Frontline

The source of the Imperium’s power comes from the Flame. With it, their emperor has been able to carve an empire that dwarfs even my own. Imagine what I could do with such power at my disposal.

-Excerpt from a private communiqué between Emperor Xandarius and Prime Queen Zeria

Ansaria had her squad assemble in the cockpit as they prepared to drop out of Z-space. It wasn’t easy fitting everyone in the cramped cabin, but she felt they deserved to see this.

The purplish-black void of Z-space disappeared, replaced by the infinite starscape of realspace. Dominating their viewscreen was the Imperial Military Center Epsilon, a large terrestrial world. Even from this distance, the vast cities and logistics centers could be seen. Moving pinpricks against the planet, space stations, satellites and spacecraft, both civilian and military, could just barely be made out.

“We made it,” said Ansaria, a note of relief in her voice. Her squad all let out a cheer, even the normally reserved Tread.

“Slog, any sign of the Throneship?” asked Ansaria.

Slog pinged the area, searching for the Emperor’s flagship. After a few moments, he had an answer.

“Believe it or not, Sarge, but it looks like we beat ’em here. Local chatter puts their arrival at a couple local hours.”

“What’ll we do till then?” asked Alvara.

Ansaria pondered the question. With everything they’d been through, she hadn’t expected to arrive before the Emperor, even if was just barely. She supposed they could remain on the ship in orbit till He arrived, but she doubted anyone would enjoy that, including herself. No, they’d been cooped up on one ship after another for two long. What they needed was a chance to stretch their legs, catch their breath, and maybe get a drink or two.

“IMC’s usually have civilian outliers on other parts of the planet. Slog, find us a quite little town where we can wait for his Majesty’s arrival.”

Ansaria could feel the change in the mood of her squad mates. Finally, after everything they’d been through, it was almost over.

Slog smiled as he input the inquiry into the ship’s computer. “You got it, Sarge.”

A moment later, he had his destination. He angled the ship towards the planet’s southern hemisphere near the terminus heading into night. The ship registered as belonging to the governor of Myrthal, so they were waved through without so much as a second look by the planet’s sensors. The ship came down outside a small, dusty little town, even smaller than their colony outpost had been.

Ansaria stood by the craft’s exit. As soon as the ship safely landed, the doors opened, and she was hit in the face by a blast of hot, dry air. A memory floated to the surface of her mind: of her arrival to the colony, and the same feeling of dry heat hitting her face. She had hated it the first time she felt it, but now…it almost felt like home.

“I figured we could use a little taste of the familiar,” said Slog, who had joined them once the ship was in standby.

Ansaria smiled as she led her squad on to the planet’s surface. They had landed a short distance from the town, and a smattering of other craft could been seen in every direction, mostly local terrestrial craft, but a couple that looked like they could make it into orbit.

“Slog, did you find out the name of the local watering hole from the ship?” asked Ansaria, as she shielded her eyes from the setting sun.

“Yes ma’am, its called the Black Star.”

“Sounds like my kind of place. Come on everyone, let’s go meet the locals.”

The squad made their way into the town. The streets (if they could be called that, since they were comprised of the same dirt and sand that surrounded the town) were still full of people. An atmosphere of excitement filled the air; clearly, the impending arrival of the Emperor was a cause for celebration, even if no one here would ever get anywhere near the monarch.

The locals were a myriad of species, some Ansaria had had personal experience with, and others she had only learned about during her studies. They drew some curious looks, but no one seemed interested in investigating them more closely, and Ansaria figured that they were at least somewhat accustomed to seeing Imperial soldiers.

The bar was easy to find, firstly because of the great deal of noise coming from it, but also because of its large blue and black neon sign of a circle with a dark, five pointed star in the center. A little over a dozen beings milled about outside, discussing a variety of things. Ansaria led the way through the crowd into the much larger inside.

The bar was large, with over two dozen tables scattered around. The entrance was at the top of a short flight of steps that led into the building. To their left, dominating the floor was a stage, currently occupied by a quartet of beings playing a not-unpleasant tune that added to the noise. To their right was the bar that stretched and curved outward along the length of the wall.

