"LUNAR:  Starship Andromeda"

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LUNAR:  Starship Andromeda

By Jeffery C. Branch and Daryll Pung

Episode Nine:  Let The Bodies Hit The Floor...

Rated: R

In standard orbit over Pollus 4, inside the Alpha Zone, 14 March 2740

The SLS Andromeda 

             A sense of shock momentarily stole over Sailor Eldrea as took a long look at the enemy; her mind academically categorized them.

            Four Dark Kingdom Infiltrators.  Modified, by the looks of it, armored, four arms instead of two.  Shit.  Audra!  You stupid, emptyheaded bitch!  After everything that’s happened, you still fucked up, letting monsters on the ship!  IDIOT!  Talk about a clusterfuck!

            Khatari reacted first.  “Shit!  I knew it!  Security team!  Open fire!  Shoot to kill!”  Even as the first blaster beams drilled into the beasts, the Isbanni raced in, heedless of his own safety, and grabbed the wounded V’lnova.  He began dragging him free as the Infiltrators turned; he wondered disdainfully if Sailor Eldrea was just going to stand there when he noted her recovering the isolytic cartridge V’lnova dropped.  With a flick of her wrist, it disappeared.  Khatari’s disdain began to disappear as he noted the cold expression on Sailor Eldrea’s face.

            The Infiltrators moved rapidly despite their size and bulk; in a second, they were on the security squad, whose blaster fire had barely fazed them.  With one powerful swipe, the last Infiltrator in the line knocked the blaster rifle out of one guard’s hands and brought his fearsome claws down across the man’s chest; only the armor the guard was wearing saved his life and prevented his guts from being spilled, though he went down hard, with a dull thud.

            Thus far, the other troops managed to evade the other Infiltrators’ efforts, but blaster fire was becoming sporadic as that evasion took more and more of their attention.

            Khatari’s disdain vanished completely as rage appeared on Sailor Eldrea’s face; a blue aura of scintillating fire arose about her hands as she clapped them together, and then she touched her prosthetic arm, which suddenly extended three feet past her fist into a razor-sharp duranium sword.  Impressive, the Isbanni thought despite himself.

            “Sons of BITCHES!” she snarled as she charged.  “Pick on someone your own size!”  The furious Senshi of Alchemy covered the distance in even less time than the Infiltrators had, and with a furious swipe, black ichor flew from the Infiltrator that had almost killed the security trooper.  Evading no longer became a problem for the security force as Sailor Eldrea backflipped over the Infiltrator and landed lightly in front of it; ichor streamed from the stump where one of its arms had been, and had splattered over two of its fellows. 

            It howled in rage as Sailor Eldrea again brought her hands together, like before coated in an aura of azure flames.  She dropped, placing both hands on the deck, as Khatari opened fire with his blaster rifle, adding his input; and the deck suddenly came alive, forming into chains that abruptly ensnared all four Infiltrators, wrapping around their legs, arms, torsos, necks, and waists.  All their attention was now focused squarely on Sailor Eldrea as the other three added their screams of anger to the din.

            Good, she thought angrily.  Time to thin out the numbers.  I’ll fix this mess by killing all these bastards!

            Swift, watching from his post in Flight Control, interrupted her thoughts.  He clicked on the intercom.  “I’m opening the doors to let the security forces stationed outside in!”  His hands moved towards the panel; his tone was steeped in horror.

            Khatari ducked as one of the chains snapped free; the Infiltrator saw him and swiped.  He fired his blaster rifle at close range, but the nimbus of power from the impact did nothing, other than pissing it off more.  Guess I need to up the setting for these Infiltrators…  “The hell you will!  Keep those doors closed!  Do NOT breach containment under any circumstances!” he then yelled at Swift.

            He froze, suddenly, as a voice burst through his brain.

            Maim!  Slash!  KILL!

            He grimaced, fighting to ignore that voice; it had been five years since he heard it last.  As he got himself back under control, he looked up to see a massive clawed hand descending towards him; his eyes widened.

            It never reached him; black ichor splattered as a gleaming dagger blade penetrated the clawed hand, and jerked it back amidst a howl of pain.  Sailor Eldrea spiraled inside, her movements graceful, almost dance like; the gleaming duranium cable the dagger was attached to was now wrapped around the Infiltrator’s throat, the hilt in her flesh-and-blood hand.  She landed, and brought her hands together; a blue inferno snaked down the cable, transforming it into duranium razor wire, and she gave a vicious jerk.

