The shrill klaxon sounded, breaking the silence of the early morning. Tate Malacca groaned as the noise pulled him from his restless sleep.
Not again.
This was the third breach in the last week of the outer defences that protected the delicate zinithium powered Inner Perimeter Barrier. The Pod were not letting up. Rising from his makeshift, lumpy and inhospitable bunk, he rubbed his sleep filled eyes as he peered around him.
He pulled his worn boots on and picked up his two seckles which lay beside his temporary sleeping area, strapping his beloved long sword to his back and his photon blaster around his waist, both of which were well used with much action in their history. His bunk was in the main guard post that covered the entrance to the South Gate and around him others were tumbling out of their light or heavy sleeps, dependent on what nightmares they were experiencing. For the inhabitants of the Aeria Cavern, the last village city of Zein, nightmares were a common occurrence.
The door burst open, ‘Lord Malacca, there is a breach near to the North Gate,’ said the young soldier panting heavily. Tate looked at the tall freckle-faced teenager. He couldn’t remember his name. The soldiers were becoming younger and younger, Tate thought. How many more men and women would they lose before there was no hope?
‘Keep calm soldier, how many Pod?’ asked Tate, keeping his voice low and even. He could not afford panic to entrench itself into his troops.
‘Lots Sir, they just said lots,’ replied the young soldier, screwing his eyes up in concentration as he tried to remember the message relayed via the antiquated intercom system.
Once they commanded the foremost technology, now they simply managed with what still worked. Their depleted mineral reserves struggled to maintain the Inner Perimeter Barrier and even their weapons had mainly regressed to seckles, old photon rifles and swords. Gone were the powerful photon shotguns and levitation tanks, the latter now standing, rusting on the surface of the planet.
Tate thought through the implications of the brief report. None of his options filled him with confidence. He knew the North Gate was not the most heavily guarded section as most of the troops were situated to the South and West Gates. It was there the community needed the greater protection due to their proximity to the larger and more accessible entrances to the Aeria Cavern.
The Aeria Cavern was the principal Zein mining settlement, which rested above the once richest seam of zinithium on the planet. In the days when the village cities on the surface prospered this was the largest permanent underground settlement that remained untouched by the winter and reflection periods. The city village was deep into the earth and four great ramp-ways were used to transport the massive mining trucks loaded with the precious ore out to the waiting villages on the surface. Each ramp-way was historically protected by four steel outer gates, North, South, East and West, which through the decades closed during the brutal weather the winter and reflection periods brought. The Zeinonians sought the protection of this massive underground city village during these periods after collapsing the top storeys of their own city village buildings, intending them to be built back up to their previous glory at the start of the summer. Today the impressive outer steel gates were all but destroyed by neglect and carelessness, exposing the Inner Perimeter Barrier and huge internal gates to not just the remnants of the weather but also to attack. The gates were only at the four intersections to the ramp-ways as the rest of the city’s perimeter was encased in rock and an inner lining of zinithium steel.
The weak Inner Perimeter Barrier was a sporadic shield that could not be relied upon and this only covered the actual entrances and barricades. Yes, the weakness was the entrances. Lose those and the city would fall. The Aeria Cavern was their last safe haven, the difference between survival and extinction.
‘What’s your name, soldier?’
‘Bertrand Mallory, Sir, of the Blackstone clan,’ said Bertrand proudly.
I should have guessed, Tate thought, noticing the tallness of the young man. Is this all the once famed Blackstone clan can provide to support the perimeter; children! He fumed silently.
The Blackstone clan kept very much to themselves now, not lifting a finger to help the other clans. They still formed the largest army after the Malacca clan but chose to remain behind their walls, mumbling their dissent. Not far behind them for intransience was the Changelings community. Always whispering, plotting and looking after their interests only.
‘Who do we have stationed there?’ said Tate, brushing away his irritation and knowing he should be able to answer this himself. Heck he was tired. Constant fighting and lack of sleep were having a major impact on his health. He pushed this all to one side and he dragged his bruised and battered youthful body out of the guard room closely followed by the young soldier.
‘Prince Southgate, Sir,’ answered the young soldier. Tate groaned. Of course, just what he needed, that fiery fool crowing about how brave he was. He had purposely placed the remnants of the Southgate forces to the North and East Gates to keep them out of his way.
Prince Southgate was the remaining hope for the Southgate clan. After his marriage to the young Cadence Fathom, Tate had hoped that supporting dependents would curb the prince’s more excitable ways. It hadn’t. If anything, it had triggered more irrational and impulsive behaviour which his young bride still struggled with.
