aira. A silent crowd. Barely a buzz of sound.

‘My people!’ Leri shouted, his voice amplified by microphone. His voice would be carried to even those on duty outside of the city.

‘Our enslavers, oppressors, once held our chains. We broke them, and then strangled them ‘till they let go. We showed that Zangorians are a free race. But…we aren’t free yet. Our women have been stolen from us! Even now, they remain in Xank cages. They scream for us to save them. They writhe in generations of pain. They want to scream, but they cannot. But I hear them. Do you? I hear them screaming for us. We need to save them. We will save them! We will free them from this disease. We are warriors. We will go to the heart of our enslavement – we will crush them. We will free our women!’

A few cheers rang out. Not enough. Leri continued.

‘Our brethren from across the stars cry out. They feel our pain. They will help us. We must reach them, unite them. Some will not be able to resist the Xank. Will you let them suffer the chain any longer? I cannot. We must show the Xank that we are no longer their slaves. We are no longer their playthings. We will build mighty warships. Not Xank ships. These will belong to our great people. They will dwarf cities – moons, even. They will blot out the skies of the Xank worlds. We will use them to conquer the stars. We will seek out the Xank and we will kill every single one!’

‘Rii! Rii! Rii!’ boomed across the city, a mini-earthquake followed. Zangorians stamped, fuelling a fervour that wracked Kazh-aira for many hours afterwards. The day that followed, they began.



The Xiu shone gold in the morning light. Crafted from blitz-metal, it would withstand the humidity of Zeruit and the pressure of space. Its smooth sides hid countless compartments, designed to reveal any manner of cannon or fighter. These cannons and fighters, reverse engineered from Xank technology, would be more than capable of competing with their enslaver’s ships.

Unhidden, but by no means inelegant, two massive guns were located on the front of the ship. They stretched multiple blocks across Kazh-aira, leaving huge shadows over the plains below. Scaffolding surrounded parts of the ship. At night, Leri could see sparks erupt from where welders continued work, throughout the dark.

The ship itself dwarfed the capital of this backwater homeworld. Like how Leri’s daughter would have been, her namesake was now the pride of his people.

While Tek’roa’s resources from the War Lectorate allowed them to construct a fleet of space-faring war vessels, the Xiu was a hybrid of new Zangorian and Xank design. It was to be the flagship of their crusade. From there, the war would be planned, fought and won.

Leri watched the finishing of the construction of the ship from his perch on the citadel. On other flanks of the walled city, smaller vessels were being constructed. Further afield, Zangorians were training to pilot these crafts, using the ships provided by Tek’roa. The instructors were initially sparse, with only two pilots who accompanied Tek’roa, but as more pilots passed, they trained even more. As the craftsmen became even more skilled at reverse engineering Xank vessels, they gained even more ships to train with.

On other parts of the planet, Leri’s forces spread out and secured all strategic locations. Kazh-aira was now supported by a planetary network of food and commodities. In these settlements, the squads trained. There was never an idle moment, for they all knew that they were at war.

The golden sun reflected off the blitz-metal of the Xiu. Since the hull had been finished, it had become a welcome sight to Leri throughout the day. He couldn’t have a daughter, but he could have this – his vengeance, his means to an end. His all.

Throughout these months, he had overseen this work, not only acting as a symbol of Zangorian independence, but as an administrator and judge. Where disputes did rise, as were inevitable in any society, he oversaw the courts to enforce Zangorian law. Otherwise, he delegated tasks and oversaw the training and appointment of new leaders. Sometimes he would train the elite troops. He seldom ever oversaw the construction officially, however. Creation was not his expertise. He did not shape – he reshaped. He left the ways of peace, of crafting the weapons of war, to those with the knack or the experience. But this did not stop him from watching his empire grow. Everything he had worked for, every bit of blood, grit and dirt, went into these ships – the Xiu, among the rest.

So, Leri gazed at the Xiu, namesake of his daughter that had never been, as the sun rose and shone off its titanic hull. But then, the sun did not shine. Darkness replaced the blinding reflections. Shadow. Zipping, and then silence. Everyone stopped. Welding sparks ceased. Workers hung from their harnesses. Pilots-in-training circled and landed. Soldiers looked up from their posts or the range. Craftsmen stopped their hammering, crafting and creating. Leri looked upon the sky.

Many fell to the ground as a thunderous bang echoed across the land. Leri’s grip upon the wall of the balcony kept him steady. Where there had once been open sky, there was now a host. The morning light was blotted out by inky black vessels bearing the flag of the Xank. They hung in the air, more warping into position with zips and sonic booms. They waited, and as promptly as they had arrived, they fired.

Buildings exploded, covering the dropships as Xank slaves flooded into the city.  Leri didn’t leave his perch. He knew his people would know what to do. He watched from the tower of his ancestors as a sea of Zangorian orange, robot grey and Gleran green amassed around the city. His free Zangorians prepared to meet them. Melee and chaos erupted in the streets. Workers of peace became warriors once again. They fought, talon and claw. Blood and plasma. The Xank had come to make their stand, slaves and all. Free Zangorian, versus their oppressors. They gave it their all. For they knew that without victory, there would be nothing. Leri watched his empire burn. This would be the end – one way or the other.

“We glorify war not to promote it, but to trick the veterans that their sacrifices were not in vain, and ourselves that we did not murder a generation of young due to our own cowardice.” – Justification of the Ganymede Incident, presented by an Anonymous commander to a journalist after the battle. The statement was never officially published.

Chapter 29.                 Fall of Nova Zarxa

White-blue light sizzled as it cut through the Geradite roofing of the Nexus hub. Underneath, assorted Defiant soldiers aimed at the sky and varying entrances to the market place. They did not know what the enemy looked like. They only knew the sight and smell of the plasma torches burning through the walls and roof. There were no clicks of weaponry, chatter or oaths. Only the fearful panting of those who feared their time had come.

Dixie stood among them, a chevron showing that he led this motley crew. He wore dark Kevlar, the blue chevron on his shoulder and the black-and-blue Defiant flag upon his chest. He wore an anti-kinetics helmet with advanced heads-up-display and mini-deflectors. His advanced gear didn’t change a thing. They were still insurgents, criminals, thugs. He knew this. The uniform was only a pretension, an upgrade that masked the truth. Dixie took the role of squad leader, but he didn’t truly believe that they were a nation. They were killers, blessed by a killing God.

A spark fell onto the shoulder pad of a Defiant to Dixie’s side. It sizzled through the material as the man hastily patted it out. Dixie only glanced at him for a second, not removing his sights from the half circle forming on the roof. He would not miss the first opportunity to fire.

He held a new assault rifle. It was a welcome upgrade from his home-made bolt action. There were benefits to peace, it seems, as his weapons of war became better. Through the holographic sights, he watched the circle burn bigger.

It had only been minutes, but seemed as if they had been waiting for hours. Dixie had been ordered by Darren Peterson to secure the Hub while the Defiant himself rushed to Underbelly Alpha. They had finished mopping up Yellows, Berrin and what he was told were Zerian operatives, when they got the call to dig-in. Imperials, command said. Dixie acted like he knew what that meant. Sure, he did. He knew they were the great enemy that the Defiant kept going on about. Despite Dixie’s belief in the Defiant’s power, however, he didn’t really understand. The fight was for them to survive, to secure this new home. It was to make those Zarxian zots pay for treating them like pit-slugs. Dixie had been a Zenite back in Galis. He was trained to kill humans. He had only ever killed humans. He didn’t really comprehend what killing an alien would be like. Nevertheless, he stood and watched the glow grow.

Nexus civilians lay cowering underneath tables, counters and behind stalls. There had been no time to evacuate them. Defiant forces had to assault the Hub and eliminate the hostiles while avoiding collateral damage. The call to reinforce the Hub, and the plasma cutting on the roof, followed soon after. Now, Dixie stood, leading his squad to defend the people he hated. The thought brought a sneer to his face. But he did not shirk his duty. If a Zenite was taught anything, it was to hold the line.

A crash. The glows stopped. Defiant opened fire. Rounds ricocheted off the sides of the hole. No one fell.

‘Hold fire!’ Dixie shouted, amplified through his squad transmitter.

A few more shots but then they halted. Dixie looked around the room. Defiant still stood at their positions. Civilians cowering. Masks on all friendlies. Fumes wouldn’t harm them.

‘Grenades!’

Dixie dove for cover as circular objects dropped from the roof.

Explosions of sparks and blue energy detonated around the surface of the Hub. Dixie watched from his haven as fellow Defiant had arms ripped off. A Defiant, healthy on one side, turned to reveal that half his body was blackened. He collapsed to the ground. Without orders, the survivors opened fire.

The projectiles blocked any view outside the hole. Dixie couldn’t give any orders over the transmitter. And then everything went black.

After the lack of light, everyone noticed the chill. The façade of warmth in Nexus had been destroyed. They were freezing.

The firing stopped. Nobody could see where they were aiming. Those with night vision fumbled to turn their apparatus on, to no avail.

Then an oomph. A scream. A shout. Someone fired.

Skite, skite, skite.

A bang. A crash. A zip…. with clicks, the backup generator turned on. Civilians screamed as silver-clad figures were intermingled among the group. Defiant opened fire. Dixie pulled the trigger, releasing the load at the nearest alien.

