Nova Company Battleship Endeavor

Cruiser Supply Dock 74DIQ, Home to the Rusty Dagger Pub, Creos

11:09 AM Terra Firma Pacific Time

I slammed my hands on my desk, the monitors barely shook from my frustration. “Listen here, secretary, I know we haven’t had good terms getting to know each other but this is important. This message must reach Trygo, your boss, immediately.”

One of the things that I dislike about my friend is that I have to deal with too many security checks to speak with him. No matter how many government officials know about Nova Company, I have to follow protocol. I don’t blame them; everybody else in the Republic has too. “It is a matter of galactic security and you sir are ignoring it all.”

“Captain Secambre, there is no need to raise your voice. He is in a closed-off meeting right now. I cannot guarantee you that he will get it,” the male Grimlac insectiod stated plainly. I had trouble pronouncing his seven syllable name. “The fact stands that if you don’t restrain yourself, things will go sour for you.” He was on the center monitor on my desk, hunched over with his antennas twitching in annoyance with me. I stood with my patience wearing thin.

“Well if you don’t get it to him in three seconds, I will send my top gunslingers to get his attention. Now do it. I’ll call back in half an hour to make sure.” The sections of armor on his face shifted to express his frustration. Before he spoke I shut down the call and the monitor went blank. My heart was racing and my head was pulsing with tension. Reaching my friend for the past fifteen hours was grueling and—

“I need a drink,” I said in my empty cabin.

Feeling my legs give way I sat back in my chair and tried to calm down. First rubbing my large forehead, then reaching for the glass of liquor. It was down in one gulp, my cheeks twitched and my throat burned from the alcohol. The aftertaste was berries and caramelized sugar. The strong cocktail is the Endeavor’s special brew—Red Stuff—made on premise in the galley, but not suited for continuous consumption, although its strength calmed me down from after my outbursts.

People are confused about what Nova Company really does for a living from our limited appearances in the media. Critics label us, sometimes, as a bunch of mercenaries, unwanted former soldiers and officers, and renegades who take missions that official military groups consider risky. In other words, missions that would get the official groups’ hands a little too dirty. They also say we have no form of discipline or mental control when we go to war.

What a ridiculous excuse.

I will clear the confusion right now.

Nova Company is a privately owned and funded covert-ops military battle group that is composed of individuals from a variety of backgrounds and species, a mix of magical and non-magical soldiers and officers. We perform high-risk missions such as covert takedowns, dictator exterminations, reconnaissance for strategy intelligence, isolated battles in space and planet surface, and get a chance to fight alongside the Republic Army. Whatever the media says, they are far from the truth. We recruit runaways, military dropouts, and the shutdowns for a second chance in their career, depending on certain factors. We remold them to be better than before and have a better life, but we also acquire newcomers with no military background. For our ranks, we look for talented and skilled individuals in mortal or magical combat, engineering, sorcery, summoning—anybody you can think of from both sides of the spectrum, including the bioluminescent Beden noble wizards. Once sworn in, they train at our main base, Quisal, the terra-formed moon in the Qualdan system, in ways of strict discipline, self-control, weapons training, spell casting, and anything in between.

Grueling work in order to be the best; thirty percent of new recruits fail the entrance qualifications, ten percent fail basic training, and another ten percent for suffering injuries. The rest are Nova soldiers. I intentionally made it that hard, and that’s why we are the most respected and difficult to join.

Of course they have to make it to their chosen class. Gunslingers are our equivalent to basic soldiers; either magic or non-magic, they are trained to use weapons to the highest efficiency on the battlefield. Jaruka Teal is a gunslinger, and a sword wielder too by his personal request. Wizards, sorcerers, and summoners are our magic-only classes, but are required to have a physical weapon as well. Engineers, medics, pilots, and commanders are stationed in the ships and carriers, as well as on the battlefield. Shadow walkers, like Commander Nodus Kantra, are our special-ops class, the hybrid between magic and non-magic beings, unique to Nova. They are put through three years of training and a dangerous procedure to become a being of shadow. Everybody else works on the ships just like any crew would.