Cadence was the oldest surviving Fathom. Her family had been nearly wiped out during one of the first Pod attacks and just Cadence, her younger feisty sister Eva, and youngest sister, Mia, had survived. Cadence had grown up with such responsibility, looking after Eva and Mia, coupled with her sadness at the loss of her parents, that her spirit was broken and when Taio Southgate began to show interest in her, it was not long before she fell under his spell.
Tate shook his head. Cadence put up with so much from the weak and bullying attitude of the vain prince that sometimes he had to hold his own tongue for fear that he would cause a split in the Inner Council. Any split in this most important civic body and the Aeria Cavern may fall due to the warring factions not working together. He could not let that happen, his own burden resting heavily on his shoulders. Fleetingly he felt the weight of his office and then he remembered Eva and Mia, and he felt re-energised. Cadence’s spirit might be broken, but in Eva and Mia they carried the spirit of the entire Fathom clan. The young sisters were irrepressible. No one could tame or control them, not even him. In his heart he didn’t want to, they were what Zein needed. Spirit. Fight. If Cadence represented the past horrors, it was Eva and Mia who stood for the promise in the future.
As his thoughts drifted, around him the squads on guard were rushing to the barricades. He caught some of the soldiers’ looks as they pulled on their red tunics and slung photon rifles onto their weary shoulders – women, men and children – pressganged onto the front line. Their eyes displayed the fear and resignation they felt.
For a moment despair washed over him. His mind was racked with guilt and his body ached from recent battles and old injuries.
Pull yourself together Malacca. If you let fear take over, the Zeinonians would not last a week.
‘Sir, what are your orders?’ The calm request came from his right. It was Kron, the Captain of the Malacca clan, who had fought with his father and now his allegiance transferred to the youngest surviving male heir. The one person he could rely upon in this madness. Tate took in the eye patch on his left eye gouged out by one of the Pod and the stump of half a left arm swinging casually at his side. No, if he was the leader then Kron was the enforcer. His eyes traversed to the gleaming machete that Kron held loosely in his one good hand. How many hours did he clean and sharpen the blade each night? Tate shivered, probably too many to count. He never wanted to be on the wrong side of Kron.
Tate turned his mind to the task at hand. He could not leave the South Gate unguarded due to the risk that the Pod usually attacked this entrance as it enabled them to mass their numbers in the large access tunnel. There were five thousand men and women guarding the South Gate with the bulk of them resting in the barracks behind the barricades that were at each side of the enormous gates, ready to support any attack or breach, the remainder walking the numerous ramparts that sat above and around the gate, enabling the defenders to shoot into any advancing enemy.
The shift change happened over a week to ensure numbers were maintained. The number guarding never fell below five thousand; they could not take the risk of a successful attack by the Pod on their main entrance.
‘Pull together five hundred of your best men Kron and some of the Tyther engineers,’ said Tate. ‘We are off to see if Prince Southgate needs reinforcements at the North Gate barricades.’
‘Prince Southgate…’ Kron spat out the name in disgust but then held his retort back after Tate gave him a warning look. He may agree with Kron in private but he couldn’t let the young soldiers around them see the disrespect. Kron, with a grimace, hurried off to pull together the force. Everything was on a knife edge of uncertainty – food, raw materials, weapons and bravery.
Within a short period of time Kron’s assembled force, climbed into a number of the gliders which connected each of the main sentry points. The doors shut with a barely perceptible whoosh and the zinithium propelled vehicles sped away clockwise, hovering over the steel encased tunnel. The journey was not a long one but sufficient for Kron to relax and remove the protective guard on his shortened arm. He flexed the muscles on his stump of an arm, sometimes he still thought he felt his non-existent fingers but then looked down at what was left of his arm below the elbow, a victim of the fangs of a fateful bite from an enraged Pod; he survived but the Pod’s life ended shortly after. Kron looked around the glider’s cabin reviewing the team he had pulled together. The team consisted of some of the most experienced fighters, but it was becoming harder and harder as the toll of the attacks reduced their ranks. For his part he didn’t fear the Pod just saw them as the basis for his life. No Pod. No need for Kron. He had turned killing the Pod into an art form. Kron saw it as a battle of steel and guts against wild animals; to him peace was an uncertain world as he revelled in the violence and backs against the wall mentality.
The fierce looking warrior glanced across at Tate, and although his duty led him to follow the Malacca prince, what confused him was how much respect he held for the young royal. They had nothing in common; Kron’s was brought up by uncaring sadistic parents in a small outlying cottage on the extremes of civilisation, and Tate enjoyed the splendour of the Malacca Royal Palace. He shook his head as he already knew the answer to his own question… it was simple, when they found their backs to the wall, there was only one leader who stepped forward to face the threat. Tate. He could see the worries the man carried and though Kron had sympathy for this crushing responsibility on such a young man, he knew without it there would be no Zeinonians left standing. Time and time again, Tate had saved them with his calmness and leadership.