Ansaria turned back to her squad, who were all staring wide eyed at the crowd. It was clear they wouldn’t all be able to find a place to sit together, so she figured it would be better if they dispersed.

“All right everyone, go a head and mingle. Have a drink or two, but keep your comms. open and don’t get plastered. When I say it’s time to leave, we leave.”

Everyone nodded and headed out in different directions. Ansaria made her way toward the stage to be closer to the music, unaware of the dirty looks a fellow Gorganian shot her as she passed. Tread headed to an open spot at the bar, tended by a rather morose looking android. Slog likewise headed for an open spot at the bar.

Ansaria headed in the same direction, scanning the crowd as she went. Every table seemed to be filled with conversation and it was hard to make out anything amongst all the talk and the music. When she finally reached the bar Critter, who had been riding on her shoulder, hoped down onto the counter. The bartender approached.

“What’ll it be, miss?” he asked. He was Simirian, a large, hulking primate with a prehensile tail holding a bottle while he cleaned a glass.

“Let me get an Indigo Lantern and an…” she paused so Critter could tell her what he wanted. “A Pine Needle for my friend here.”

The bartender nodded before going to work. A moment later he placed the glasses before the two before excusing himself to tend to the other patrons.

Ansaria took a sip of her drink and practically purred as the cold, sweet liquid filled her mouth. After everything she’d been through over the last few days, the drink tasted like a little drop of paradise.

Before she could take another drink, Critter suddenly piped up. She turned to look in the direction he was pointing and saw a group of Critter’s people, Varmats, sitting at a small table on top of a regular table. She nodded at his request and telekinetically lifted her squad mate and his drink through the air and to the table. His kinsman greeted him with a flurry of shrieks and chattering before making space for him.

Near the stage, Alvara was swaying to and fro in time with the music, an icy blue drink in one hand. She was aware she was being watched, by interested and antagonistic forces, but for the moment she was content to lose herself to the music. She could handle whatever may come, and she knew that as long as Ansaria and her squad was here, she’d be fine.

Tread had gotten roped into a conversation with Barbot, who seemed eager to have a fellow machine to confide in.

“Know how long I’ve been here, serving unbearable beings in this dreadful bar?” he asked his voice heavy with self-pity and sorrow.

“How long?” asked Tread, who was apparently willing to humor the depressed bot.

“Sixty years. I’ve been serving drinks here since before it was known as ‘Imperial Military Center Epsilon’, which by the way, is a dreadful name for a planet, though I can’t say I like old name any more. Do you know what this place used to be called?”

“I’m afraid I have yet to come across that information,” said Tread, taking a drink from his glowing, pink cube of Energico.

“Dirth. Planet Dirth. Dreadful, isn’t it? Just one letter removed from ‘dirt’, Planet Dirt. Course, I can’t say I particularly enjoyed what I did before this…”

Slog, meanwhile, had gotten a mug-full of the coldest, strongest brew they had on tap, and was busy chatting with voluptuous Cephalapor.

“We don’t get many soldiers here; most of them stay in the centers up north. What brings such a hunk of a trooper here mister....?” she asked, her head resting on two tentacles while another stirred her drink.

“Private Slogulus Krunkle the Fourth, at your service. As for what brings us here, well…all I can say is that my squad is on a mission from the Emperor himself.”

“Oh, Private Krunkle, are you playing with me?” she asked, one tentacle coming up to rest on Slog’s arm.

“Not at all. Course, I can’t give any details, at least not yet, but I wouldn’t be surprised if in a few days, are names are all over the ’net.”

Ansaria drained the last of her drink and singled the bartender for another. She was feeling relaxed, with a warm glow starting to suffuse her. She figured she would allow herself one more drink before cutting herself off. After all, she’d earned it. She’d just taken her first step when a familiar voice came from behind her.

“Well, well, well…Ansaria Dormus, as I live and breath.”

Ansaria smiled at the sound of the voice before turning around.

“Tor. Of all the backwater bars, who’dve thought we’d run into each other here?”

Tor smiled back at her. The Utaran was a head shorter than her, with reddish-brown scaly skin, a long tail, clawed hands and a muzzle full of sharp teeth.