The figure batted the rounds aside, and then shoved in Dixie’s direction. Dixie was flung backwards. He crashed with a thud into a hardware display.

The figure was bathed in silver. Its armour had no eye holes, no features. It seemed to be made of silver itself. It brought up a sceptre, crowned with a crystal, and then was shot. Pale liquid squirted from the hole in its head. Annabelle helped Dixie up.

‘You ain’t got permission to die yet, Zenite.’

‘Roger, Blade.’

Dixie promptly lifted his weapon once again and killed what he now knew could be killed.

An Imperial fell from the roof with barely a thud and then began firing energy blasts from a staff-shaped firearm. Dixie let him eat carbon rounds. Annabelle watched his back, taking down Imperials who were now attempting to flank from the south.

A Defiant fell, and then another. Dixie and Annabelle sprinted for new cover, taking it at the office of a mining recruitment stall. Dixie pulled the trigger. Clicks.

‘Cover me.’

Annabelle didn’t respond. She was also reloading.

A Defiant was flung through a window. Dixie pulled out his pistol and began firing. He dropped his handgun as his own hand was flung into his face. Annabelle fired at the Imperial as it gestured wildly. Annabelle’s gun was flung out of her hands. She didn’t hesitate. She charged at the alien, drawing her knife. The Imperial caught her by the neck in its silver-clad fist. This pointy-eared figure glared at Annabelle as she tried to breathe. It tore off her mask.

‘No!’ Dixie shouted.

The Imperial dropped the limp corpse and advanced.

‘Arcuru dalaraka, eraztar!’

Dixie dove for Annabelle’s gun. He opened fire. A shot hit. Another. The bullets didn’t penetrate. Dixie didn’t stop firing, even when the trigger only caused a click.

Tears streamed down his eyes. Tears for Annabelle. Tears for Zona Nox. Tears for the Zarxian grako that he was going to die to protect. Tears for himself.

‘Kera darath.’

There was black.



Another explosion wracked Underbelly Alpha. James watched as the walkway connecting the hangar to the rest of the city was shot down by Imperial fighters. From his vantage at the edge of the shielded hangar, James could see the Kolheim, among other assorted ships, fighting the speedier Imperial crafts.

‘The Defiant will deliver us victory!’ Gretswald announced, matter-of-factly.

Nobody replied.

We weren’t ready. James frowned behind his mask.

His motley crew stood off to the side. Reinforcements had arrived by foot just before the walkway had been blown. They now held the area from the swarms of Imperials who flooded in.

James would have very much appreciated Marshal’s council, but that was out of the question. The man fought, but didn’t speak.

‘If we’re going to have any chance,’ James said, partly to himself, ‘we’re going to need to secure one of the orbital guns.’

Jasper nodded. Alex Yurgan was checking over his guns again.

‘Arnald, is the shuttle ready?’

‘No, Defiant,’ the mechanic turned pilot responded, his voice betraying his shame.

James ignored the pitifulness.

‘What are our options?’

‘There’s a shuttle hangar in Cargo Beta,’ a Ganru added.

‘How we going to get there? Bridge blown up,’ a masked Defiant replied.

‘The same way we did in the first place.’



The icy wind buffeted on James’ clothes. He could hear explosions and fighting over the wind. Nexus was aflame. James steeled himself as he had done before. His harness was secure. He knew that. The technology was sound, even in such tumultuous and frigid weather.

‘As one!’ James announced after receiving the go ahead from the advance scouts ahead.

He kicked off the side of the building and shot through the icy air. As they rapidly approached the other side on their zip lines, he emitted a wall of Warp to slow down their descent as they approached the other side.

The advance scouts lay dead.

James and his comrades drew their weapons. A Ganru screamed as his arm was disintegrated. James let forth a Warp shard from the direction of the flash. A power-armour clad Imperial fell to the ground, a hole the size of a fist through its chest.

Marshal’s instincts took over and he sprinted for cover. An Imperial was there. He tackled the smaller framed being to the ground and shot it point-blank in the head. Alex followed suit, opening fire on a group of Imperials as they attempted to enter the room. Arnald and Gretswald hung back, the latter in a panicked awe.

Warp Shards shot into the room, piercing and killing Defiant. James responded with shards of his own. His shards dug deeper, but there just weren’t enough. He was one Warpmancer against an army. The Imperials gained ground. Warpmancers covered the advance of staff wielding Imperials, who used their weapons to keep the Defiant in cover with volley after volley of energy blasts.

The Imperials were calm, like syns, but then they broke. Some fled towards James, who cut them down. Behind the group was Nathan and a group of Defiant.

‘James!’

‘Nathan! I’m glad to see you.’

‘Likewise.’

Nathan entered, shotgun held in the air.

‘What’s the plan, Strike Leader?’

‘We need to take one of the orbit guns – make sure it stays functioning.’

Nathan nodded, but then frowned.

‘You needing a shuttle?’

‘Please don’t tell me that there’s none left…’

Nathan shook his head.

‘Imperials blew up the last one. Wasn’t able to secure it… Sorry, James.’

‘Skite!’ James swore.

Then Gretswald cried out.

Behind the group, from where they had zip lined into the open hangar, hovered a void black Xank craft. It bore the Word Lectorate emblem.

‘Need a lift?’ Krag-Zot asked in accented English over the speakers.

‘What by Terra are Xank doing here?’ Nathan shouted, levelling his shotgun at the craft. Many others did the same.

‘Hold your fire!’ James commanded.

‘Why, Defiant?’ Jasper asked. ‘They’re grako Xank.’

‘He ain’t Xank,’ James replied. ‘Well, not anymore. He’s a friend. He’s an enemy of the Imperials, like us. We can trust him.’

Nathan looked at James, his eyes wide through his goggles.

‘You worked with Xank?’

‘Never!’ James snapped. ‘And this isn’t the time for explanations!’

‘They aren’t Xank, Nathan,’ Marshal finally spoke.

The group turned to the veteran. He continued.

‘He used to be Xank. He works for the Defiant now. Their entire division does. The Word Lectorate left the Xank. They now work for James.’

‘Why?’ Nathan asked, disbelieving.

‘Because they know I’m the only one who can defeat the Imperials,’ James responded.

‘Imperial fighters are incoming. If you want a lift, get in!’

Krag-Zot lowered the ship until one only needed to step across the gap.

James entered. Marshal followed. Hesitantly, the rest entered, Nathan coming last. The gate closed, and they shot off.



Another Imperial attempted to charge into the room. Danny opened fire with a machine gun deployed atop a barricade of desks. Darren Peterson, behind him, fired with a sub-machine gun. All fell in a mash of torn metal, odd-coloured blood and sparks of metal scraping on metal.

They had held like this for an hour now. First, there had been around thirteen of them. Now, there was only Danny and Darren.

The machine gun began to click. Danny picked up his pistol and fired as Darren began reloading. Danny heard him swear.

‘We out?’

‘Skiting grakos. We out.’

‘We need to get out of here.’

Darren didn’t delay. He opened fire on the doorway again, backing away. Danny followed suit.

‘Go! I’ll cover you,’ Danny shouted.

Darren turned and bolted through the doorway. Danny fired a few more shots and then sprinted there himself, narrowly dodging a blast of searing blue energy.

Neither of them spoke as they sprinted down the hallway. They only panted, sweat pouring down their bodies. Danny checked his cartridge. Eight more shots. They needed to resupply.

‘Darren,’ Danny panted. ‘Where can we re-stock?’

Darren stopped at a crossroads. As he contemplated in which direction to turn, a flash hit him in the leg. He fell with a shout.

Danny jumped forward and dragged the man into a side-office. The small room only had one entrance. Danny could see a veritable light-show erupting outside its small window as the battle for Nexus continued. With Darren stowed against a geradite desk, Danny slammed the door closed and pushed a cabinet full of server hardware in front of it. He was just in time, as something metal collided with the door, denting it. Bangs followed. Danny could make out alien voices on the other side.

Darren was wheezing, clutching his scorched leg. He had dropped his gun. Danny backed away from the door and turned to him. There was no blood, but he was still in pain. He crouched next to the wounded man and pulled his arms away. The smell of burnt, burning, flesh. Danny tore off some of Darren’s clothing to reveal the wound. It was still bubbling around the blackened epicentre. Danny watched as blisters formed before his eyes.

‘Ice! Need ice,’ Danny anxiously muttered to himself.

He started tearing open drawers or anything that could reasonably be a fridge. As he did so, the banging intensified. More foot falls. There were more of them.

A corner of the door gave way and began to bend. Danny gave up his search and dragged the pain addled Darren behind the desk.

Eight shots.

Danny took aim.

The door burst open to reveal an Imperial. Danny fired, hitting one in the head. It fell and its allies took cover on either side of the door. They blindly fired their crystal staffs around the corner, hitting furniture and the wall, leaving scorch marks. Danny fired conservatively, waiting for an opening. An Imperial peaked. He fired, but the bullet diverted as another Imperial gestured towards the ground.

Six shots. Darren groaned and slumped, falling to the ground. This seemed to cue the Imperials to charge. Danny fired, hitting one in the chest. Its death slowed its companion.

Four shots. Danny ducked as a volley of searing energy came his way. He was pinned. He dove to the right and shot again, flanking the attackers. One fell, a wound in the hip. It retaliated with a blast that Danny dodged. He fired again, hitting it in the shoulder. The shot barely phased it. He swore and dove back into cover.