We don’t fool around when a mission is active, even the planning of Jaruka’s rescue from Terra Firma, but off-mission, the crew and soldiers get loose, relax, and obviously party hard. Can’t have a great battle group without shaking out the cumulated stress. Peledan Beach was Endeavor’s last break before leaving, and we paid for the damages.

Besides the admirals taking care of the political aspects and watching over twelve thousand souls within the fleet, I myself am the grand architect. I like to be on the field of battle, not in the admiral’s chambers. It makes me aware of what my battle group does for a living. It’s been operational for fifty years and I’ll be damned if it collapses on itself or is taken from me.

I opened my eyes from the short fury of my drink to spin in my seat and look out at the space station. The Endeavor and the Assassin were docked at a military supply market, one of many for the crew to grab items. This particular dock has a popular watering hole the crew likes. I encourage them to supply most of their gear for “personal” ways to fight, as long as it complies with Nova Company regulations. Both magical and technological they can get anything from concussion crystals, handheld pistols and rifles, enchanted pendants, high-explosive grenades, potions, and unique armor add-ons. I ordered them to stock up on armor to deflect projectile weapons of what the archives detail about the human’s arsenal. Who knows what else the humans created the last time the surveyors passed by the planet.

A window into the market was opened to me and I saw supply crates, merchant tents, food stalls, and species of different sizes and shapes. Other ships were docked too. Two docks down was an Alendalzen cargo cruiser made entirely out of a tree and powered by magic. Stick around, it gets weirder.

A bleep on my desk alerted me. It was from Irna.

“Secambre, sir, Captain Obi has arrived,” Irna said through the intercom. “Be cautious, he’s… hey don’t… let go of that…”

I heard scuffling and Obi’s voice screeched through, “Let me inside, Brill, before I blow that door down!”

That’s what I get for waking him up in the middle of his meditation; he turns bitter and cranky. A nice faerie by the way, you just have to watch it when he is on a rampage. Sure makes me wonder if the recruiters hired him for his knowledge in aerial combat, or his attitude to boost moral towards the pilots.

I sighed, “Come in, Obi, I was expecting you.” A loud bang made the intercom go silent. The door hissed open, making me turn to face Obi, and I braced braced myself for his foul mood.

When it comes to enrolling new recruits, we care deeply on their strengths, how educated they are, body structure for physical checks, magic systems, the works. Essentially it comes down to one notion: if you can carry a gun or magical weapon and go through enough mental condition to not fall from the pressures of war, or faint from the sight of blood, you might survive a raid or two.

Personality on the other hand is out of our control. We get what we paid for.

For Captain Gorin Obi, a Mezen faerie of the Mezani star system, his foot tall and thin body is great for tight crawl spaces, but we all have to deal with his attitude, even though he knows how to command an aerial attack close to an A.I. while on a hangover.

Obi flew in my quarters quickly before I set my glass down on the desk. His four wings shined a deep red, a magical side effect for displaying his current mood. They change when he’s happy, asleep, or something else entirely. His green uniform was clean and he was not wearing his hat, showing off his bald scalp covered in ritualistic tattoos. He landed on my desk with his tripodic legs thumping on the glass.

“I knew it. I knew it,” he blared. “I knew that greedy good for nothing dread head was going to slip up sooner or later.” He had a certain dominance on my desk from his foot-tall stature, but I out rank him even though we both are captains.

“Calm down, Obi. He had every intention to reject the job, but you have to admit, he had his reasons. He’s not greedy, just out of the job three months before.”

“Spare me the lecture, Brill, there was work. Lieutenant Benis was recruiting new gunslingers and Jaruka rejected the job before he left. I suppose you ran a background check on his so called ‘client’?”