            The three-armed Infiltrator’s head came cleanly off amidst a fountain of black ichor; the Infiltrator collapsed in a heap on the floor as the bluish flames returned Sailor Eldrea’s custom made ‘snap-dagger’ back to normal.  She made a snapping motion with her wrist, retracting the blade and cable back to the hilt, locked the catch, returned it to the empty scabbard on her right hip, and scowled at the three remaining Infiltrators, now breaking free of the last of her chains with rage-enhanced strength.

            “Fuckers,” she snarled, as Khatari seized the opportunity to modify his rifle’s setting, noting the other guards doing much the same, after dragging the injured trooper free.

            “Fullmetal!” called Swift, worried.  “Let me open the doors!”

            “Follow Khatari’s orders, blast you, Swift!” snarled Sailor Eldrea.  “These cursed things cannot be allowed to escape into the ship!  Prepare Security Plan Delta-4; if all of us fall, you better damn well open the hangar bay doors and allow the vacuum of space to kill these fucks!”

            “Fullmetal!  I can’t do that!  I can’t just sit by and allow you to be killed!“ Swift argued, torn between loyalties.

            Sailor Eldrea narrowed her eyes as the Infiltrators reformed for a charge, ducking under and evading a renewed salvo of blaster fire from the security squad.  Pockmarks and small craters were appearing all over the bay; bits and pieces were flying off of the Pollusian and Royal Star Navy shuttles.  Still, the Infiltrators closed, and more security troops went down under a flailing mass of claws. 

            “Dammit, Swift!  That’s a fucking order!  While I appreciate the loyalty, the crew comes first!  We’re expendable!  Do as I say, or so help me, after this is over, I’ll drop kick your dumb ass off this ship and into next week!  Comply!” Sailor Eldrea exploded in rage.

            The channel clicked off without another word, as up in Flight Control Swift reluctantly set to work, readying the hangar doors to be opened.  “Door controls at the ready, ma’am,” he said dourly.

            “Hey, assholes!” snarled Sailor Eldrea, as she brought her hands together, knelt and placed them on the deck once more.  The Infiltrators turned to face her, and moved suddenly towards her and Khatari, their shapes blurred with the speed of their action.

            Not again, thought Khatari as he leveled his rifle.  The chains barely slowed them down!

            An azure inferno burst from her hands, and a massive spike burst from the deck plating, impaling one of the Infiltrators and slamming it hard into the bay wall, its howl of rage turning into one of pure anguish; streams of black fluid bubbled down the length of the spike.

            The other two Infiltrators checked their actions, as Khatari smiled slightly, a sense of not-so-grudging respect for Sailor Eldrea increasing in him.  He noted that the Infiltrators were giving her another look as well; the barest hint of fear in their eyes.  Hot damn, even the Infiltrators are showing a bit of deference to her! 

            The impaled Infiltrator was still alive, Khatari noted; and Sailor Eldrea was already focusing her attention on the other two… as she should, he realized, leaving the other for him and the two remaining combat-capable security team members to finish.  Well, then, he smirked, leveling his rifle and sighting on the impaled creature.

            Maim!  Slash!  KILL!

            He grimaced, and shook his head, fighting off the voice, which was louder this time.  No! he snarled to himself.  I won’t! I WON’T!

            He pulled the trigger at the same time as the two troopers; three blazing beams lanced into the Infiltrator’s skull, and it twitched and died, smoke pouring out of various orifices.

            The two remaining Infiltrators were on the remaining security troops in a flash, even as Sailor Eldrea charged, screaming.  “You BASTARDS!”  Her thoughts were grimly determined, tinged with a blazing hot, yet tightly controlled fury.  No one else dies in here like G’denel because of my mistake!  NO ONE!  Her cybernetic hand flipped upright, sword notwithstanding, and a small, glowing green liquid orb, one foot in diameter, materialized.

            Sailor Eldrea paused in her charge long enough to spin about and hurl the orb at one of the Infiltrators, now turning and moving towards her, clear of one of the badly savaged security troopers, with a cry.  “Acid RAGE!”

            The orb slammed hard into the monster’s chest, which howled in rage and pain as its flesh began to dissolve; acid splashed in a small radius, corroding parts of the shuttle bay floor as well.  Sailor Eldrea leapt, brandishing her sword arm; she dropped, and even as the Infiltrator’s claws ripped into her, she drove her duranium sword through its throat, and with and angry snarl and a twist, finished the job of removing its head in a dark spray.

            Maim!  Slash!  KILL!