“How long has it been, Sari? Three years?” asked Tor. Ansaria moved to make room for him at the bar.

“That it has. And before you ask, yes, I still have the scars,” said Ansaria. Tor grinned even more broadly before signaling the bartender for a drink. “What in the universe are you doing here, Tor?”

“I could ask you the same question, Sari. Last I’d heard you’d been assigned to some Saurus-forsaken dust-ball in the middle of nowhere.”

“That I was. I was promoted to sergeant, and they gave me my own squad. Unfortunately, that was the end of the good news, since I was assigned to the ‘dust-ball’ as you called it.”

Tor’s grin became a bit forced. “So, you’re still in the military. Course you are, with that outfit. I guess hoping you’dve woken up after only three years was wishful thinking.”

Ansaria sighed and set her drink down. “Really, Tor? The first time we see each other in ages and you’re already starting?”

“Three years might seem like ages to you, but to me it seems like yesterday. My pain is as fresh as it was the day it happened.”

“Tor, what happened happened. It’s happened a hundred times before that, and it’ll probably happen a hundred times more again.”

“And that seems right to you? Of course it does, being Xenlongian, it must seem like the natural order of things.”

“Tor, you’re never going to get over this unless you let it go.”

“Would you be able to let it go so easily if your precious Emperor had killed your father?”

Ansaria sighed in exasperation again. They had had this conversation too many times to count, and indeed it had been the last thing they had discussed before they ended their relationship. “Your father made his choice. He choose to face the Emperor, and in doing so, died. Your father is no different then any other challenger that chooses to represent their planet; it just happens that he had to pay the ultimate price for it.”

“How many ‘challengers’ has your emperor killed? How many people have lost loved ones at his hands, to satisfy his bloodthirsty conquest?”

“Xandarius is doing this to help people, just like he helped our people. If I’d been born a generation earlier, I’d probably have been sold to someone as a pleasure servant, just so my family could afford to eat. He saved my world, and now he’s saving countless other worlds from ever experiencing what mine did.”

Tor was beginning to get angry. This conversation had always been one of his short fuses. “And who asked him to save us? My world wasn’t in the same state as yours was, neither were countless other worlds that he’s attacked, either by himself or with the war machine that you’re so proudly apart of. Face it, Sari: he might claim that he’s doing this for the greater good, but it’s only about satisfying his lust for power. One world wasn’t enough, so why not a hundred? Or a thousand? Or half the galaxy? How many more people are going to die in the name of safeguarding them?”

Ansaria knew there was no use arguing. Neither of them were willing to conceded to the other, and she knew from experience that they’d just end up going in circles if this kept up.

“I’m sorry you haven’t been able to move on, Tor, but this is my Empire, and I’m not going to stop fighting for it for you, or anyone.”

Tor stared at her for a few seconds before replying. “I’d really hoped that the next time I saw you, you’d have learned better.”

“I could say the same about you,” she said, simply.

Tor shook his head, downed the rest of his drink then stalked away from the bar. Ansaria turned back to her own drink, though the confrontation had robbed her of buzz. She wanted nothing more than to order another, much stronger drink, but she knew she had to stay level headed. They were so close to the end.

She wasn’t sure how much time had passed before she felt a hand on her shoulder. She turned to see it was Alvara.

“Please tell me you’re not here to argue too. I’ve had enough of bickering with my exes tonight to start one with you.”

Alvara gave her a sympathetic smile. “I recognized Tor as he was leaving and came to find you. I’d figured the two of you would’ve run into each other. You ok?”

Ansaria considered the question for a few moments before answering. “Well, our conversation left a bad taste in my mouth, but yeah, I’m ok. Ready to get this damn mission over with, that’s for sure.”

Alvara was going to reply before she was interrupted. The band had been cut off and a tall humanoid with a shock of red hair covering his head and face took the stage. He cleared his throat before speaking into a microphone he was carrying.

“Ladies and gentlemen, bots and beings, I am pleased to announce that the flagship has just arrived over our fair planet! In honor of the Emperor’s all too brief visit, drinks are on the house for the next half hour!”