I nodded. “Yes, several times. Jaruka contracted under a wealthy Gnogal executive, Benali. He works a survey group, but hires outsiders to conduct the surveys with Benali’s supplied technology. I had to do a little more digging when he accepted. You know this.”

Obi started strolling from one end of my three monitors to the other, “From the wrinkles on your head, you had no such luck I bet.”

“Exactly. Everything ended with the asteroid. Nothing in the media of its existence. It just… showed up. Jaruka still couldn’t figure it out until… it was too late.” My feet twitched, recalling my experience after thinking that Jaruka was killed by human gunfire. “Beyond what his record said, I ran into a wall on Benali’s past. The company disappeared. I wish Lieutenant Wringheart was here to help, had to send a team to find her.”

“Serves him right. This is what ghost companies do, Secambre. They hire people off from space and they screw them in a way to not leave a trail. I’ve seen these happen before, Jaruka should’ve come to me instead of you. They probably withdrawn Jaruka’s savings already and made a break for it.” He then flipped my empty glass and sat on it, without caring to ask for permission. “Can’t believe that idiot took the job.”

No doubt he was fed up with Jaruka, he never liked him. Not because Jaruka beats him all the time at cards, but to Obi’s culture, Halcunacs tend to be the loose end on diplomatic affairs. I think it’s the height issue.

“Jaruka sent me copies of the survey reports all the time,” I continued. “No fluctuations in data until the last one before he crashed on the planet’s surface. I have it up right now, been reviewing it while contacting my friend on the surface.” I grabbed the left most monitor and turned it towards Obi. He leaned over and squinted at the digital read-out. “I understand most of it: a shift in gravity and a few trails of electromagnetic energy, but everything else is gibberish. I have another team examining it closely.”

Obi kept looking at it. “Irna and that new comm. girl briefed me, and I’m unfamiliar with geology. Magic might cause it but I can’t pin point any trails of energy from the spatial spectrum matrix. Who else knows of this?”

“Just this ship and yours. I want to keep the chatter isolated from the rest of the fleet and the admirals, even the galaxy.”

The faerie chuckled. “Admiral Balthazar will get you for this.” His wings changed color for half a second. “That rust bucket ship of his must be scrapped to parts by now and studied by those pollution breathers.” His species is easily sensitive to air pollution. Whenever he goes, somewhere of industrial boom or not, he wears a hazard suit shaped as a bubble etched with levitation magic.

“Still,” he continued, “that legend when humans go bloodthirsty seeing extraterrestrials seems pretty close to being true or not. Not that I want to see that.”

“Well that’s the reason why we are rescuing him from the humans before he becomes their test subject and humans adapt the Lunar Spear into their technology.”

He turned around to face me with hard eyes. “Any idea they already started? He might be dead already.”

I shook my head disagreeing with him, “He’s not. His vital signs have been steady the whole time. The humans aren’t aware of the nanotechnology. Decathan says the tranquilizer in his system is dissolving and he will be waking up soon. I have a hunch they will put him under again.”

Obi nodded, “Decathan’s invention is amazing I say. So what’s this plan to get him out?”

I didn’t have one, I had Kantra coming up with a draft for the War Room, but I briefed him more than the plan. I had gained access to the Republic’s survey program in charge of watching over planets under the PCP Act, including Red Flagged. It turns out that after the asteroid struck the planet, all Slipspace and Hyperspace transmissions from the unmanned relay station on their single moon suddenly went dark. The cause was still unknown. I figured it would take them a while to get approval to enter protected space, investigate the cause, and repair it. Besides reminding him of the rescue, Jaruka might be considered a traitor to galactic law, and he might be marked for public execution. My heart felt heavy after mentioning that theory.

Obi stood up from the glass and looked away, out towards the station. His wings changed color again for a second. “Brill, I understand what will happen if they gain control of that technology. I hate those humans as much as you, and afraid if they could never be stopped, but I never trusted Corporal Teal, nor even liked his attitude and unorthodox gunslinger style, and not to mention his own people sheltering themselves more and more these days.”