They weren’t advancing. Danny crouched low. Preparing for…he didn’t know what. What it took, he guessed.

He’d lived a gunslinger. He might as well die one. Danny let out a breath and then stood to release his final shots.

An explosion shook the entire room, filling it with debris and ash. Out of the smoke and flames came a dark figure, pirouetting and cutting into the Imperials, leaving ribbons of blood to fall in circles upon the floor. More Imperials poured in. More died. The figure ended the pirouette to reveal itself to be an individual clad in power armour, wielding a katana in one hand and an assault rifle in the other.

An Imperial crossed over the threshold and the power-armour wearer brought its sword down upon it. The Imperial blocked with its staff, but was ended with a point-blank blast from the rifle. A kick from the armoured boot sent it into a comrade, who was barrelled over. The figure then impaled it on its sword. Energy blasts were fired but ricocheted off its protective shoulder guard. It fired without looking. A thud followed.

Then all was quiet. The black figure stood up, unsheathing its sword from the chest of the Imperial. As no enemy came, it finally flicked the blood off its sword and sheathed it with a flourish. It then turned to face him.

Danny was surprised that such a bulky power suit could exhibit such agility. It was void black and huge, either possessing thick armour plating or a very large occupant.

‘Thank you…’ Danny started. The figure didn’t respond, rather advancing.

Danny felt unnerved and backed away slightly, almost tripping over Darren, then steam poured out of the neck of the figure. As the hydraulics disengaged, the massive helmet receded into the armour.

‘Krena!’ Danny exclaimed.

Before he could say anything else, she was in front of him, holding him between two massive exoskeleton hands, with her lips upon his.

After a blissful and too short a time, Krena pulled back. Her face was the same that it had been at the Battle for Titan City. Determination, but there was something new – a hint of relief. She glanced down at Darren and crouched. Holding his wound, she then emitted some sort of gel upon it.

‘He’s scorched, but he may live. Tissue can be regrown.’

‘I’m…glad to see you, Krena.’

Krena smiled, slightly, but then hardened as they heard metal foot falls approaching. She tossed him a pistol. He caught it and cocked it.

Nodding in respect, she re-equipped the helmet. They stood side by side. The Imperials came rushing in.



‘Mayday, mayday. This is Sylith Storm going down.’

‘Hold on, Sylith Storm. Kolheim covering your descent. Eject, eject.’

Erryn engaged thrusters, ramming the Kolheim into the Imperial fighter. The smaller vessel was no match for the repurposed freighter. Erryn had only done this a few times before. That time, it was a Pegg ship and it was in space. The results here were much more devastating. The light metal and small frame of the fighter shattered on the hull of the Kolheim. It didn’t so much split, but explode in debris and blue sparks.

‘Sylith Storm, you’re clear.’

Silence.

‘Sylith Storm?’

Erryn descended, feeling the momentum of her fall push her into her seat. Her radar showed the remnants of Sylith Storm’s communication signal. Twin Imperial fighters attempted to intercept her as she approached the roof of a domed building, where Imperial infantry were dropping down. She opened fire with her civilian-issued cannons. The projectiles knocked the fighters out of her way but their shields were able to reflect most of the damage. They formed up once again, blocking her path and firing.

Erryn engaged thrusters and burst right through them, sending the one spiralling into a squad of Imperials upon the roof. The other dodged at the last second, then attempted to tail her.

‘Skite!’ Erryn swore. Her ship wasn’t outfitted for rear defence.

She took evasive action, plunging deeper into the towering city.

‘Think you can outmanoeuvre me just cause I’m a freighter.’

She broke right, tearing past the windows of a suburban mega-structure. Some of the geradite plating warped at her passing. The Imperial fighter maintained pursuit. Her hull monitors detected minor damage on her wings.

‘Kolheim’s survived worse, grako!’

She sped up, speeding through the maze of Nexus’ underbelly. Large support columns and the lower areas underneath the glassy and silver façade of the city became Erryn’s hunting ground. To be more accurate, she was the prey – but she wasn’t going to go down without a fight. Not with Sylith Storm on the ground.

A warning signal, a blinking red light. Damage on the starboard wing. She let go of the thrust and plummeted towards the toxic crystals below. The fumes were visible at this point, covering her windscreen with tiny fragments of blue, pink and purple crystals. The monitor wasn’t registering anymore hits. She drifted just metres off the jagged surface of this crystal world, then sped towards a clearing, where the miners had been much more productive. From this clearing, she saw the smoking remains of an escape pod.

‘Sylith Storm, do you read me?’

‘Kolheim. This is Rhodes III. Sylith Storm is KIA. Get in formation.’

‘Roger, Rhodes III.’

Erryn sharply steered upwards, leaving the crashed remains of her fellow pilot and the entangling labyrinth of the city. The formation was just above her, an open space at the tip for her freighter. It had only just formed up. There were no Imperial fighters in the immediate vicinity. Finally, a respite.

Upon learning of the Imperial attack, all those capable scrambled to engage the enemies. There was very little direction and very little need for it. The enemies were everywhere. Orders would have accomplished little, as every pilot was forced to fight their own battle. Erryn had to pilot the Kolheim alone, as Imperial infantry pressed her for time. It was chaos.

Only the Kolheim’s abnormally thick hull allowed her to survive long enough to meet up with other Defiant pilots. Sylith Storm had been one of them.

‘This is Adderley Alpha, formation leader. The city is overrun. We can’t do anything more on the ground, so our task is to prevent anymore reinforcements from hitting planet-side. We’re gonna approach orbit and shoot down every grako that dares cross over that threshold.’

‘Roger, leader,’ Erryn and the others responded in unison.

As one, they pitched upwards and sped towards the stratosphere in a wedge formation. The Kolheim led the way, battering into Imperial drops ships and fighters. Those that dodged or were missed by the Kolheim were mopped up by fighters on the flanks.

Energy weapons, missiles, bombs, high velocity kinetics – all flooded the skies, creating a light show for the now darkened Nexus below. The loser of each prompt duel plummeted in fire. Some of the wrecks collided harmlessly with the buildings or crystal fields below. Others met the structures with explosions and fire. Erryn only hoped that the buildings had already been evacuated. She tried to find solace in that the lower levels would be safe from the falling debris. But would it be safe from the Imperial soldiers in these dropships?

Jilly. Erryn frowned.

‘Prepare for sub-Warp. We’re taking them at the stratosphere.’

Erryn engaged the Warp thrust charger. The screen showed the charge. Adderley Alpha spoke over the communication channel.

‘Synchronise. Engage charger. Prepare for combat upon release. Three…two…one…’

The buzz, the silence. The stretching of light, sound, energy itself. Erryn had felt this many times before, but never under these circumstances. Warping was for when you were already in space. It was for leaving the system and shooting towards another. It wasn’t meant for firing into orbit. But they did not have the luxury of the norm.

There was a bang and then space. They appeared in the middle of an Imperial formation. Explosions wracked the Kolheim and the other members of the flight group as some of them Warped into Imperial vessels, destroying both.

‘Fire at will! Break formation!’

Erryn burst forth and drove the Kolheim into a group of Imperial drop ships. Fighters sortied and attempted to shoot her down. Defiant ships retaliated. Refurbished merchant vessels, freighters, personal vehicles, among a few captured Berrin and Yellow ships fought against the superpower of the galaxy. Laser met metal. Erryn tasted metal and blood as she bit her tongue.

She fired her rockets at a troop dropship as it sped towards the icy planet below. The rockets detonated prematurely as drones sallied forth and blocked her attack.

Rhodes III attempted to flank another dropship. His railguns were unable to pierce the hull of the speeding pod. He engaged his thrusters.

‘What are you doing?’ Erryn shouted at him.

‘For the Defiant!’ was his answer, as he collided into the dropship. An explosion of Warp energy was left in their wake.

‘Don’t throw your lives away…’ Adderley Alpha was cut short. Erryn couldn’t see the fate of his ship.

As the Defiant sortie fell, one by one, they were replaced by white and red ships. The Aegis starbombers, defended by their fighters, made better headway. Finally, one of them managed to enter their comm channel.

‘Kolheim? This is Aegis Delta leader. Requesting battalion merger.’

‘Roger, Delta leader,’ Erryn responded. ‘Orders?’

‘We need your freighter to penetrate their frigate’s shields, Kolheim.’

‘That will destroy my ship!’

‘Their cannons will destroy your ship, and everything else! Kolheim, I’m not asking. Attack, full ramming speed, at that frigate!’

Erryn, despite her better judgement, pivoted and aimed at the frigate. Her home. Her birthplace. She didn’t know why she did it. The Kolheim was everything. It was her. It was more. It had flown a hundred years. It was to fly a hundred more. But that frigate had to go down. It had to.

Dropships and fighters stood in her way.

‘Clear a path, Delta!’ the leader shouted.

Fighters sped forward and engaged the Imperial vessels. Erryn didn’t delay. She put her ship into full throttle, and shut her eyes.



‘Get those guns operational!’

James shouted as he flung a group of Imperials into the wall, crushing them. Krag-Zot covered his back, launching a barrage of shards at a squad. His comrades used the lull in the Imperial onslaught to pour out of Krag-Zot’s ship.

‘For the Defiant!’ Gretswald cried, charging with a sub-machine gun.