The bar filled with a roar of approval. The sound of applause, stamping feet and fists pounding on tables followed the announcer has he left the stage. The bar area quickly became crowded as the patrons tried to get as many free drinks as they could, while the staff circling the room became overwhelmed with orders.

Ansaria couldn’t believe her luck. It was finally time to turn over their evidence and put this craziness behind them. She didn’t know what would come next for herself and the others, but whatever it was had to be less stressful then what they had all been through.

She activated her comm. “You heard the man, everyone, time to go. Meet me outside the bar ASAP.” She used her TIG to pay for her drink before heading for the exit, followed closely by Alvara. Before they’d gotten halfway across the room, she remembered Critter.

“M, could you grab Critter? He’s back near the bar on a table with a bunch of his ilk. Just follow the squeaks.”

“You got it, Sarge.”

Ansaria proceeded to the exit by herself. When she got outside, she found that the crowd that had been milling about had vanished; probably taking advantage of the free drinks. Alone outside, she took a deep breath, feeling some of the tension that had filled her for the last few days ease away.

Almost done. They were almost done.

Alvara was the first to arrive, with Critter in hand, followed closely by Tread.

“Honestly, that bot needs a good de-bugging. Never have I met such a miserable machine,” said Tread.

“Did you see Slog?” asked Ansaria.

“It looked like he was extracting himself from a very intense conversation with one of the local ladies, but he should be here soon,” said Alvara.

“Good. As soon as he’s here, we can rendezvous with the Emperor and--”

“Rendezvous with the Emperor?” said a voice from the darkness. A voice Ansaria recognized.

From a small ally between the buildings stepped Tor. As he emerged, a half dozen other figures also appeared from out of darkened entry ways and other alleys. A brown-scaled Gorganian, the same one that had disdainfully eyed Alvara in the bar slithered up next to Tor. A Mandorian, recognizable by his orange skin and wearing heavy armor was accompanied by a pair of heavily muscled Myrthalians. A bronze-skinned Acroplian with a single eye missing rounded out the group. Ansaria stared at Tor.

“So, that’s why you’re here Sari. Here to meet the Emperor in person,” said Tor, who held her gaze.

“Sorry, Tor, but I’m afraid our mission is classified,” said Ansaria.

“Why are you bothering talking with thesssse foolssss,” hissed the Gorganian, who was looking at daggers at Alvara. “We should kill them now, esssspecially that abomination Medussssa.”

Ansaria tensed at the word. Alvara’s face was blank, and she showed no recognition of the word that had hounded her her whole life.

On Gorgon, the people were all reptilian semi-humanoids with skin that ran the gamete from sandy brown to blood red to ebony black. But every few generations, a Gorganian is born with snowy white skin and scales and a head with light colored hair. This individual is labeled as Medusa, the greatest monster in Gorganian myth, said to be so hideous to look at that to do so would turn the viewer to stone. Most Medusas’ live a life of an outsider, constantly spat upon and cursed; unless they are killed outright, whether at birth or in a moment of hate-filled bloodlust.

Alvara had lived her whole life as an object of hate. She had joined the Imperial military because it had offered the only means of escape from her life that she could find. When Ansaria had meet her, she had been un aware that the name she carried was in fact a badge of contempt. It was only after many weeks of friendship that she had found out her true name was Alvara. Ansaria had been aghast at referring to her by a name that marked her as a monster, but Alvara had explained that she had come to terms with it over the years, though she still preferred her friends to use her real name. Now, the only remnant of that part of her life was Ansaria’s nickname for her, ‘M’.

Ansaria knew that Alvara had come along way since her days on Gorgon, but she also knew how old wounds could be ripped open when you least expect it. She knew she needed to diffuse the situation before things got out of hand.

“What do you want, Tor? I have more important things to do right now than have another debate with you in front of an audience.”

“I’d really hoped you’d changed, Ansaria. When I saw you tonight, I took it as a sign that we were doing the right thing, that when we struck a blow for all the oppressed people in this sickening Empire, that you would join us. I see now that I was wrong. It was a sign that I needed to let go of my hopes for you, and free you from your indoctrination, the only way I can.”

His words hung in the air. Nobody moved, all of the subordinates waiting to see what move their respective leader would make first. The moment seemed to stretch for an eternity.