            The voice in Khatari’s head was getting louder, more insistent; and his blood was beginning to boil from battle lust; it was getting harder for Khatari to resist.  It was only he and Sailor Eldrea still standing, and he couldn’t even shoot anymore, both for fear of hitting her or an injured comrade, and fear of losing control.

            Sailor Eldrea was limping now; blood streaming down her side and her right leg, deep, vicious claw wounds marring her lightly tanned skin.  Black ichor dripped off of the duranium sword extending from her cybernetic arm.  She and the last surviving Infiltrator warily circled each other, sizing each other up.

            Both moved simultaneously, and Sailor Eldrea’s swipe ripped the Infiltrator open along its midsection, but the Infiltrator brought its two top hands together in a massive fist and down on top of Sailor Eldrea’s head.

            “Senshi bitch,” it snarled, as she staggered back, dazed.

            It grabbed her with all four arms, and took a step back, then spun and hurled her with all its might into an already heavily damaged Royal Star Navy shuttle.  Sailor Eldrea struck with awesome force, partially collapsing the side of the shuttle and tipping it over with a fearsome crash.  For a second, she lay sprawled atop the shuttle; then she slid off, crumpling to the deck in a barely conscious, badly concussed heap.

            She was defenseless as the Infiltrator, ignoring the dark fluid streaming from the deep slice along its midsection, strode towards her, leering.  “Ready to die?” it snarled.

            The Infiltrator smirked at Khatari as it reached to end Sailor Eldrea’s life. 

Marquis City, Pollus 4, inside the Alpha Zone, 14 March 2740   

            Ursola did his best to maintain his composure as he drove up to the entrance to the underground garage where the four hard faced men, toting weapons, gave him a long, hard look.  One of the men, wearing a garrison hat, held up his hand as an order to stop.  Ursola complied; silently praying that weapons fire wouldn’t erupt.

            In the back of the truck, the away team sat crouched and deathly quiet, not wanting to do anything that might give them away.  Ryvvius, closest to the cab, examined the others; McDowell and his three men wore steely-eyed expressions, their muscles coiled like springs, weapons at the ready for use.  Ensign LeClerc, beads of sweat on his forehead, looked slightly apprehensive as he flexed the fingers of the hand that held the purloined DK tunneling pistol.  The Cygnian’s eyes then fell on Miriele, who was next to him; she shivered as if freezing, a look of sheer terror on her face, her eyes wide as saucers.

            The poor girl’s terrified.  Cassandra may have been joking earlier, but right now, it wouldn’t surprise me if she really does void her bladder.  This simply won’t do, Ryvvius thought.  The Cygnian reached over, gave Miriele’s hand a comforting squeeze and a fatherly smile as if to say, ‘Relax.  Calm down.  Everything’s going to be just fine.’

            Miriele stopped shaking, stared into Ryvvius’ eyes, and then nodded as a sense of calmness settled her.  She nodded to him as a gesture of thanks.  The Cygnian then turned his attention to Ursola in the cab.

            “Greetings, friend.  Lovely day, isn’t it?” Ursola said in greeting to the man, whom he guessed wasn’t part of the Royal Hall security staff, since the garage wasn’t guarded, and that they wore uniforms while on duty.  “Is there a problem?”

            The man eyed him, long and suspiciously.  “We don’t know, Administrator Ursola.  One of your aides, H’Guro, and his assistants, has been missing for the last hour.  H’Guro was said to have been with you.  Have you seen him recently?”

            “Not since a breakfast meeting with him this morning,” Ursola replied, trying to sound casual but barely succeeding.  One of the men sidled up behind the questioner while the other two stood in front of the vehicle.  The Pollusian felt his nerve starting to desert him.  “Do you think he’s run into some trouble?”

            “We don’t know.”  The man gave the truck a long look.  “Do you have anything in the back?”

            “Nothing remarkable.  Just a few pieces of furniture.  I’ve been tasked with supervising refurbishment work in the council meeting rooms.  Nothing criminal about that, is there?”

            “That depends.”  He then did something that puzzled Ursola; he pointed his nose at the back of the truck and took several long sniffs.  The man then scowled fiercely.  “Do you mind if I have a look?”

            Ursola shivered.  It was difficult to keep the fear from showing on his face.  “At the back of a mildly cluttered truck?  I’m sorry, but that doesn’t make any sense.”

            “It does if you’re hiding somebody!”  He then hefted his weapon, as did his fellows.

            Spirit of Theth-Anon!  They’re going to shoot at me, he thought.

            In the back, Ryvvius, realizing the jig was up, took action.  “Ursola!  Hit the gas!”