Most of the recruits in Nova hate him, but a lot like him too. We treat him as a brother with a troubled and shadowed childhood. I know where he came from and the culture he grew up in so I rarely talk about it. It brings up too much drama, and drama kills.

“But he is a good strategist in covert missions and ground tactics on planets. One good read of the land’s geology and he can use it as a weapon without any prior knowledge. That is rare considering its impossible to recruit Halcunac warriors at this time. After all, he comes, fights with us, and goes off for his own work.”

“Like what? After he does have jobs, he spends most of his time in his ship glassblowing and selling his work in markets.” He paused. “What I don’t understand is how the golden prairie sake did he get approval to enter Protected space, or knows so much about Terra Firma?”

Obi got me; I had to tell him. I sighed, “Back when he was in the Academy. One of his favorite fields was culture psychology. Pre-First Contact worlds interested him the most. He made reports and scenarios of how they commence First Contact, depending on evolutionary charts and social status. Apparently Terra Firma was, and still, his most interested subject, and the most hated.”

The fearie squinted at me after I mentioned the last word. “Does that seem a little coincidental they chose him just on that?”

“Apparently, not without solid evidence besides the reports.” I got up and headed to the small wet bar to pour another glass of the strong elixir. “But have you given any thought what will happen if we don’t rescue him, Gorin?”

“No, not for a second. All I want is that big guy against the Council for performing this selfish stunt and move on.”

As I filled my glass, a small drop escaped from the pitcher, floating in mid air without gravity’s grip. It flew past me and to Obi, where he magically controlled the drop and it landed in the glass he had previously shrunk behind my back. I slid the wet bar back into the wall and walked back to the desk.

“Don’t be so self-centered. Hear me out. Once somebody finds out what is happening, they will look over his records, including the recipients, meaning us. They will also put us under trail for conspiring with a man committing treason, if they go that far.” I sat back in my chair and the glass came an inch from my small mouth. “He will get the death sentence and Nova Company will pay the same price, leaving everybody out of the job or in prison.”

Obi’s face was like stone. He has been part of Nova for seven years and he loves his job, whether or not he admits it, his eyes displayed that losing his job was out of the question. “And where does that leave you, the brains behind Nova’s existence?” He asked while swirling his drink to bring out the aroma.

“I stand right next to Jaruka for the firing squad.” I stared down at the floor, picking out the subtle patterns and imperfections of the tile, “I’d rather not leave Jaruka there and suffer, nor do I want Nova to die. It’s something I can’t bear to loose, not this time, not when humans have the means to reach the stars.” I took a long drink, emptying the glass and let the alcohol and spices cringe my throat for a five-second ride.

Obi looked at his, wings changing color to a relaxing hue. It’s hard persuading others to be on my side of things, no matter what rank they are. I had Obi by the ears, but will he cooperate when our plan becomes a reality? He took a small sip and his cheeks puckered, coughing afterwards. “Wow,” he said regaining his senses. “That’s some strong stuff.”

“Fermented mushroom schnapps with spices from the Whitepebble Beach Groves. The best stuff before a firefight.” My species has an opposite reaction to alcohol, we use it as a medicinal potion for relieving stress and chronic headaches.

“Honestly I never like this stuff. You and your assault types.” I chuckled and set my empty glass on the desk. He did too and reverted the glass back to normal size. “So, why do you need the Assassin for this mission?” His put his hands on his hips, just above his three legs.

“You’re the closest Nova vessel capable of aerial defense. This ship needs protection once we’re in the atmosphere. Did anything get damaged from the last one?” I was referring to the take down mission before Jaruka lost contact.

“Engineer’s report one star fighter destroyed, pilot survived, and several with minor damages. We’re full on ammunition and supplies. So since I’m with you, might as well wait for orders.”

