Galaxy of Heroes

Capt. Casey grasped his thick wrist with both her hands. Her hands appeared tiny on the stiff armor that encased his arms. She attempted to pull the knife away from her throat but her exertions had no effect.

Lt. Zeth pulled the knife back and examined her with a clinical stare.

Her heart was pounding in her chest. Her short black hair was mussed and hanging over her dark eyes.

He hadn’t cut her deeply yet.

She looked up at him. “At least tell me who you are,” she said.

“Who I am?” he asked.

“You Craaldans show up and you kill us, but we never know the reason why.”

“You want to learn about the Craaldan?”

“Yes,” she said.

He studied her face closely. “We were once like you,” he said.

She looked up at him. “Go on.”

“An eternity ago, the Craaldan were carnivorous bipeds fighting with ourselves for territory on a small planet. Eventually, our planet was conquered by the dominant Craaldan faction and millennia of warfare came to an end. At that stage of our development, as with you humans, we learned to expand our life spans indefinitely.”

Capt. Casey sat stiffly upright, listening attentively, her eyes moving from his piercing stare to the blade he toyed with in his fingers. He traced the point of his blade up and down her chest and to her throat.

“Struggles for dominance were decided over time and our social order hardened. With immortality and an unchallenged social hierarchy, we grew increasingly complacent and apathetic in outlook and lifestyle, until an enemy arrived in our solar system and attacked us, waking us from our torpor. We learned how severely our war-fighting skills had deteriorated and we were nearly annihilated. But our species survived, and by chance, prevailed. The narrow victory and the thrill of warfare reignited our species and ended our apathy. We discovered that in times of war, life has newfound purpose. War is life. Peace is death. Our society reorganized for combat and conquest. War provided a keen natural selection that immortality had stolen from us. War provided the feedback mechanism that began to shape our evolution—our cultural, technological and genetic development.”

Capt. Casey studied him intensely as he spoke. His large yellow eyes looked outward at her, but appeared to look inward on himself as he formed his words for a human female who to him was nothing more than easy prey.

“With each conquered planet, our warrior skills were honed,” Lt. Zeth continued. “We began to live only to conquer and kill. The drive for war became ingrained. We had been on the warpath for millions of years before your species had traveled beyond the atmosphere of your home planet. We will remain at war for millions of years to come.”

“To what end?” Capt. Casey asked. “What are you fighting for?”

“We are fighting for the ultimate victory, to conquer all the galaxy,” he answered.

“So, you Craaldans won’t stop fighting until you’ve killed everyone?” she said. “And what happens when there is no one left to kill?”

“Then we will have come full circle. We will fight amongst ourselves.”

“Isn’t there another way?” Capt. Casey asked. “Another way instead of war?”

He quickly twirled his knife in his fingers. “Negative.”

His eyes narrowed. “Captain Casey, this is where the talking ends.”

Sgt. Chank entered the room and stood at attention. He spoke in clipped tones.

Lt. Zeth issued an order, but Chank remained motionless. Capt. Casey could tell that the large alien sergeant was smoldering beneath his gray skin. She deduced that he had just been ordered to stand fast and not disturb his lieutenant again.

Lt. Zeth watched the large sergeant who turned and walked out of the room. Zeth appeared perturbed and preoccupied.

Capt. Casey saw her opening. She leaned back in her metal chair and pulled her knee to her chest, cocking her boot.

Lt. Zeth returned his gaze to her.

Capt. Casey snapped her leg, forcefully kicking Zeth square in the chin with the heel of her boot.

She leaped up and snatched his knife from his gloved hand. While standing on his huge armored legs, she flipped the knife around and plunged it into the back of his leathery neck. She felt it penetrate his thick skin. She attempted to withdraw the blade, but was unable to pull it out.

Lt. Zeth roared in pain and attempted to grasp her, but with lightning quickness, she darted from his clutches.

Zeth stood and unsheathed his executioner’s blade. But the knife in his neck must have hit a nerve. He staggered and was unsteady. Purple blood gushed from the knife wound. His yellow eyes unfocused.

Capt. Casey stepped forward and snapped a kick into his stomach. The giant soldier lost his balance and toppled forward onto his face.

Sgt. Chank reentered the room and saw Capt. Casey standing over the lieutenant. The sergeant rushed at her.

Capt. Casey planted her boot onto Zeth’s back and reached down for his firearm, un-holstering a huge pistol from his hip.

She gripped it with two hands and aimed it at Chank. She pulled the trigger and the kick flung the weapon from her hands, knocking her backward.

Her shot hit Chank and knocked him flat. But he was still moving.

She sprinted through the door that he had come through. She slammed it shut and punched the lock key.

This room was nearly the same in layout as the one she had just exited—large windows looking down at the smoking city below. She saw a familiar face sitting in a metal chair in the center of the dark room.

“Jace!” she said.

Capt. Spade looked up from his chair and focused his eyes. “Hey there,” he said. His face was bruised and bloodied and marked with red lines from the point of a knife.

She ran up to him.

“I thought you were dead,” she said.

“I thought I told you,” he said. “I ain’t the dying type.”

“You look like hell,” she said.

She leaned down and wiped the blood from his chin.

A loud crash sounded from behind the door.

“He’s going to break the door down,” Spade said.

“I think I killed his lieutenant,” Capt. Casey said.

“Aren’t you trouble,” he said.

The door shook as Chank attempted to force it open.

Capt. Casey pulled Spade up from his chair. “Is there a way out of here?” she asked.

“Negative,” Spade said. “Only one door,” motioning to the door that shuddered each time Chank slammed against it.

Spade looked up at the ceiling and around at the walls. “Do you have a multi-tool?” he asked.

“Yes,” she answered. She pulled her multi-tool from her belt pack.

“Cut through the window and we can climb out of here,” he said.

“Roger that,” she said.

Capt. Casey flipped on a torch in her multi-tool and cut out a section of glass, which fell away.

“Follow me,” she said.

“Lead the way,” he said.

The door crashed open and Sgt. Chank rushed into the room.

Capt. Casey clambered out onto the side of the building, clinging to its vertical glass face. The wind smelled of acrid smoke as it whipped at her body. Capt. Spade climbed down behind her.

They were over a hundred stories up, clinging to the sheer glass face as wind and smoke whipped at them.

“Cut through the glass!” Spade yelled over the wind.

Chank stuck his head out the hole in the glass above them and looked down. He aimed his large pistol and fired a shot. His aim was off, but the tremendous boom from his weapon nearly knocked Capt. Casey and Spade off the side of the building.

Capt. Casey fired up the torch on her multi-tool and cut through a window. She kicked through the glass and then entered a floor below. Spade followed behind her.

Spade stuck his head back out through the glass to see Chank’s large form clambering out the window and down the side of the building after them.

“Keep moving,” Spade said. “He’s right behind us.”

They were in the bedroom of a well-to-do residence of one of Jod’s administrators. Capt. Casey stepped over the bed and opened the bedroom door to the living room of the apartment.

Chank crashed through the bedroom window behind them and scrambled over the bed as Spade slipped from his grasp.