            Closing his eyes, and silently praying to his god he’d get to open them again, Ursola tromped down hard on the accelerator and, with a sudden whine from the engine, the vehicle shot forward, taking the men by surprise.  The two in front of the truck, both in the process of morphing into Infiltrators, were struck head on; and with a loud, sickening crunch of bone, they were sent flying and crumpled, unmoving, to the ground.  The other two, startled, quickly recovered and fired their guns.  The beams easily pierced the vehicle but didn’t hit anyone inside as they hugged the floor.

            “McDowell!  Deal with those bastards!” Ryvvius yelled.  “I have no plans on dying today!”

            “Like I do?” McDowell snapped.  “Grissom!  The doors!  Caine!  Taylor!  Cover us!”

            McDowell and Grissom kicked open the back doors and fired on the DK agents with Caine and Taylor providing cover fire, along with Ryvvius, while Miriele and LeClerc stayed out of the way.  Pedestrians screamed from fright at the gunplay as the truck entered the garage.  Ursola, not used to driving fast, barely managed to maintain control of the damaged vehicle as it careened around a corner, bounced off one wall, then another, and sped down three sub-levels before screeching to a halt in front of a rusted side door at the far end from the ramp.  The truck was punctured from numerous smoking holes, but still intact.

            “Speak up!  Anyone hurt?” Ryvvius demanded as everyone piled out of what was left of the vehicle.  When no one replied, he sighed from relief.

            “Do you RSN people always engage in this sort of madness?” a visibly shaken Ursola asked.  He stared at a hole on the cab’s frame, half a foot from where his head had been while he was driving.

            “Sadly, yes.  Don’t relax yet, Mr. Ursola, things are about to get even crazier,” Ryvvius growled.  “Let’s move, people.  We’ve got to get upstairs to Sailor Siryn.  And we’ve got to do it fast before those DK thugs warn their fellows that we’re back in the building!”

In standard orbit over Pollus 4, inside the Alpha Zone, 14 March 2740    

The SLS Andromeda  

            Fifteen feet away, Khatari, seeing Sailor Eldrea helpless, clutched his head in his hands, from terrible pain.  The voice on he heard became overwhelming.

            Maim!  Slash!  KILL!   Maim!  SLASH!  KILL!  MAIM!  SLASH-

            “Damn you, Sailor Eldrea!  Damn you for making me do THIS!” growled Khatari.  With a thunderous roar, jet-black fur burst from his uniform as Khatari’s outline blurred; his shape enlarged into a massive, intimidating, seven-foot tall catlike creature sporting razor-sharp fangs and enormous claws.

            He was an Isbanni Clan-warrior.

            In a single leap, he spanned the fifteen feet that separated the Infiltrator from him, and as he landed atop the creature he tore into it with a vengeance.

            Sailor Eldrea struggled upright, knowing Khatari had seen the look in her eyes, the horror and fear as she witnessed the transformation; but as her healing powers began to deal with the concussion and blinding pain all over her body, her senses began to clear, and the horror faded away, to be replaced by a sense of detached, almost professional, warrior’s admiration as the two creatures savagely ripped each other apart.

            Khatari ultimately gained the upper hand, as he ruthlessly tore off the Infiltrator’s arms.  He sank his fangs into the monster’s throat, and ripped it away; ichor sprayed an impressive distance.  Khatari kicked off, as dark fluid continued to spout like a geyser from the already dead Infiltrator; its corpse hit the deck with a muted thud.  Khatari landed lightly; gore dripping from his fanged maw, his wounds closing rapidly before Sailor Eldrea’s eyes.

            He growled long and menacingly at the Senshi of Alchemy, his eyes filled with a terrible hunger, implying that she was next on the menu.

            Sailor Eldrea slowly pulled herself upright, and allowed a slight smile to creep across her lips.  Mother of Serenity… that was some show.  She took a breath, and nodded.  “That will do, Mr. Khatari.  Stand down.  Now!”  She was pleased to hear her voice steady, ringing with command, even though her head was still spinning.

            Khatari’s lips briefly curled into a sly grin, confirming Sailor Eldrea’s suspicions.  He had seen her fear, even if it had been short lived.  Now we’re even, Sailor Eldrea, he thought, as he regained control of himself, and forced himself to change back into his humanoid form.

            Almost instantly, he regretted it, as pain coursed through him; he staggered, dazed.  Shaking his head, and realizing the second effect he’d forgotten, he grinned wryly.  His uniform was in shreds all over the floor; he was naked.  He stepped towards Sailor Eldrea, and extended his hand.