“Good, good, because when we have everything on my ship we will head to the fuel docks while we are in the War Room. Will you be here for the time being?”

“I’ll inform my crew of my absence and carry out their orders, and to be following you on this hair-brain scheme.”

I nodded. An icon of an incoming call flashed on the monitor, and I smiled at the ID and personal emblem. “Oh, and since this involves a Red Flagged planet under the Act, I managed to send a message to an informant so to gain permission to enter restricted space. He will be joining us as well.”

Obi’s stance shifted to let me answer. “And who might that be? A lowlife with forged permits?” He asked.

The call window materialized revealing a Creosion face covered in quills and longer ones along the sides of his face. He looked tired from either the last Council trial or maybe he had stayed up all night again from work, the quills drooped from all three white eyes as a result of any taxing work. The man I roomed with during my university years has been my secret weapon for political affairs and all things law.

“This is Councilman Trygo Denverbay,” he introduced himself. “Ah, greetings Brill, it’s been a long time since we spoke.” His voice made me think that he had eaten a megaphone set to high bass.

Obi saw him and made a high shriek, tripping where he stood. It is common for people to be scared of Council members.

“Same here, Trygo, same here,” I said with a big smile. “Might I suggest getting a new secretary, took me a while to break him.”

“I’m aware of that.” Denverbay looked away; I assume that he glared hard at his secretary.

“De… De… Denverbay?!” Obi stuttered in fear as he tried to speak, “You’re bringing the Hammer into this? He could shut Nova down!”

“I’m flattered you now my nickname, little faerie,” Denverbay answered, looking straight at him.

“Obi,” I pulled his attention back to me, “leave us in privacy.”

He did, without arguing. Obi looked at the monitor, and then to me, expressing the same face the bridge gave me. Shaking in his uniform he unfurled his wings colored deep copper and flew out of my quarters. The door hissed open slightly and closed.

Denverbay let out a short breath, “This better be good for pulling me away from my job.”

“Sorry about that, Trygo, but whatever it is can wait. This, my friend, is more important.” I leaned back in my chair. “Shall I start at the beginning or summarize?”

San Bernardino Mountains

Over 11 miles west of Big Bear Lake, California

12:17 PM

It felt like seconds in the dark, but between the gas-filled fog the day before to the time I woke up, I was aware that I still hated my life. What was in that stuff?

I didn’t feel lost, lethargic, or suffered from minor amnesia. Once the stuff cleared my system I screamed at myself, without making a sound, that humans had captured me. Awareness came back that I was in a moving truck (that’s what they call their civilian cargo vehicles, right?), my body was unbound and spread on the floor like a rag doll, and two human guards were mouthing off in useless chatter.

“Can’t wait ‘till this shit ends,” Guard One sighed, young and not broken in. “I’m tellin’ you, once this crap has blown over, me and my girl are moving to Florida.” He laughed and a clunking sound followed. Metal against wood.

“I seriously hope, pal,” Guard Two said; his voice was higher but held age, annoying me. “Might as well kill yourself to leave the army. We’re mere inches from touching big green. We are in this for life, buddy, so get used to it.”

I heard Guard One make a displeased sound. “Screw you, we’re doing it. I don’t care if they shank me in the middle of a nightclub. This… right here, is too much, man. Too. Much.”

Man they need to shut up. Before this I had actually woken up an hour ago, but played dead to not gain attention. Their chatter felt like knives to my brain. Mostly all they talked about was useless. Nothing about the asteroid, or military action, or who their leaders are, or how they survived the asteroid strike. Not even their names. They ‘acted’ like it was a minor occurrence and I came an opportune time to ruin their day.

I wanted to shut those two pricks up, I’d had enough.