“Guess who got the private number of the most beautiful creature in the Empire? This guy!” Slog came out of the bar, swinging his arms and marching confidently before seeing the standoff.

“Oh,” Was all he said.

“Enough! If you won’t kill thissss mutant, then I will!” The Gorganian hissed, snap toward Alvara, his hands outstretched, his mouth wide open, fangs extended.

Alvara reacted in a flash. One moment she was standing stock still, the next she had extended her power staff, the end of which caught the Gorganian in the mouth with an ‘ulp’ sound. Everything froze for an instant, before she twisted the handle on her weapon. The Gorgonian’s head disappeared in an explosive flash; the smoking, headless corpse collapsing to the dusty ground.

With the first shot fired, everyone exploded into a flurry of movement. Critter launched from Alvara’s shoulder at the Acroplian, aiming for his one good eye. The bearded insurgent screamed as the diminutive soldier tore into the vulnerable flesh. When he finally pulled Critter way from his face, his remaining eye was replaced with a mass of shredded flesh, and he took off blindly into the darkness.

Tread headed straight for the Mandorian, his weapon system quickly changing out his armament. The Mandorian pulled out a small blaster, but before he could use it, Tread hit him with a blast from the Zapper. The rebel warrior convulsed as the electrical current coursed through his body, before Tread dropped him with a solid punch to the jaw.

The Myrthalians charged at Slog, the pair each grabbing an arm. They hurled him against the wall, while one of them drove his fist into Slog’s stomach. Slog gasped, and doubled over, but before they could hit him again, he drove his heavy booted foot down on one of the attacker’s foot. The blue skinned assailant howled and released his hold on Slog, who quickly head butted the other Myrthalian in the gut. When he doubled over, Slog followed it up with a two handed strike under his chin, knocking him through the air before he landed on his back. The remaining Myrthalian tried to come to his brother’s aid, but Slog intercepted him, striking his knee with his boot, before grabbing him by the collar and flipping him over his back. The thug landed hard and had the wind knocked out of him, which Slog followed up with by driving his elbow into the fallen adversary’s chest, putting him down for good.

Tor dove at Ansaria, eschewing weapons for his own claws. Tor snarled as he swiped at Ansaria, aiming first at her face then trying to catch her in the leg. Ansaria danced away from the strikes, keeping out of reach of her ex’s attacks. Tor lashed out again and again, trying to land a hit on Ansaria, and each time she managed to avoid. She struck Tor in the side of the head with her fist, leaving him dazed. She followed that up with a kick that caught him in the chest, sending him flying backward. She thought that was the end of it, but was a little surprised to see him struggle back to his feet, clutching his chest. He let out a roar of rage before flying at Ansaria, his teeth barred, aiming for her neck. Ansaria had just enough time to gather her energy before telekinetically blasting Tor away. He struck a wooden wall and crashed through it, his legs dangling out of the hole.

Everything became still as the fight ended. A few people who had been close to the bar’s entrance poked their heads out to see what the noise was. The Mythralians were gone, apparently having recovered enough to flee while everyone’s attention had been on Ansaria’s fight. Slog raised his arms in triumph.

“That’s right, no body messes with the best soldiers in the Emp--” his words were cut short as a large, curved blade descended and sliced off his right arm at the shoulder. Everyone froze as they regarded the new attacker. Its body was sleek, with a large, curved blade in each hand. Its head had a fanned crest, but despite its unusual shape, there was no mistaking the face.

Reno had found them.

Ansaria, Tread and Alvara reacted at the same time. Ansaria threw a telekinetic wave at the hunter, which deftly jumped to the side to avoid it. Tread ran over to Slog, scooping up his arm before wrapping a protective arm around his comrade. Alvara whipped out her rifle and fired off a shot, which the machine also avoided.

“Back to the ship!” Ansaria cried.

Tread pulled Slog along as fast as he could. The shock was beginning to ware off, and Slog howled in agony as his wound bumped against Tread’s body over and over. Ansaria brought out her own rifle, firing off a volley to distract Reno before turning to follow her troops.