            Allowing herself to be pulled fully to her feet and away from the tipped, smoking shuttle, Sailor Eldrea wobbled slightly on her high heels, before shaking her head to try and clear it further.  She hated that Khatari had seen her momentary weakness… but then, fair was fair; she’d seen it in him, too.  “You never mentioned you were a Clan-warrior, Khatari,” she said accusingly.

            Khatari shrugged.  “You never asked,” he replied casually.

            The doors hissed open; security reinforcements raced in, and drew up short, eyes wide as they took in the scene.  One trooper took charge, and others scrambled about to the injured and the dead, securing the area.

            “Excuse me, ma’am,” Khatari said calmly, turning towards the trooper who’d taken charge.  The man looked at Khatari nervously, slack-jawed, as he approached.  “What’s wrong, mister?  Never seen a naked man before?  Report!” he snapped.

            “Sir, all our people are alive, though badly injured; probably only due to the fact that they were wearing body armor.  Leftenant V’lnova is alive, but Leftenant G’denel is dead.  Damage is extensive… and I’m, uh, not sure where to begin with some of it,” the guard said, indicating the massive spike.  “The four… um… enemies are confirmed dead.”

            Khatari nodded.  “Get some med teams in here right away for the injured.  We’ll need engineering teams to clean up the mess.  And find me a jumpsuit from the air crew support lockers; I don’t fancy walking to my cabin nude.”

            “Yes, sir!” the trooper replied, and turned to get to work.  Khatari turned back to see Sailor Eldrea walking over; she was still clutching her head.

            “All right, Khatari, who else knew about you?” she demanded, a hint of annoyance in her tone from being kept out of the loop. 

            Khatari blinked; pleased that she showed total confidence in him, and no inclination towards issuing any correction or addition to the orders he’d just given.  “Only Sailor Neptune, Sailor Siryn, and Dr. Saralonde.  They all respected my request to keep my true nature a secret.”  He sighed.  “Even though I was born a Clan-warrior, I’ve always, firmly, steadfastly rebelled against my nature, ever since I was old enough to understand what that meant.  I hated being a killing machine, and I wanted to make my own path through the universe as a man, not a monster.  That’s why I enlisted in the RSN, and, as a result, I was expelled from my clan- a first, by the way- and earned the enmity of my people, who considered my act a betrayal.  I’ve been permanently banned from my homeworld.”

            “Whoa,” whispered Sailor Eldrea.  She regarded him thoughtfully.  “No regrets, I take it?”

            He narrowed his eyes at her shrewd deduction.  “None.  My decision ultimately saved my soul.  The transformation is hellishly painful… and the bloodlust that grips me while in my were-creature form is damn near impossible to control.  I could’ve slaughtered everyone in here if you hadn’t snapped me back to my senses.  You Terrans have no concept of what being a Clan-warrior is like.  I did not want to get used to that again, or worse, come to enjoy it, either.”

            “I know the feeling,” murmured Sailor Eldrea.  She glanced at the ichor-coated sword still protruding from her cybernetic right arm.  “The fight to retain your humanity… the true essence of who you are, not what you may have become, even as you continue to become a more fearsome and effective killer; even if it’s for a good cause.  I understand it all perfectly.” 

            She clapped her hands together; scintillating blue fire consumed her arm and the sword, and when it faded, her arm was back to normal.  She flexed it experimentally, and looked seriously back at Khatari; she glanced back around at the bay, clapped her hands again, and knelt; azure flames rippled out in waves, consuming the spike, and the remnants of the chains, and even the spots where the acid had corroded the deck; astonished cries of the security troops accompanied them backpedaling clear.  When the energy faded, the shuttle bay deck was back to normal; the impaled Infiltrator corpse thudded to the deck, ichor splattering.  She stood.  “As you were,” she called out; the security troops slowly resumed their duties.

            Khatari fought to contain how impressed he was.  “I still cannot help but feel an overwhelming sense of guilt over resorting to my true nature.”  He paused.  “Can you… no, will you, keep my secret, Sailor Eldrea?”

            “Damn straight I will, Goran,” she said, looking him in the eye.  She activated her communicator.  “Swift, you are hereby under orders never to reveal the events in the shuttle bay involving Khatari today, and that goes double for his true nature, do you understand?  Not even to the rest of the wing.  As far as anyone is concerned, I tore the last Infiltrator to pieces, not he.  Is that clear?”

            Swift’s voice came back, awe evident.  “Crystal, ma’am.  What about the computer records?”