I opened my eyes for the first time into the interior of the truck. Two guards had their backs facing me, holding onto the parallel shelves on either side to restrict swaying to the truck’s turns. I couldn’t see what was up there. It was a few feet wider than my workshop but with bare walls, wicked looking metal brackets under the shelves, and two fluorescent tube lights above for the only light. The guards were covered head to toe in black ops gear with face masks and blacked-out goggles. Each carried a side arm and a projectile rifle, M4-Carbine from Archive specs, assuming Guard One used his as a cane, the barrel against the wood flooring.

Casual conversation—nothing of human military fashion or discipline.

Okay, big guy, I thought, your tolerance with these monsters is over. Get your ass up and wreak havoc.

Guard Two turned to me and I closed my eyes. My eye closest to the floor and out of sight was left open. His mask and goggles irritated me.

“Wanna see if this freak is still breathing? He did suck down more chloroform gas than they thought,” he asked his partner.

“We have our orders, pal. One mark on his body from us and were toast.”

Guard Two shook his head, maybe rolling his eyes, and went back to his normal mood, “Killed in a club my ass.”

I’ll be making the marks you crogers.

I blinked as I saw my chance of escape. Guard Two had a long knife strapped on his thigh in its own sheath. Thoughts popped into my head me that I could use it. He went back to his friend, still talking of useless crap, but I began moving my body without silently.

If there was one thing to be learned from sparingly hanging out with Kantra and his band of shadow walkers, it’s how to be smooth and decisive, ready to make a kill.

The wood felt old against my fingers. I took shallow, quiet breaths to get my legs under me, prone to pounce. The truck made a sharp, uphill turn to make me lean on one leg to not roll. The guards seem to be unaffected by the shift of gravity when the truck shifted gears. I had to be careful to not step on the floor wrong.

I extended my right hand, but from my mind, a random but insane idea came up. Why was I unbound? Nothing seemed right from how they treated prisoners of war. The lights, the guards, the truck—nothing wasn’t what I’ve read about humans matched. I should be tied to a flagpole and be burned for not following “God’s image.” The two dunderheads still haven’t said anything useful, but kept on the distraction for me.

They could be diverting from the truth because of it. Aware of my presence and they were ordered to irritate me with useless words. Maybe they are using an undisclosed tactic the Archives never recorded, one that is crafted for space travelers. Maybe…

Screw it, no more stalling.

My hand kept going for the handle of the knife. It looked like it was tight against the sheath but a strap ran through the bottom and around his leg to prevent jerking. I counted to three before I ripped the knife out, a glimmer of stainless steel against fluorescent light.

Guard One jerked his head from the sudden feeling, but I screamed and shoved the knife in his back, piercing skin, muscle, and his kidney. He belched an ear-piercing yell, but I gripped his chin, twisted his head to the left, and broke his neck. His body fell to the floor in a heap.

“Holy shit!” Guard Two yelled as he pointed his M4 at me. With quick action I pushed the gun away and pinned him to the wall. Too afraid to fight or too stunned, he pulled the trigger and the cocking action sent bullets through the roof as I dodged from the line of fire. My ear holes rang and the smell of urine and gunpowder filled the air, but that didn’t stop me. I balled my right hand into a fist, sailed it to his stomach to knock the air out, and then I started pounding his face. First at his nose with a loud crunch, then angled six solid hits at his lower jaw, his finger leaving the trigger. The bone cracked as it was rendered to rubble. One smash to the temple ended it and he fell as lifeless mass.

“Next time, be more creative with your conversations, you almost made me puke!” I yelled. I didn’t care of their dead bodies heard me, I wanted their souls to.

The truck suddenly stopped, I gripped on the shelf to not fall. I heard a rattling behind me, turned, and saw my rifle and sword sliding towards me. “Galvanto, come to daddy.” Those idiots left my weapons in the same vehicle I was in. What sort of game are they playing?

No matter, just get them and make a break for it.

A window into the driver’s cabin was shaded but I did see I was still in the snow-covered mountains. Two humans were there, scrambling to get out, followed by one human screaming into a communication device on the other side of the wall. “Stop, stop! Big green is awake, I repeat, big green is awake!”