They ran as fast as they could, the steady sound of mechanical legs pursuing them. Ansaria kept turning to fire behind her, not wanting to risk blindly shooting over her shoulder and hitting a civilian. Reno dodged every shot, his new form quick and agile.

A new sound from behind them caused Ansaria to look back and see their pursuer had disappeared. She came to a halt, scanning the area. A glint in the moon light above her alerted her to Reno’s reappearance; the hunter had jumped to the top of a building to attack from above. She rolled to the side, avoiding the blade which struck the dirt. She saw that her squad had stopped running and was turning around.

“Get to the ship!” she hollered. She could see the uncertainty in their faces even from this far, but they turned to continue their escape. She barely had time to dodge the next strike. She put her rifle away, deciding to once again fight blade to blade. She brought her sword to bear just in time to block a blow from Reno, before being driven backwards as the machine unleashed a flurry of attacks. Ansaria was just barely able to keep up with Reno’s movements, leaving no time for a counterattack. She tried to use a telekinetic attack to drive the hunter back, but she couldn’t concentrate enough to gather the energy and deflect the constant attacks.

She felt her back hit the wall of a building, and felt fear blossom in her belly. She was trapped, at the mercy of machine that was intent on killing her and everyone she cared about, and all just as she was about to complete her mission and save the Empire. Her flood of emotions did what her attempt at concentration could not. A wave of energy exploded around her, splintering wood, kicking up a dust storm, sending small detritus flying, and finally driving Reno back.

Ansaria pressed her advantage. She charged at the machine with a battle cry. She brought her heavy weapon down, trying to split the bot down the middle, but the agile machine blocked with one of its own blades. She quickly changed track and tried to slice him horizontally, but he danced out of her reach. The strip of cloth she’d gotten from Eberius fluttered on the hilt of her blade. She lashed out again and again, each strike being blocked, deflected or avoided by killer bot.

Finally, one of them found an opening. Reno deflected a diagonal slash from Ansaria, knocking her blade to the side and leaving her wide open. Reno drove his other sword into Ansaria’s shoulder, the razor sharp blade slicing into her and driving her back to the wall where she was pinned.

Ansaria cried out in shock and pain while her sword fell from her grasp. Reno stared at his prey with steady, red, unblinking eyes. Keeping her firmly pinned to the wall, it raised its blade to deliver the killing blow…

A bolt of electricity suddenly struck the machine, causing it to convulse. It dropped the sword it had been about to use to kill the sergeant. Blearily, Ansaria was able to see what had saved her: Tread and Alvara had returned. Tread had hit it with his Zapper, while Alvara was taking careful aim with her sniper rifle. She fired off two quick shots and Reno’s arms exploded at the shoulder.

Ansaria knew they only had a brief moment before the machine recovered. Using her free hand, she pulled the sword keeping her trapped free. Biting back the urge to scream as the blade grudgingly came loose from her flesh, she swung the blade with all her might at the thinnest part of her opponent’s torso.

The machine split in half, its top part toppling to one side while its lower half collapsed. The exposed parts were sparking, while even now its top half was trying to crawl away. Ansaria could see the bots nanomachines trying to repair the damage and summoned all her energy to finish it.

Ansaria thrust out with her hand and lashed out with her mind. The shattered pieces of the hunter bot rushed together, crumpling the whole thing into a ball. Reno was emitting sounds, though whether it was crying out in pain, delivering a status report or just trying to relay a message to her, Ansaria couldn’t tell. She lifted the ball high into the air, keeping a tight mental hold on it.

“Tread, blast it!”

Tread quickly swapped out his weapons. Charging his plasma cannon to its full capacity, he took careful aim and fired at the crumpled bot.

The shot engulfed the compressed killer. With a flash of light and burst of heat, Reno was reduced to a ball of molten slag, something not even his systems could recover from. Ansaria released her hold on the orb, which crashed to the ground, smoking and crackling.

Ansaria stared at the remains of the machine, almost disbelieving that it was terminated. After a moment she bent down to retrieve her sword, grimacing at the pain that shot through her. A moment later, she felt herself being supported by Ansaria. She looked at her friend, her vision swimming a bit before she shook her head to clear it.

“Get me back to the ship,” she said, her voice low and strained. “We’ve have a delivery to make.”