            “Classify them, with access only allowed to myself, Khatari, Sailor Siryn, and Dr. Saralonde.  Sailor Siryn can decide later on if that needs to be altered.  Those arrangements work for you, Khatari?”  Sailor Eldrea turned back to Khatari as a security trooper handed him a jumpsuit; he began putting it on.  She waited until he was finished.

            “Yes, ma’am,” Khatari nodded as he dressed.

            When she continued, Sailor Eldrea’s voice was halting.  “You… you saved my life.  Thank you, Goran.”

            Khatari smirked.  “My pleasure, Captain.  I’ll bet you hated saying that, especially to me, didn’t you?”  He felt a flash of pleasure.  That’s twice she called me by my first name…  What does this mean?

            Sailor Eldrea laughed out loud.  “What do you think, furball?  Seriously, despite whatever differences I had with you, you’re a damn good officer.”  She offered her flesh-and-blood hand.

            Khatari took it, after wiping ichor off of his.

            “I think, Goran, that we finally understand each other,” she smiled.  “And, as far as I’m concerned, you can watch my back anytime, anyplace.”

            With that, she let go, and flicked her wrist, producing the isolytic cartridge.  “Now get to your quarters and make yourself presentable, mister.  I want you on the bridge in ten minutes when I examine what’s on this cartridge!”

Royal Hall, Marquis City, Pollus 4, inside the Alpha Zone, 14 March 2740   

            The stairs were eerily quiet as McDowell and Grissom lead the way, weapons at the ready, quietly, up the hidden stairwell into the Royal Hall.  The Andromeda landing party followed at defined intervals.

            “Sir, how the heck did those DK thugs know we were in the back of that truck?” a curious LeClerc asked Ryvvius in a whisper.

            “I’ve been wondering the same thing, Ensign,” Ryvvius replied.  He raised his voice slightly.  “Mr. Ursola, do you have any ideas how we were found out, seeing as how you had a better view of events than the rest of us?”

            There was a pause, before the Pollusian haltingly replied.  “The guard, well, he, er… he took several, well, sniffs, at the back of the truck before things… well, got out of hand.”

            McDowell paused at a landing near the top, and shook his head, chuckling ruefully.  “Well, kiss my corn-fed, Midwestern ass.  He smelled us.  That son of a bitch smelled us!  Commander, if you think this clusterfuck of a mission can possibly get even crazier than it already is now, I’d be mighty grateful if you keep those suspicions to yourself.”

            Ryvvius nodded, bemused.  “You have my word on that, Ensign.  I can do without any further surprises myself.  Bad for the heart.”

            Miriele hesitantly spoke up.  “W-what sort of o-opposition might we face inside, s-sir?”  Her voice was trembling with her nervousness.

            Ryvvius shrugged.  “Maybe a little, maybe a lot.  So far, nothing about this mission has gone according to Hoyle.  But then, missions as complicated as this one rarely do.”   

            McDowell and Grissom reached the topmost landing, which ended in a gray metal door, old fashioned, with a turn-type handle.

            “This is a hidden entrance to the second floor of the Hall,” Ursola said quietly.  “It was originally put in place, centuries ago, as an emergency egress for the council.  Once we enter the hall, we can take an elevator near the west end to the council chambers, which is where your Sailor Siryn and her aide are.”

            Ryvvius grinned wryly.  “Not really an aide, Mr. Ursola.  Lieutenant Ventura is Andromeda’s head Counselor… and has some abilities as a diplomat.”  He turned to McDowell, and nodded.

            McDowell tapped Grissom on the shoulder, and made a specific hand gesture, pointing at the door; the trooper indicated affirmative and very carefully and noiselessly eased the door open, peering in and cautiously examining the hall.  After a moment, Grissom glanced back.  “The hall is empty, sir.”

            “Then let’s move, people.  Time’s a-wasting,” Ryvvius ordered.

            The group moved through the door rapidly, still in a high state of readiness; it was too quiet.  The hall was what Ryvvius now recognized as typical of Pollusian architecture:  grandiose; and it had alcoves every few meters.  The Andromeda party was about halfway to their objective when a dozen DK foot soldiers burst from two alcoves on either side of the elevator, and opened fire from their tunneling rifles.  Green beams sliced through the air towards the startled Andromeda crew; they dove for the alcoves nearest them.  Grissom was spun around in midair as a blast ripped into his shoulder; and LeClerc tumbled hard into his alcove as one nailed his left calf.

            The smell of burnt flesh emanated from both men; but with grimaces in place on their faces, they determinedly joined in the retaliatory effort as the landing party began to return fire.  Ryvvius lined up a shot, and he was surprised to see his target drop by a precision green blast, right between the eyes; he turned slightly to see Miriele’s arm extended.  The weapon she held was in a solid grip.  Ryvvius exchanged a surprised glance with McDowell.