“Yeah, that’s right, I am awake,” I said, “and I’m mad as hell.”

The sword, still in its sheath, went on my back. I looped my rifle’s strap over me. More vehicles outside screeched to a halt on their rubber wheels, doors slammed and guns loading to fire at the truck. It was my guess, but I had a way to cause confusion.

Under my rifle, just above the handle, I pressed the button that activates the rifle’s custom feature, cannon mode. The wide barrel came apart in its own magnetic field and widen, they slowly circulate around a glass cylinder. Each section had its own magnetic generator to triple the power of the plasma. All it takes is three plasma bullets and a careful shot. I aimed the transformed weapon directly at the double doors kneeling. “Alright you monsters, let’s see how you handle this.”

Shouting happened outside. “Don’t shoot unless it is necessary,” a woman ordered. “We need him alive. You there, open the doors.”

I heard the sucker say, “Yes, ma’am,” and hurried. I flipped the switch for the generator to charge, feeling the warmth on my arm and hearing it hum. I loaded three plasma bullets. Green light formed at the open barrel. Someone cut the fluorescent lights, leaving me in a haze of green light.

I heard metal pound and the doors creaked open. Once I saw a vertical line of white light, black cars all in a caravan, several military vehicles, and one poor gas masked soul pulling the doors open, I gripped the gun tighter, pulled the trigger, and with all my fury screamed, “EAT THIS!”

Lightning circled around and inside the cylinder and a giant green plasma ball erupted, the jerk almost made me slide back. It sailed at the soldier, obliterating everything above his waist, then passed into the first black vehicle, then the next, and the next, and the next. By then the plasma destroyed four of them with the fifth blowing up in a shower of melting metal. Shockwaves hit me as well as the soldiers.

“Move dammit,” I ordered myself. I flung the gun behind me, the strap tightening for a secure grip on my chest, and off I went. “Escape, take two.”

My eyes stung from the outside light and the bright snow. The fire made me sweat but I felt better from the winter air. I saw humans getting up and shaking their heads, but I had no time to let them find me. The road was carved into the mountain and the truck stopped next to a cliff protected by a metal shield held by wooden blocks. I looked down and it was too steep for a safe getaway. “Screw that idea.” I looked to the other side and it was another cliff of the same angle, but had trees and rocks sticking out of the snow. “Might as well head up.”

“Stop him, he must not escape,” a female voice said behind me.

My boots made contact with the snow-covered ground and I dashed by a fallen tree…and a purple crystal? I jumped up and began my ascent until bullet’s started pinging against the rocks, many muffled by the snow. My heart pounded.

“Keep your focus, keep moving, and don’t stop.” Looking at the top of the cliff I figured it was a hundred feet, maybe double. I had to get away, I had to be safe for a rescue team. There was only that—safety. The snow made me slip a few times, but then I used the trees and exposed rocks for grip, now fully camouflaged in the thick brush.

I ducked behind a wide tree for safety and to catch my breath as the bullets flew passed me, they seem to lesson as I went out of sight. I peered to the side when I saw soldiers climb after me, but suddenly they stopped in their tracks and jerked around like robots. None continued to pursue me.

“What the…,” I said but then I found out why.

All the soldiers stared at one soldier in the midst of the demolished cars, flailing his arms and screaming like a lunatic. He took off his… I mean, her mask and goggles. Her face expressed excruciating pain and agony, and certainly none of my doing because she seemed unhurt. She collapsed on the street, covering her abdomen with her arms as if she’s suffering from a major stomachache. “Oh, God, please stop it,” she screamed. Sh2e was the first human I’ve seen without concealment, and from her auburn hair cut to a buzz and her face of a city girl, I understood she wasn’t bred for war. It was more like she belonged in a pricy house than pulling the trigger.

She began undoing her bulletproof vest, jacket, and lifted her shirt. I thought I was getting a show, but what I saw was something I’ve never seen before, something no human should ever have. “Great Goddess of Beleredes!”