The rest of the group took the ill-chosen charge as inspiration and roared out, opening fire on any additional Imperial who intended to stop them. James did his best to shield them. The Troopers and some of the Ganru held back. They knew that James’ godliness wasn’t omnipotence. James appreciated that. His power was waning as it is.

A blue shard hit Gretswald. He fell with a shout.

‘Get a medic on the preacher!’ Jasper ordered. A Defiant moved forward to where Gretswald had been carried to cover.

They had secured the room, but a torrent of projectiles and energy had turned the open doorway of the shuttle room into a veritable kill zone. Blue-hot flashes sprayed from the clearing, from where the Imperials had managed to entrench themselves just minutes before James’ crew had landed. Krag-Zot, despite his best efforts, could not outpace the swifter Imperial ship. In trying to land, they had already lost some men.

Gretswald screamed. James spared a glance and couldn’t help but stare as the skin on Gretswald’s now naked shoulder was bubbling around a blackened hole. Marshal shoved the medic out of the way.

He held the wound of the blubbering fool, poking it and then recoiling.

‘Krag-Zot,’ he shouted.

The hulking Immortal appeared behind him, temporarily raising a shield and deflecting an Imperial shot back through the doorway. Some of the Defiant recoiled. Nathan almost took a shot at him but then grabbed a hold of his senses.

Krag-Zot bent down over the preacher, who was in too much pain to show any indication of his feelings of the Areq. Marshal stood and continued firing through the opening. The abatement of enemy fire was a testament to his effectiveness.

Gretswald’s squirming prevented Krag-Zot from taking a good look. The incessant firing from both sides also didn’t help. Eventually, Krag-Zot held the preacher still with his one armoured arm and sprayed a gel over the wound.

‘These Imperial legionnaires use condensed warp blasts as projectiles,’ the Areq stated. ‘It will eat through your flesh and keep on burning unless you apply the appropriate gel or poultice.’

At that moment, a spherical object was thrown into the room. Krag-Zot batted it back whence it came using a burst of energy. A fizzle sounded and they heard inhuman screams. The volley from outside ceased.

‘Clear it out!’ James shouted.

The Defiant swarmed into the next room. A few shots sounded. The warp grenade had killed most of the Imperials. James examined the room, squatting next to a heavily damaged Imperial corpse. Some bullets had ripped up its helmet to reveal a blue, almost human, face.

‘Arnald,’ James called.

‘Arnald’s dead,’ a voice replied.

James bit his lip. Terra dammit.

He stood up and examined the motley group.

‘Fall into your sub-squads. Alpha, remain here and hold this point. The rest, follow me. We’re going to split up and scour this building for survivors and Imperials. We need those guns operational – or else we won’t last ‘till sunset.’

Alex Yurgan led Alpha. Nathan led Bravo. James led Charlie, with Krag-Zot going alone. Separated, they scoured the building, rendezvousing eventually at the central atrium that housed the main gun. Engineering staff lay dead, strewn across the ground. There was no blood, only ash and charred limbs.

‘Every inch of the facility is clear, Defiant,’ Nathan reported, glancing suspiciously at Krag-Zot, who was kicking over an Imperial corpse to check its Conduit.

‘Who here knows anything about operating this facility?’ James addressed the group, minus Alpha.

A few raised their hands. A spiky haired Ganru stepped forward.

‘The nitty-gritty is run by AI, Defiant. We just need a spotter and everyone else to make sure he doesn’t bite dust. I ran the simulations. I can take them grako’s down.’

‘We’re counting on you, soldier.’

An explosion rocked the building.

‘Battle stations!’ James bellowed. ‘We need AA guns manned, a barricade at every choke. We can’t hold them forever but we are gonna Terra-damn try.’

The Ganru sprinted to the targeting console, located in an armoured orb. Safely behind five-inches of imported titanium and steel, he began setting up the gun. Across the colossal structure’s sides, red lights began to activate. A syn voice sounded.

‘Orbital gun ready to fire. All crew to stay clear of exhaust ports and firing chamber.’

Imperial legionnaires came rushing in through the main entrance, firing their staffs. A lead Warpmancer lifted a Defiant and attempted to throw him across the room. Krag-Zot and James both intervened, shoving a mobile workbench into the approaching enemies. The force of both their warp pushes sent the hovering tool bench and the Warpmancer into the wall, leaving a splattering of blood.

‘Charge!’ Krag-Zot shouted.

The Defiant ignored that the order was from the Immortal and entered the melee. Ganru drew their short swords and daggers. Defiant used their guns as clubs, or fired at short range. In the confined space, the Imperials were unable to effectively use their long staffs.

James clutched the masked face of what he presumed to be an Ulyx and heated up the gas around this hand. The Ulyx screamed in pain, firing wildly. James flung him at the wall with his warp enhanced strength.

The orbital gun fired with a deafening roar. A few surviving Imperials used the opportunity to cut down a Defiant, just to be cut down themselves. The immediate threat abated, the group looked up at the screens which were erected around the atrium. The cameras outside allowed the group to observe as a beam of energy shot out from the facility and pierced something outside of the atmosphere.

There was no time to rejoice, however, as Alex Yurgan ran in, bloodied and burned.

‘Shuttle bay’s taken!’ he rasped, collapsing to the floor. Krag-Zot approached him and sprayed the gel onto his burnt back, as if putting out a fire.

‘Barricade the room!’ James ordered. The Defiant obeyed, using all that they could to seal the twin entrances to the atrium. Krag-Zot lifted the heavier objects using his Warpmancy, placing an unused server case in front of the door. Two Defiant welded it to the doorframe. With what was left, they erected cover, setting up a kill zone. With their dwindling ammo supply, James hoped that they would last.

A Defiant without a gun, on his way to the barricade, bent down to pick up an Imperial staff.

Before Krag-Zot could cry-out, the Defiant fell to the ground, writhing in pain.

‘What’s happening to him?’ Nathan winced.

‘Imperial staffs are encoded. They caught my friend like this. You touch the staff with the wrong gloves, you get shocked. He’ll live, but won’t be much use in this fight.’

‘Can we put on their gloves?’ James asked.

‘I wouldn’t risk it.’

James swore.

‘I will,’ Marshal interjected.

‘No, stop…’

Marshal ignored him, lifting a dead Imperial’s arm and disengaging the glove with some practiced clicks. He must have done this before. The naked hand was blue – an Edal’s. Marshal put on the glove, and after what seemed an age of anxiety, picked up a staff. He was fine.

‘Okay then. Team, get gloves on and have a staff at the ready. When we run out of ammo, I want them to eat their own burn.’

It was not long after the orbital gun’s second fire that the Imperial army took notice. Hammering on the door, plasma cutters on the walls. James and his Defiant crouched behind their measly cover in anticipation, the fire from the orbital gun sending vibrations through the facility. Every rumble of the gun was followed by more incessant battering, and more attempts to cut through the metal housing of the facility.

But every fortress can eventually fall. The Imperials rushed in like the tide, Warpmancers holding up shields to protect their squads. James and Krag-Zot did the same, giving their men much needed cover. Grenades flew from both sides, many exploding in mid-air as the tossing match proved too long for the fuse. Bullets met warp blasts. When a Defiant ran out of ammo, they turned to the alien weapons, using them as best they could. Fortunately, they seemed to be easier to handle than normal guns, as they possessed no recoil and fired on target.

James took cover. He pulled back a switch on his glove to disengage his spent crystal and then reached into his tactical vest for a replacement. Empty. Krag-Zot, to his side, tore a crystal out of an unused staff and passed it to James, who then promptly reloaded.

They were falling. Nathan had run out of ammo for his shotgun and his staff. Others had resorted to waiting for the attack to collapse into a melee. The scene surrounding their laager was that of waves, finally overwhelming a weak beachhead. And then they heard the war cry.

‘Grag-Po, Grag-Po, Grag-Po!’

Grays poured in from behind the Imperial forces, tearing them apart with energy blades, converted power tools and more conventional firearms. Molok leaped from the chaos, driving an axe into the head of Warpmancer and killing multiple enemies with a burst from a machine pistol.

With renewed hope, the Defiant charged forward, crushing the Imperials between the two forces. James spotted Marshal from the corner of his eye, engaging in close combat with an enemy, as Urg’a executed the unfortunate Imperial from behind.

Then as suddenly as it had begun, it stopped. Molok dusted himself off and approached James. He knelt at James’ feet.

‘Grag-Po, do I have your consent to execute this Xank in our midst?’

‘He’s not Xank, Molok. He’s on our side.’

Molok looked up. ‘As you wish. Now, order us, Grag-Po. Your people want to serve you.’

‘We need to keep this gun operational as long as we can. There are anti-air guns around the facility. Man them. Then secure every square metre of this, our lost hope.’

‘It will be done.’

James nodded. He sure hoped so.



Erryn braced herself as her emergency escape pod plummeted towards Nexus. Despite her best efforts, she broke a tooth on impact as the pod smashed into a building. The force field had collapsed under the weight of previous debris, and all that stopped her descent was the reinforced armoured roof of one of Nexus’ residential structures. A jolt as she collided with the roof. Her viewing monitor in the pod was knocked out. Her head was flung to the side but the neck brace kept it from breaking. Beeping signalled that the stabilising rods had been damaged.

‘Skiting Aegis,’ Erryn swore aloud, and immediately regretted it as the vibrations sent her teeth chattering.