            Miriele grinned sheepishly at Ryvvius.  “Well, sir, you did say to shoot at the bad guys.”

            Ryvvius nodded appreciatively.  “Lieutenant, if we live through this, I’ll personally recommend you for a marksmanship medal!”

            Both ducked as a blast struck within inches of their heads, raining small chunks of rock down upon them, and the smell of burnt ozone and sound of energy discharges filled the air.

            Ryvvius frowned as he noted the DK thugs alternately moving closer in two elements.  His own people were pinned down, with two injured, and one unarmed.  Only three DK soldiers were down.  Still, the closer they got, the less they moved, for the more furious the defense his people put up.

            Stalemate.  We don’t have time for this!  Fed up, Ryvvius turned to McDowell.  “Use your grenades, McDowell!”

            McDowell signaled to Caine and Taylor; both reached to their waists and came up with black cylinders.  After pressing the top button and squeezing the triggers, both lobbed them in graceful arcs.

            Sudden explosions rocked the hall; shockwaves swept over the defenders from the twin plasma blasts.  A few scattered screams issued from the direction of the DK attackers; then fire suppression systems kicked on, as the leftover plasma ignited the marble in a few places.  Jets of white streamed from the ceiling as Ryvvius waved McDowell on; he, in turn, waved Caine and Taylor forward.  A few more energy discharges were heard, from both tunneling and blaster rifles, and then twin shouts of “Clear!” came from over by the elevator.

            “Let’s go, quickly!” shouted Ryvvius.  “Before more DK thugs show up, or worse, Pollusian guards!  Move it!” 

            Ryvvius helped Grissom up; Grissom indicated he could walk on his own.  Miriele and Ursola helped LeClerc along as the party moved through the carnage.  For Ryvvius and the security troops, it was a matter of course to ignore the results of the combat and the grenades, even as they skirted the twin craters, various nuclear shadows, and charred body parts.  For the three bringing up the rear, it was another matter entirely.  The two younger party members had envisioned combat as a clean fight with beam weapons and forcefields, where valor, good tactics, and marksmanship were rewarded. 

            This frightening reality was totally at odds with those visions, which were irrevocably shattered.  Both fought hard with themselves to hold it together; fought, and mostly won, though Miriele’s eyes glistened as she warred with herself to hold back tears.  Ursola had wanted to avoid this very sort of situation, and his insides churned at the slaughter; he held himself stoic by reminding himself that this was necessary; if he didn’t do something, it could be so much worse.  This sort of devastation could easily spread to encompass not only his entire world, but the whole patch of space, as well.

            They reached the elevator without incident, and Ursola wordlessly punched the button.

            With a chime, the elevator doors hissed open to reveal a car full of grim-faced Pollusian guards, who promptly aimed their weapons at the Andromeda party.

            “You were saying, sir?” muttered McDowell, who like the others, had his rifle leveled and ready.

            The eyes of Ch’rstos Mularen, the DK sympathizer, narrowed after the declaration Sailor Siryn made, announcing that she had taken control of the planet’s government.  While his fellow Pollusians railed against the Senshi’s actions, he kept quiet.

            I hadn’t counted on this, he thought sourly.  That sailor-suited whore could wreck all of our plans.

            “Now see here, madam!  While I have no love for the council, I cannot stand idly by and allow an off-worlder to take charge of our government!” an indignant Drocargh rumbled.  “Since time immemorial, no foreigner has ever ruled over us!  And that won’t begin now!”

            Sailor Siryn, her bright green eyes shooting sparks marched up to the military man and pinioned him with a harsh stare.  “Is that a fact?  As an old Lunarian saying goes, General, there’s a first time for everything.  I’m the new sheriff in town, and you ARE going to do as I say!  Period!”

            “Never!  We Pollusians are a proud people!  Submitting to the rule of others is an anathema to us!” railed a council member.

            “Well, laddie, the way I see it, it’s either us, or the Dark Kingdom.  At least with the Golden Millennium, you’ll still have your independence, as we treat member races more like partners than subordinates.”  The flame haired Senshi paused to give Drocargh, and the other council members a long, hard look.  “Or, you can cast your lot with the enemy.  You all heard what Carnus said would happen to you if the DK took over.  Your personal freedoms and right to assembly would be eliminated.  Your men would become slaves while your women are reduced to sex objects to be cruelly used and discarded.  Your society, religion and culture would be destroyed, your military reduced to cannon fodder for their battles, your elderly tortured, your children made into guinea pigs for horrific experiments by their scientific caste.  Lastly, your world would be stripped bare for the raw materials needed to fuel their war machine.  That’s not fiction, gentlemen, that’s fact.  I’ve been to worlds reduced to lifeless husks by the DK.  Trust me, it’s not a pretty sight.”