On her flat stomach was a tattoo, but it was forming under her skin. The skin covering it was boiling like magma. She fell on her back wreathing in pain as the skin was falling off and revealing a blue and white marble tattoo. The glowing design was recognizable but meaningless. As much as I can describe it looked like a tangle of lines followed by a whirlpool symbol circling her navel.

She gasped and blinked at her surroundings, but her face showed a different expression. Not of a battle driven warrior or a crazed maniac bent to kill every man around her, she showed fear like an innocent little girl. Yeah, I said it, innocence, from a human.

“Wha-what is this? Where am I?” She said in a soft and sweet voice. “Like, why am I wearing this stuff? Oh God, did I survive a car crash or something?” She kept asking more questions to the soldiers as they stood like statues.

I developed an odd fascination with her. Her emotions were new to me, and new from my understanding of them. They never expressed that kind of fear, ever. What sort of game are they playing? Is it a game?

From the burning cars, a woman in a black pressed suit walked out. From my height I had trouble noticing her looks, but definitely a thin woman with blond hair bound in a loose ponytail behind her head, but had a powerful stride. Her face was young and like stone. The woman approached, looming over the girl with her hands on her hips.

“Please,” the female soldier pleaded, “please tell me what’s happening? Where’s my hubby? What is going on?”

Blondie just stared at her, not speaking. Then in a blink of an eye she pulled out her side arm, a black pistol too big for her, and fired. The girl never had a chance. Blood and brains blew on the other side of the girl’s head and on the street. A clean bullet hole centered on her forehead with a face locked in confusion.

The strange tattoo on the corpse faded to pitch black.

“That’s new,” I said.

Blondie must’ve heard me as she whipped the gun towards the cliff and fired a single bullet. She didn’t look up, just kept staring at the corps.

Fire exploded in my right shoulder and almost lost my grip on the tree. Trying not to fall I looked and saw a hole through my tunic, blood already spilled out. I turned back to Blondie and she was looking at me with a playful smile.

“Crack shot,” I whispered. She fired again, hitting the same spot. Unheard of, but I saw stars.

From two bullets lodged in my shoulder, the white-hot pain was enough to cause me to lose my balance.

I guess from my vantage point I was a good thirty feet above the street. I rolled down, hitting trees, bushes, hidden crystals, and rocks. It felt like I was being punched by a drunk Tisano ocean angler, the ones using all ten of its limbs, wielding clubs.

I finally came to rest on a fallen tree, my face buried in the snow. I groaned and I tried to get up, but was impossible. I heard heavy boots crunching on the snow, then two pairs of feet coming towards me, not wearing boots. I was in too much pain to make a fuss.

“Jessica, I thought you said he was bound to the truck,” a deep male voice said. At least I found out one human’s name. Guess it’s Blondie.

“Don’t be a pushover, Roland, this was my idea. You wouldn’t approve anyway.” Assuming Jessica was talking, her voice was that of a leader. I recognized the accent as Eastern American. “I wanted to make sure he isn’t packing anything else like mind control, telekinesis, and other sort. Obviously the alien has no special talents. He will suit for titanium shackles.” She laughed in a maniacal tone.

“You and your nature. Shall I inform the General? This latest body count has taken a toll, not to mention all our Expeditions are gone.”

“Transportation, yes, but record the loss of muscle a minor fatality. There are plenty of Marines to recruit.” I felt Jessica come closer to me. A hand touched my other shoulder and she rolled me on my back. A skin dread covered one eye and the world was blurred, but I saw Jessica with little vision I had left. Everything about her was disturbing.

“Drag him back to the truck, take the bullets out, and stitch his shoulder up. I’ll administer the tranquilizer myself.” Her mouth curled into a playful smile, followed by a short giggle.

Great, I thought, I’m this bitch’s plaything. If she makes a pass for my pants there will be hell to pay.