Then there was a final explosion of force as the pod stopped its descent. Then black. The beeping faded away.

‘Erryn? Erryn?’

Erryn opened her eyes. She could barely hear her name through the ringing. Her vision was blurry. She couldn’t see out of her one eye. Her head felt like the aftermath of a meteorite impact. A figure came closer, and as the ringing stopped, Erryn heard metal-clad footsteps.

She unstrapped her one arm, clumsily, and tried to draw her pistol. It slipped out of her fingers.

‘It’s me,’ the voice of Yobu sounded. ‘You’re safe.’

Gunfire nearby revealed that to not be entirely true.

Yobu wiped her forehead with a cloth and her vision cleared. A cut had bled into her eyes.

‘How do you feel?’ Yobu asked, unclipping her straps and neck brace.

Erryn spat out her broken tooth and a glob of blood.

‘Pissed. Grakos made me ram the Kolheim into a frigate.’

Yobu frowned and put his hand on her shoulder. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘It’s just a ship,’ Erryn lied.

‘If you’re healthy, we could use some help here. We’ve secured this section, but only barely. Imperials are moving in from both walkways. We’ve got a group holding the rear, but need to break out towards the Keep.’

‘Which section is this?’

‘Residential South-4.’

‘Skite! Jilly…’

‘Calm down! I’m sure she’s okay. Residential had ample time to evacuate to the safe zones.’

‘I’m not in the mood for pleasant lies, Yobu,’ Erryn growled. ‘Give me a gun. We’re breaking through.’

Yobu passed her a Titan AR-25. She lifted herself up, with only a small pain in her lower-back and accepted it.

Outside were two men, wearing Ganru uniforms but not resembling the usually Asiatic members of the gang.

‘Grugo, Leroy, we’re ready. Let’s break through that line.’

‘Like old times, eh sarge?’ the dark-skinned man with a short mohawk grinned.

‘It was barely a year ago, Leroy,’ the lighter skinned man with dark bangs blocking his one eye interjected.

The four of them jogged out of the crater that had once been a home. The once calm and clean suburban streets of this domed suburb was now a steaming ruin. Corpses of soldiers, Imperials and civilians littered the streets. As Yobu had said, no living Imperial was currently inside the facility, but that was no comfort. At any moment, Erryn knew that a dropship could deploy reinforcements through the hole that she had formed, or break through the fortifications on either walkway connecting the habitat.

Defiant, some Aegis troops and militia were holding the walkway to the next suburb. Machine gun fire kept the Imperials at bay, but enemy fire also kept them from advancing. The stalemate was taking its toll on the Defiant, as the pile of fresh bodies grew by the hour.

They arrived just as the machine gunner’s respiratory pipe was cut by a stray projectile. He began gasping. Yobu charged in and quickly replaced his mask with a backup. Erryn only hoped Jilly had her emergency mask on hand. Without the shining force-fields and reinforced geradite, Nexus revealed its true nature. There was no longer any glitz to hide the poison below. Erryn had always seen the blight that Nova Zarxa’s nightlife and clean hallways hid, but had never imagined how far it could degenerate. This was a planet that did not want to be inhabited.

The gunner was okay, but the fumes had thrown his perception off. Leroy, the mohawked man, took his place behind the gun and opened fire. A burst of steel-tipped lead and the volleys of blue energy abated.

‘We are charging on my command!’ Yobu announced.

Grugo took the unspoken cue and pulled the pin out of a grenade, cooking it.

‘In position, squad, hold,’ Yobu lifted his arm. ‘Maintain suppressive fire!’

Grugo threw the grenade expertly down the hall. The explosive bounced on the ground and then onto the roof, landing behind the cover of debris on the other side.

‘Charge!’

The flood-gates opened and Erryn charged with the horde. No volley came their way, so none stopped to fire. Closing the gap, she entered the fray.

An Imperial peaked from cover. She shot it between the eyes. A Defiant leapt over the waist-high wall and was scorched, dying instantly. Erryn pressed her back against the half-wall. They had only taken twenty metres.



‘Ruble!’ Frank McGraff bellowed, ‘git back to the cover line, mate.’

Ruble opened fire on two Imperials as they exited a, now ruined, nightclub.

‘Ruble!’

He looked at him and shook his head.

‘Skiting colony worlder. Agh.’

Frank rubbed his shoulder as the pain flared up. Despite the prompt medical care by Erryn, he still had to shift his dominant arm.

Frank signalled the squad that he was pushing forward, then bolted over the stall towards his friend. Then his eyes widened.

Lodged in the walkway was some sort of vehicle resembling a white beetle. But it took up the entire walkway, its ridge scraping into and denting the geradite above. It began humming, and opened fire.

Frank swore and darted for cover – but there was none. Lasers and plasma flew at his face. He closed his eyes. He fell to the ground. No searing pain. Only the ache of his right shoulder as it was pressed against the cold ground. A warmth from above. A heavy warmth. He opened his eyes.

Blood. No, red. Red and black. A gas-mask peering into his.

‘Lad?’

No reply.

‘Ruble?’

No reply.

‘You skiting idiot.’

Frank tried to lift his friend, but he heard the clamp of metal. Thud. Thud.

A hum.

Then a deafening explosion. Fire streaked over him. Only Ruble blocked the worst of it from burning through Frank’s armour. No more hum.

‘Why’d you do it?’ Frank asked, eyes wet.

Human-like footfalls approached him as the flames abated.

Why’d you do it?

‘We die for our brothers,’ Ruble said. But he didn’t say it. Ruble was dead.

‘Lieutenant, orders?’ a Defiant asked, as Frank stood, Ruble discarded upon the floor.

‘We die, brothers. We die. But we take all them sons of zots with us.’



They had taken another ten metres, beating the Imperials with butt, lead and club. Cracked metal revealed white and blue skin, marred by alien blood. With a grunt, Erryn once again lifted the shield-wall, moving the cover forward for the gunners. She could hear the bluster of gunfire clearly despite her earplugs. She would need to go to a bio-clinic to cure any chance of tinnitus. She placed the cover down with an oomph. Drawing her gun, she joined the fire line.

‘Scarab!’ a militiaman shouted.

It was what they now called the armoured mini-artillery that had infested the hallways an hour ago. A Defiant, hidden at the back of the squad, stood with a rocket launcher and fired. The scarab, who had been charging its attack, fell in flames. The group that was pinned by it regrouped and entered the fray, flanking the Imperial infantry and eliminating them.

It was quiet. The gunfire stopped.

‘Get a…perimeter…up,’ Yobu panted over the comms, that had recently been restored.

They had secured Residential.

The combat group split up into their squads. Erryn, not belonging to any, went down a familiar pathway with a lump in her throat and a pain in her lower back.

Jilly’s street. It was a wasteland.

Erryn ran, thoughtlessly, as her metal-clad boots rang out on the flooring. Corpses, civilian corpses, scattered the streets and peaked out between smoking scrap. The hostel in which Jilly had stayed was one of these piles of waste.

‘No, no, no,’ Erryn jabbered, using her hardy Titan rifle as a spade to dislodge rubble.

‘Can’t be dead. Too young. Can’t be dead.’

A corpse. No, a little boy. Not Jilly.

Blood stained the geradite.

Broken toys. Broken arms. Appliances, now useless. The butt of the gun snapped. Erryn fell to her knees, and dug.

Her fingers bled. She skinned her knuckles. Sweat bathed her.

A cough.

Eyes widened, Erryn stood and listened.

A wheeze. A small, child-like wheeze.

‘I’m coming!’

Erryn, knuckles and fingers already bloodied, lifted a geradite plate. Another was under it. Debris, shattered crockery underneath. It bit into her flesh. She didn’t wince. She dug, lifted, dug, shoved. Then stopped, her vision blurring from the exertion.

Jilly lay, mask on, secure. No leaks.

Erryn almost fell onto her, but retained her balance. She leaned down and felt for a pulse. A beat, another. Erryn breathed a sigh of relief. Jilly opened her eyes.

‘Erryn?’

Erryn smiled, wiping some dirt from the child’s face.

‘Imperials!’

Erryn jumped, drawing her pistol. A white-clad infantryman appeared just around the corner. She opened fire. The bullet ricocheted. He turned and fired a blast of energy. Erryn dodged to the side, leaving the blast to destroy a column.

She fired again. A few shots found their mark and he fell to his knees, and then stood. Click, click.

Erryn drew her knife. A bullet flew past her ear and the Imperial fell. Jilly lowered her high calibre revolver. Jilly passed the gun to Erryn, who accepted it.

The sound of fighting permeated the dome. Dropships had landed and drilled through the roofing, allowing a steady stream of Imperials to enter.

Erryn indicated for Jilly to follow.

‘Need to regroup,’ she muttered. If there was anyone left to regroup with. They bolted into the street, Erryn firing at a fortunately light armoured Imperial, then tackling its friend, stabbing it in the neck until it stopped squirming.

Then she heard a buzz and a hum.

A group of white and silver clad figures surrounded her, staffs levelled. They remained still. A shorter figure approached, and then there was a thud. Everyone turned as a frag grenade landed in the centre of the group. Erryn leapt upon Jilly as the flames consumed them. She no longer felt the pain in her back. She no longer felt anything.