            The Senshi of Sound paused for dramatic effect.  The Pollusians, having digested her words were stunned into nervous silence as Sailor Siryn walked around the table where the men all sat.  The deliberately slow clacking of her spike heels on the floor punctuated the tenseness of the moment.  Ventura, drinking in everything wore a sly little smile, as she was greatly impressed with what she saw.

            Sailor Siryn definitely has style.  And a fine theatrical sense, she thought.  Ventura’s dark eyes were shining from undisguised admiration.  The more I’m around this amazing woman, the more she intrigues me.  Fascinates me.  It’s a shame Fiona’s wasting her talents as a Senshi.  She’d make an outstanding diplomat.

            “One last thing.  If the DK were to take over Pollus, Neo-Queen Serenity would be duty bound to order the enemy removed, given this planet’s proximity to GM space,” Sailor Siryn continued, her arms folded over her chest.  “That would mean sending the Royal Star Navy here in force, which in turn would mean a long and bloody conflict that would cost thousands, perhaps millions of lives.  So tell me, gentlemen, is that what you really want?”

            For several moments, there was a strained silence in the room.  Then Kodos looked to the other council members who all nodded, albeit reluctantly, their faces mirroring defeated expressions.

            “No.  It is not.  Very well, we acquiesce to your will… Praetor Siryn,” said a dour Kodos, giving Sailor Siryn a respectful bow.  “What is your command, madam?”

            “For starters, don’t call me ‘Praetor’.  Beneath this gaudy costume, I’m just a soldier.  This is just a temporary situation until this mess is sorted out and a new council is established.  Sailor Siryn will do just fine,” the Irish Senshi curtly replied.  She then turned to Drocargh.  “Second, General, whatever plans you had in mind for the military’s attempted coup, I want them stopped.  Right fucking now!  While I’m in charge, there will be no bloodshed.  Is that clear, mister?”

            Drocargh, grim faced, nodded.  “Perfectly, madam.  Anything else?”

            “Now that you mention it, while it’s highly unlikely that Carnus left behind anything incriminating while impersonating Austrum, I want his home, office and workspaces searched immediately.  Perhaps the bastard was careless and we might find something of use.”

            “I’ll take care of that right away, madam.”

            The Senshi then turned to Ventura.  “Counselor, I’m sure you remember where that lounge is where we were kept waiting after our arrival here.  Go get our people and bring them here.”

            Ventura came to attention and nodded, eager to follow her captain’s orders.  “Yes, ma’am.”

            “If you don’t mind, captain, I’ll accompany the Lieutenant,” said Mularen.  That caused Ventura to narrow her eyes ever so slightly.  “Alone, she might encounter trigger happy guard patrols who would mistake her presence as an intrusion and cause… trouble.”

            “Good idea.”  Sailor Siryn gave Ventura a look of deep, genuine concern.  “Gabrielle, be careful.”

            The black woman gave Sailor Siryn a warm smile that matched the pleasant warmth spreading in her chest.  For reasons Ventura didn’t understand, she had come to enjoy hearing the Senshi call her name in her lilting Irish accent.  Despite how irrational that seemed, nonetheless, it made her feel… special.  That both puzzled her, and pleased her.  “Don’t worry, captain.  I’ll be fine.  Shall we go, Mr. Mularen?”

            “After you, Lieutenant,” said Mularen, and the duo left the room.

            With Ventura walking a few paces ahead of Mularen, she was lost in thought as she walked down the long hallway.

            Dammit!  I must be going soft in the head, acting like some silly schoolgirl experiencing her first crush.  No way in hell am I falling head over heels for another woman!  Especially a Senshi!  While Fiona is definitely interesting, even appealing, that doesn’t mean I’m attracted to her.  That’s not who I am!  Besides, I already have a lover!  After this mission is over, I’ll have to thoroughly examine my feelings, figure out why I’m behaving so foolishly.

            Meanwhile, Mularen had darker thoughts on his mind.  I must rendezvous with the DK section leaders and reassess this situation.  With Kodos overthrown, and that damn Senshi in charge of the council, we’ll have to accelerate our timetable.  But first, to deal with this cunt.

TO BE CONTINUED...

 

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