Yawning, snoring, gunfire, another blast from the orbital gun. Marshal awoke. Alex took his cue and fell asleep instantly. This cycle continued with most of them. Even the stalwart Grays could not last forever, as they took shifts, awaiting the inevitable next wave. At first, the sleepers would awake to fight the siege, but eventually, they grew too exhausted to aid their awake comrades. But with every wave, less and less could afford to remain asleep.

Faint light shone through holes in the roof, where Imperial troops had attempted to infiltrate the facility. A mix of orange and grey. The light was as tired as they were.

James sat, bags weighing his eyes down, but he could not find solace. His head was heavy, filled with cinderblocks but he could not bring himself to rest. The burden he now felt, pulling him towards the cold geradite floor, was what kept him standing. He stood for all those that had fallen, but not so much from a sense of honour – but of guilt. Of an insatiable anxiety that disallowed sleep or rest.

In the sieges that followed the securing of the facility, the Defiant sallied-forth and fortified the rest of the structure. With the enhanced man-power from the Grays, they could man the anti-aircraft guns. With their expertise, Imperial fighters and bombers were not able to threaten the gun.

James stood at an observation window overlooking Nexus. The city’s flames had long since perished. It was just a ruin. For all the lies they hid, the silver towers of Nexus now lay in the crystal fields below. Its domes bore the holes of countless dead ships. The Hub, so proud, so large, could no longer been seen. Its shops, malls, hotels, apartments – gone.

James no longer looked at Nexus. He only peered at an already dead world. Zona Nox was black in the sky, the morning light creating an eclipse around Nova Zarxa’s neighbouring world. James did not fear his current home, as much as it could be called that, becoming like Zona Nox. He knew that Nova Zarxa was already dead. It was a zombie world, with maggots infesting its rotting skin. Krag-Zot was still listless, despite his attempts at humour and his unstoppable fighting. But James knew that the Areq still mourned for his home. James knew that he would be the same – that even if they won this war, he would never have his home again.

The boom-boom of the AA-gun sounded. Orange streaks flew through the sky. An Imperial fighter shot past the observation window, leaving a white blur in its wake. The exhausted gunner had missed. James made his way towards the direction it was headed. It was probably escorting another dropship, or providing cover for a ground force.

After the roof assaults inevitably failed, and the facility’s shield proved strong enough to hold back the Imperial artillery at range, the Imperials resorted to ground infantry and armoured attacks. The Defiant had lost an entire squad as Imperials surged up the hill from the crystal fields below. It had taken an hour to dislodge them from their foothold. Now, Defiant watched the sky and ground.

James arrived at the nearest shuttle hangar as rapid bursts of blue energy peppered his position and the entire back wall of the small room. He backed into cover and awaited a lull. A few of the room’s occupants opened fire with slug weapons and the sizzle of a plasma gun. The firing continued as there was a crash. Then it stopped. James dove around the corner, Warp shield ready.

It was the fighter from earlier. It had rammed head-first into the shuttle force-field, crushing the craft on impact. It had simultaneously broken its own hull. A hatch popped open and the pilot opened fire with a hand-held device. James blocked a few of the hits but then his shield fell. The blasts seared his flesh. Gritting his teeth, he opened fire. The blackened visor was pierced with one shot. Its owner fell with a spray of pale yellow blood.

‘What in the void was it doing?’ James muttered.

The Gray warriors didn’t respond. One knelt over his fallen comrade. The other stared at him, mouthing the word, ‘Grag-Po’.

James left.

The main control atrium was awash with activity. The lights on the control pod, where the nameless Ganru had been dutifully firing upon enemy ships for over thirty-six hours, still showed signs of life. The red streak lights on the exterior of the gun barrel were still on. Every few minutes, it fired.

Krag-Zot was sitting cross-legged in the centre of the room. Despite serving alongside him for over a day, the Defiant kept their distance.

‘Report, Krag-Zot?’ James asked, standing in front of the black-armoured individual. James presumed him to be meditating, but his visor betrayed no information.

The Areq looked up.

‘No attacks here since the sun rose, Boymancer. Perhaps, they have lost the will to fight.’

James doubted that. ‘These are Imperials. They destroyed my homeworld. They can’t just have surrendered…They are probably amassing a larger host. Perhaps they have even occupied the rest of the planet – to strangle us.’

A few Defiant within earshot began looking nervous, their tired eyes widening.

‘Speak carefully, Boymancer. A leader doesn’t sow fear among his followers.’

James grunted.

‘Do you have any more Warp crystals?’

Krag-Zot shook his head and responded.

‘Rest…James. There is little more you can do for my…this planet.’

James left.

Shouting erupted, and then ceased.

‘False alarm. Attackers neutralised,’ James heard from a nearby radio.

They are tricking us. James frowned. It must be. This is all a feint. They are testing our defences. They’re keeping us locked up while they take the rest of the planet.

James left the atrium and entered the field hospital. Grays and humans lay side by side. Some bloodied, but breathing. Others with blankets over their faces. Human and Gray medic worked side-by-side, helping each other as best they could with such dramatically different anatomy.

James passed them. Some glanced up, hopeful, as he passed them.

James bit down, his eyes moistening. He didn’t know if it was just the exhaustion, or if it was something else, but he felt an overwhelming sense of anger towards Aven Smith. The man had a lot to answer for.

He had never wanted to be a god. He didn’t even believe in a god. He wanted to survive. He wanted to help his comrades. He only became their deity as he was convinced it would help them – but it only led to their subservience. James didn’t want that. Zonians didn’t bleed easily – much less for a man they somehow saw as god. James stopped and rested his fist on the hallway wall. He could not continue with this. He could not stand the staring, the looks of hope, the admiration and worship. He wasn’t worthy. He was a false hope, a comforting lie. Not for loyalty, not for power – he could no longer see his people become slaves to his image.

He heard footsteps. He straightened and steeled himself. The Defiant let him pass, stopping their patrol. He hurried along, even though he knew they would have let him go as slow as he wanted.

He turned into a small metal room with a lone individual wearing headphones.

‘Any luck?’

The headphone wearer jumped and turned.

‘Defiant? No, no. No luck. Can only hear chatter from within this facility. The jammer is not as strong as within the first hour, but we still can’t hear anything more than a kilometre away.’

James left without responding, making his way to the atrium again. We’re the only ones left. The city is taken. They’re toying with us.

A deafening explosion and quake sent the frail James falling to the ground. The few Defiant patrollers were too shocked to notice his tumble. James jumped to his feet and bolted for the atrium.

A cacophony of voices and shouts infested the large room as many who had fallen asleep awoke, guns in hands. But no Imperial arrived. No white-clad demon descended from the holed rooftop. No armoured beetle burst from the doors. No bomb collided with the structure, or was intercepted by the AA-guns. James stood, FireBolt in hand.

But they never came.

Hissing and the shifting of metal made many a man and woman jump. But it was just the pod. The Ganru exited. His shirt was wet with sweat and vomit trailed down his front. His eyes were bloodshot.

A fellow Ganru ran to him, bearing a bottle of water. He ignored the offering and limped towards James. He fell, his legs too weak. Two men lifted him up as James approached.

‘Defiant,’ the Ganru rasped and then coughed. James took the bottle of water from the other Ganru and told him to drink.

He chugged and coughed some more. The men lowered him to the ground. James knelt in front of him.

‘Defiant,’ he began again. ‘There’s only black now.’

‘You’re going to be okay. Medic! We need a medic!’

‘No, no…there’s no more of them. No silver specks. Last of them escaped. The others. I shot all the others.’

James’ eyes widened.

‘Did we win?’

James put his hand on the Ganru’s shoulder.

‘Yes, we did. Thanks to you.’

The Ganru smiled, closed his eyes and slumped to the floor.



The room was cold. Not in temperature, but in aesthetic. It was smooth, clinical, utilitarian. The material housing the room’s sparse adornments was a sound-proofing mineral unfamiliar to James. In the centre of this symmetrical, unfeeling room, there was a microphone.

James took a deep breath and entered. Yobu, wearing only black, shut the door behind him. He was alone. Just him, a microphone and a hastily written speech on a tablet computer in his hand.

He walked towards the microphone. In front of him, a screen opened and he could see the face of a Ganru technician. He counted down with his fingers.

Three. Two. One.

James didn’t speak. He stared at the tablet in his left hand. The words and sentences blurred. The effort of himself, Aven and other speech writers became useless. It wasn’t good enough. For the gunner who died, for his friends who died. For his planet that was dead. For the victory, as hollow and as costly as it was. For all the innocents who died. For those who lost everything. It wasn’t enough. It was an insult to the battle that never got its rightful end.

For the Battle for Nova Zarxa had not ended with a bang, a relieved guffaw and a deafening cry of victory. It ended with a wheeze. The shutting of eyes. The overwhelming exhaustion that comes from witnessing too much in so little time. The Fall of Nova Zarxa never came, but nothing else did either. All that was wrought from the descent of the final Imperial battleship was a chance to cry, a chance to scream, a chance to mourn the dead. From this brutal battle, years in the making, there didn’t come any apparent watershed. Its end heralded no relief – for those who were dead, and those who mourned.

James stared at the screen in his hand. He dropped it onto the carpet below. It would never be enough.

He took in a deep breath and turned towards the door. Then he stopped.

The faces. The screen, where the Ganru technician stared, bemused. The glass separating him from Yobu on the other side. These people, from different worlds, had fought for him – for something. They died, they mourned…because of him.

James turned to the microphone. He knew that no matter what he said, it wouldn’t be enough – but he owed them that much.

‘Nova Zarxa – five hours ago, the last Imperial foothold was eliminated. This threat to our home has been stopped. For those left, we can have respite. I would like to say that we can relax, and live a peaceful life for all days. But I cannot lie to you. I know that most of you may not trust me. I don’t blame you. I’m a foreigner. A refugee turned terrorist who destroyed your way of life. I cannot change that. I will not change that. Your views of me are your burden. You may not believe me when I say I will not lie to you. But then you should not have to worry. Your way of life was a lie. If I am lying, then nothing has changed. But I am not lying, no matter how much I wish I was.

‘The Imperial Council will not stop here. We fought them back, against the odds. We stood our ground. We lost along the way. We lost irreplaceable things. Beloved things We can rebuild Nexus, but we cannot bring back those we lost. I am not going to lie and say that their sacrifice was necessary, or even in vain. I don’t have that right. I will never celebrate the death of my friends, my comrades, my people. But I will glorify them for what they did. I will make sure they live on, in memory, for standing their ground against total annihilation. A soldier’s death should never be celebrated. It is never worth the ultimate price. But their actions: those are worth remembering. And remember, Nova Zarxa, the brave souls who fought for this rock. Remember them when you take your next breath, for without them, you wouldn’t be able.’

James paused for breath and continued.

‘We have a harsh road ahead. The Imperials need this rock. They need these toxic minerals beneath our feet. We can’t let them take it. For the lives of every being on this planet and of all free races everywhere.

‘For this very reason, I ask you to fight alongside me. Not under me, not for me. A friend of mine once told me that freedom had to be given by the strong. That only the powerful could protect us. But that isn’t freedom. Freedom is fighting for what is right. For what you deem is right. Freedom is independence. Freedom is waking up in the morning and knowing that, if willing, you can change your fate. Nova Zarxa, Zonians, people…I will not give you your freedom. I cannot. I can slay dictators. I can use my power to fight those who wish to enslave you – but only you -can make the choice to seize freedom, a gun in hand.

‘I don’t ask you to fight for me, but for yourselves. For this is not a battle of me, or the Defiant, or even humanity versus the Imperial Council. It is a war between a way of life that desires freedom and honour, against a leviathan that detests liberty.

‘Nothing I say can ever be enough to make the loss we have felt worth anything. But we can all make this day worth something. We can fight. We can resist. When the Imperials come knocking on the gates of our free world once again, we stand our ground! I cannot bring back the dead. I cannot tell you to fight for me, or for state or for any idea. All I ask is that you stand your ground, and refuse to be a slave!’

Silence.

‘This has been James Terrin of Galis.’

James switched off the microphone and left. Yobu opened the door, his expression stunned.

The group outside stared at him. Ryan, Marshal, Yobu, Kota…friends, comrades. Then James heard the cheering. From the ruins of Nexus erupted a roar that could be heard from every listening post around Extos III. It was a roar so passionate, so honest in its veracity, that it reverberated across the galaxy. From the Outer Reach, to Mars, to Sekai, to the Imperial worlds of Glaris and Xerl. The roar hit – and no power could stop it.

“The Confederacy of the Defiant, often called the Cult of the Defiant, accomplished what the Troopers barely managed less than a decade ago on Ganymede. A motley, bloodied crew of refugees not only defended their new home, they showed the galaxy that the Imperial Council could bleed.” – R. Rebeck, Human Historian

Chapter 30.                 Epilogue

Danny smoked his cigarette outside the Aegis embassy, hastily erected where the Nexus hub once stood. He savoured it. It wasn’t a fake cigarette like one of those chemical substitutes or lab-grown tobacco. It was the genuine plantation article, right from Grengen.

‘Them lizards sure know how to grow some good leaf.’

‘They literally bleed for it.’

Danny turned and saw the familiar face of Viper coming towards him. The Asiatic sniper was still wearing his Grook uniform, Snake-Bite hung over his shoulder. He bore new scars.

‘Viper! Long time.’ Danny’s smile was genuine as he put out his hand.

Viper didn’t accept it. He also didn’t smile.

‘Boris is dead.’

Danny dropped his cigarette.

‘H... how?’

‘Aegis operation. Was a suicide mission. We were sent to Grengen to retrieve a VIP. Boris was killed in action.’

Danny gulped. ‘Well, people die in war. Boris knew the risk.’

‘Boris knew skite. None of us did. Mission was a… follow me. Not safe to talk here.’

Danny tailed Viper to a utility room near one of Nexus’ construction sites.

‘Viper, calm down. I’m going to miss him. He was my cousin, for Defiant-sake! But that doesn’t mean there was something wrong with the mission.’

‘Sending four operatives, not even on the Aegis official payroll, into a planet enslaved by one of the largest corporations in free space is something wrong with the mission,’ Viper spat.

‘Four?!’

‘Myself, Boris, Gre’sse, Regg. Just Grooks. No back up. No support.’

‘Why?’

‘Quentin wants me dead, Danny. He wanted us all gone. Me, especially. I besmirch his legacy. A brother who was raised by the filthy aliens he so despises.’

‘If he wanted you dead, he might as well just kill you. How did you get off-world, anyway?’

‘Quentin can’t eliminate me explicitly, or just abandon me. Gloria wouldn’t let that happen. He needed us to be killed in action, then pretend to cry afterwards.’

Danny paused and looked away. The construction syns nearby were quickly re-erecting the support columns for the market area.

‘I find this… a bit hard to accept,’ Danny finally continued.

‘You don’t need to accept all of it. Just know that your cousin is dead and was killed by your boss – indirectly, directly, intentional, unintentional. It doesn’t matter. If you want to honour Boris’ memory – you can’t keep working with Aegis.’

Danny contemplated this for hours afterwards. Lying awake, Krena asleep by his side, he thought about what Viper had told him. He didn’t want to believe it was true, but experience and a gut-feeling that he had learned to trust told him otherwise.

But Viper was wrong. Leaving Aegis was not the solution. If Quentin did murder his cousin, then Danny wouldn’t just leave. You keep your enemies within stabbing distance, and if Quentin had really wronged him, Danny would make him pay.



Erryn hated hospitals. The noxious cleaning chemicals, the smell of sterilised rubber, the sense of loss. The reminder of suffering. Barry, her adopted father and captain of the Kolheim, had died in a hospital bed. This hospital. Confined to her bed, she was not able to avoid these sensations, or that memory. All she wanted was to be in the seat of the Kolheim, riding out into the void.

That was no longer possible.

Her home, her everything, were gone, and with it, her leg.

The grenade had not killed her, but had mangled her leg beyond repair. But, as she awoke, she found a new leg in its place. It felt wrong. She tapped it when it was elevated and realised that it was much harder than her real leg. It was cybernetic, with a coating of regrown skin. She didn’t know who paid for it. She knew she hadn’t. Her credits had dried out a month ago. The nurses and syns didn’t answer her when she inquired. She had long since given up.

Foot-steps stopped beside her bed, away from where she was peering out of the window at the reconstruction of the city.

‘Lunch-time already?’

‘Not sure,’ a familiar voice replied.

Erryn turned, causing some pain in her neck. Yobu, Jilly by his side, smiled at her.

Jilly clambered onto the bed and hugged her. Erryn hugged back. Eventually, they let go.

‘What happened?’

‘Half your lower body was blown off by that grenade,’ Yobu added. ‘Your replacement organs and leg should be more than sufficient. Day or two and you can get back to piloting. I’m sure the Defiant will have a new ship for you – something worthy of a war hero.’

‘How did I afford all this?’ she indicated at the stitches around her lower abdomen and left-leg.

‘You didn’t. I could. A Trooper doesn’t need to spend his money. I had plenty of savings.’

Erryn blushed. ‘You didn’t have to…’

‘I didn’t,’ Yobu interrupted. ‘But I did. Now, Jilly has something for you.’

Jilly beamed and handed Erryn a small box wrapped in plastic paper. Erryn raised her eyebrow and opened the parcel.

It was the Kolheim.

‘Aegis has been selling it,’ Jilly explained.

‘Selling my ship?’ Erryn asked, irritated.

‘Selling a likeness of your ship, with all credit to the pilot,’ Yobu replied. He took out a printed sheet and handed it over. It read:

‘Captain Erryn Kolheim. For the rights of the usage of the Kolheim likeness, the Aegis Corporation will like to offer a 10% royalty of all funds accrued. Please enjoy this complementary model, courtesy of Aegis.’

Erryn harrumphed. It was the least they could do.

‘10% is a lot of money, Erryn. You could retire.’

‘I don’t want to retire.’

‘Then don’t. Get a ship. Become a shipper again. Or stay…with me.’

Jilly was glancing between them.

Erryn smiled. Yobu smiled back.



Martyr Grexus of Xerl had only felt defeat once before. That was against the Voroz, over three thousand rotations ago. The warp-immune brutes had proven too strong for him or any of the Martyrs, and thus they were inducted into the Council. That was to be expected. The Voroz were powerful. They were an exception. Martyr Grexus had never been ashamed of his loss to them. They were worthy foes, and even worthier allies.

But he also didn’t feel shame at this loss. While many of his officers charged fruitlessly into the slaughter, or destroyed themselves out of fear and shame, he just watched as an empire was born.

The alien hive glistened like his horde. They were imposters. The Martyr had felt frustration at the fact that he couldn’t release his full force upon the abomination, as that would have destroyed the planet, and a thousand rotations of work with it. Alas, they were forced to fight the way the Star Horde had for time immemorial. Legion against legion. Staff and lance against the weak flesh of barbarians. But this time, it had not been enough. Out of countless worlds, Martyr Grexus of Xerl failed to take the one planet which he had Blighted so many rotations before.

The Areq had fallen by his hand. Their home was made into a farm – for the Warp crystals that the Martyrs and the Imperia so needed. But with its destruction, Resh had become stronger. The Blighted could not be Blighted again. Nova Zarxa, as the humans and other demons now called it, could not fall like Zona Nox.

Martyr Grexus of Xerl watched as his ship retreated, destroying the puny pursuing vessels. From his vantage, he gazed out onto the birthplace of an empire. This Defiant, he had no doubts, would become a galactic force. He could not underestimate them again. For the Ulyx and Edal were not the only Warpmancers in the galaxy.

But the Martyr did not fear defeat. He knew it was impossible. He had watched empires rise and fall. Every one of them collapsed to the one true empire. For they were the sword that would guarantee peace. They were the legion that would bring order to the galaxy – the power that would rend everything.

The Martyr would have smirked, if he could smirk. For he knew that they were the Council. They were the End.



Re’lien practiced her breathing as the ice planet came into view. It had been a long, stressful trip. The nature of her leaving had not helped matters in the slightest. Despite that, she was glad to be this many light years away from Mars. She was relieved to still be alive enough to be anywhere!

Even so, that did not stop the anxiety that beset her. She had a big task ahead and she was ill equipped to carry it through. The Diplomatic Corps had said that Nova Zarxa was a tolerant society. Her being an Edal would not be too much of a problem. They were too far from the buffer zone to care much about distant empires, regardless of past conflicts with said empires.

But en route, Nova Zarxa’s communications had ceased. There was no going back to Mars, however. This was more of an escape and exile than a real mission. Re’lien knew that. For what she had done, this was more than charitable.

The ice planet drifted closer and Re’lien could make out a few space stations and what seemed to be countless wrecks.

She gulped. Seemed they had had a war. That wasn’t unexpected. The frontier was dangerous and she had been informed that the Empire of Xank had been focusing their attacks on this system. It was by no means a safe world, but it needed oversight by Mars, as the rumours of the governor’s crimes had become louder and louder.

Re’lien was to provide this oversight, and make sure that the frontier knew that Mars was there if they needed it. Re’lien finished her destressing techniques and smiled. It couldn’t be all bad. It could be much worse.

And besides, she had always wanted to tour human space.

Terra, this could be fun.

Chapter 31.                    Glossary

Swearing (Order of Severity)

Void – equivalent to hell, a term some humans still use.

Zot – a scaly rodent, insult used to refer to the untrustworthy.

Grako – one who has forgotten the face of their father.

Skite – broad meanings. Typically, a waste product or trash, or a sign of severity.

Vok – broad meanings. Typically, an adjective to describe the intolerable.

Vushla – Imperial swearword. Roughly translates to: From all that is the most vokked up, this is more so.

Dating Systems: Use of the Gregorian calendar is still prevalent but was renamed to the Terran Calendar (TC) at the start of the Armageddon Calendar (AC) which began in the year 2250 TC. Other dating systems used by humans are the Age of the Cape (ACP, 2300 TC) and After Blight (3000 TC).

Trooper Ranking System: The Troopers reward merit on the field as well as experience in combat. An officer has the power to promote any Trooper to a certain rank in relation to his own. Each rank has a field and non-combat equivalent. The Troopers are ruled over by the High Command, which is made up of officers elected based on merit on the field of battle.

Trainee – newly inducted into the Troopers, typically on an informal basis.

Private – general foot soldier.

Veteran – has fought in a major battle or conflict.

Corporal – sometimes lower than a veteran; specializes in a particular role on the field.

Sergeant (within a squad) – leads a portion of a larger squad or more commonly specializes in a particular role.

Sergeant (of a squad) – leads a small squad of four to fifteen people.

Lieutenant – leads a specialized squad or acts as a leader within a platoon.

Captain/Strike Leader – leads a strike team which can contain up to three squads.

Commander – leads a platoon of up to three strike teams.

Colonel – leads a force of up to three platoons or acts as an extremely skilled specialist within a task force.

General (of a force) – leads an army made up of fifty platoons.

General (of the Council) – Representative or member of the High Command. Engages in galactic wide command.

High Protector – leader of the Troopers. Elected by Council Generals.

Tenets of the Trooper Order

1. Fight the enemies of mankind.

2. Slay the traitors of our race.

3. Protect humankind.

4. Prepare to live and die for the Order.

5. Never slay or harm a fellow Trooper.

6. Relish peace, prepare for war.

7. Bullets take lives. Skill saves them.

8. Pursue the art of our enemies to wreak vengeance upon them.

9. Blood and Blight, never forget.

Races

Areq – pale aliens with large under-bites. Homeworld of Resh was Blighted beyond repair thousands of years ago. Founding race of the Empire of Xank.

Edal – blue, pointy-eared humanoids. Commonly thought to be the greatest Warpmancers in the galaxy. Homeworld is Grelaz. Arguably the most powerful race in the Imperial Council.

Exanoid – mercantile, pig-like species known for their skill in mathematics and finances. Commonly holds positions as Overseers and managers. Homeworld is Eran.

Gleran – short insect species which reacts to a hive mind. Some individual traits are present, but all goals are determined by a hive mind.

Gray – peculiar species which natively inhabits many systems and planets across the galaxy. Due to a weak stature and mind, are commonly used as slaves and labourers.

Human – diverse species primarily inhabiting the Great Terra system. Homeworld was the now blighted Earth. Current capital is Mars. Variety of governments across the galaxy, most prominently the corporations and the Troopers.

Kragonian – blue humanoid lizards enslaved by the Imperial Council.

Merka – genetically engineered Exanoids, bred for battle but still more docile than many other aliens.

Pegg – short aliens with big heads and razor-sharp teeth. They excel at piracy due to their adeptness at anti-gravity combat.

Squogg – naturally rotund, always masked aliens known for their aggression against humans.

Ulyx – white, flat-nosed and earless humanoids. Known as great politicians, bankers and philosophers. Homeworld is Mer’lu. The second race to join the Imperial Council.

Vacaraptor – red, raptor-like reptiles from Grengen.

Voroz – large grey species with large arms and short legs. Hide is hardier than most metals. Seen as the shock troops of the Imperial Council. Homeworld is Voroz.

Zangorian – short orange bird species. Homeworld is Zeruit, which was taken by the Empire of Xank. The Zangorian are now used as infantry in the Xank army.

Factions

Aegis Corporation - Founded on Mars as a shipping company and has since grown to become the largest supplier of high-end technology and combat utilities in human space.

Empire of Xank - Empire formed of multiple races found in the Outer Reach, beyond the Central Space frontier.

Ganru – a syndicate of Asiatic gangsters dedicated to uplifting their race’s homeworld.

Grag-Tec – a corporation founded jointly by Grays and Exanoids after the Glotos III uprising.

Grooks – a Southern Tundra gang run by Danny’s cousin, Boris Maren.

Imperial Council - Theocratic empire known for imperialism, totalitarianism and advanced technology; contains many races of consenting or annexed members.

Marzios – a Mafia-style gang from Galis City.

The Defiant – a group of rebels made up mainly of Zonian refugees

The Troopers - Human military order founded on Mars which is devoted to the protection and expansion of human owned space. They are pledged to protect humanity across the galaxy. They hire themselves out to corporations to fund this endeavour.

Titan Corporation – a mining and arms company.

Zenites – a violent gang that that sought to annex Galis City.

Zerian Corporation – a human corporation specialising in cheap commodities and questionable industries. Has since been revealed as Imperial collaborators.

Planets

Earth – the human homeworld. Currently Blighted.

Eran – Exanoid homeworld.

Glaris Imperia – an Imperial owned human colony.

Glotos III – the headquarters of Grag-Tec.

Grengen – a jungle planet and homeworld of the Vacaraptor

Mars – the Trooper homeworld.

Nova Zarxa/Resh – an ice world and one of the largest crystal mining planets on the frontier. Used to be the Areq homeworld.

Sekai – a backwater world made up of humans with similar ancestry that wish to band together for mutual gain.

Zeruit – Zangorian homeworld.

Zona Nox – a frontier world in Extos III. Blighted.

Zuton – Zerian Corporation homeworld.

Miscellaneous

Blighting – a method of infecting a planet’s atmosphere with pure warp energy so to prevent it from sustaining life. Blighted planets cannot be terraformed and will eventually grow crystal fields.

Geradite – an artificial metal.

Lector – a Xank minister.

Mozar – cattle.

Pit-slug – a type of leach that finds its home in sandy areas.

Warpmancy – the art of twisting Warp energy to ones whims.

Zot – a reptilian rodent.

Did you enjoy Rise of the Defiant? Make sure to let me know by leaving a review on Amazon.

Also, don’t miss other great Warpmancer stories, like:

Gangs of Galis

Shipborn

Outcast of Empire

And more!