The glider began to slow down from its tremendous speed as it passed one of the key gates. Kron pushed all thoughts to the back of his mind, placed his armour back onto his stub, with the spikes that he had himself driven into the material, dully shining in the lights of the tunnel, making his apparent handicap into a fearsome weapon.
The gliders swept past the East Gate, which bristled with men and weapons from the Tyther clan. The barricades and ramparts looked bleak and old. Tate shook his head slightly. It was just sheer guts keeping the Pod at bay.
They continued on their journey until they came to a halt at the North Gate barricades where the men climbed out. It was eerily silent outside the gate where hundreds of soldiers should have been patrolling.
What is going on!
Where were the Southgates? Tate screamed in his head, although his face remained emotionless.
‘Sir,’ said Kron pointing to a frightened young face, barely in his teens who stood trembling in a corner near the open door of the large steel encased sentry pill-box that housed the powerful photon machine guns; each main entrance had at least two of the remaining temperamental machine guns; sometimes they worked and sometimes they jammed. It was pot luck.
‘Bloody ridiculous,’ muttered Tate as he walked purposely across to the lad. He took in the old photon rifle he held in his hands and glanced into the pill-box and saw a mixture of women and similarly aged teenage lads behind the photon machine guns which poked out of their pre-ordained slits. He then looked behind the steel barricades that rose up behind the pill-box that covered the large expanse around the gates and he saw a few hundred soldiers, but they were dwarfed by the number of teenagers and women nervously holding makeshift old blasters and shotguns.
He surmised there were five hundred soldiers in total, when the barricades and barracks should be manned by over three thousand.
Women and kids! The stupid idiot has left women and children to guard one of the main gates. If the Pod had attacked here then…he tried to remain calm…as calm as he could. ‘Okay soldier what is the status?’ said Tate deciding that authority and leadership were required.
‘T-h-h-e Pod have a-a-ttacked the corridor between the North and West Gate b-b-barricades Sir,’ said the teenager, shaking with fear. Tate smiled warmly and placed a hand onto the boy’s shoulders.
‘You are doing an excellent job young man,’ said Tate smiling encouragingly, ‘Where did Prince Southgate go?’
‘He took the main force in the gliders to see what has happened,’ said the teenager.
Leaving one of the principal gates practically unguarded! Tate ground his teeth together in anger.
‘Kron, leave a hundred of the regiment here to support these brave soldiers.’ Kron pointed to a number of his group and they peeled off to support the gate and pill-box. The defenders smiled in relief. ‘Let’s go,’ said Tate and the remainder of the force re-entered the gliders and set off down the tunnel.
The journey took more time than Tate remembered. The north to west part of the tunnel covered one of the largest lengths of corridor between the main gates. The tunnel was purposely engineered to be wide, enabling the Zeinonians to bring down the collapsed elements of the buildings prior to the winter and reception periods and the raw material from their mining operations up to the surface.
How could they break through the steel covered tunnel wall? he thought worriedly. It was the toughest metal known to Zein – made from iron ore and zinithium. The Blackstones’ made the composite and the Tyther clan welded the steel sheets together – they had never been breached…until now it seems.
Flashes ahead signified that they had reached the battle and Tate ordered the driver to stop the leading glider, causing the other vehicles to stop, as they took their lead from the first glider. He turned to his second-in-command, who waited patiently; he had no doubts that the young royal would not be found wanting. Many battles fighting shoulder to shoulder had reinforced the gnarled soldier’s expectations.
‘Kron, form the soldiers into four columns. Tell them to hold their fire until I give the command. We don’t want to be killing our fellow soldiers,’ said Tate, his face tight with anticipation. Kron went to execute his Lord’s orders.
The men formed the columns and Tate drew his seckles and flexed his muscles, his muscles rippling against the tight, red, battered body armour. He took a quick glance behind him and saw the experienced grim determination of his elite guard focused ahead. He started jogging towards the flashes ahead, his men following, their feet rhythmically thumping onto the steel floor as they ran after Lord Chancellor Tate Malacca.
The flashes began to grow in intensity and the noise of battle cascaded down the steel encased corridors. They turned a corner and were faced with an unbelievable sight. The bulk of the Southgate army were in hand-to-hand combat across the huge tunnel with many of the Pod, the seven foot creatures with shaggy dark blue hair and razor sharp claws that could scythe through body armour as it was paper, were pressing the soldiers back by their ferocity. At their feet were large numbers of lifeless bodies from the Southgate clan, whose spilt blood pooled into newly running mini tributaries throughout the tunnel.
Where had they all come from? Then he saw the answer to his question. In one of the sides of the tunnel there was a massive hole with steel curled up on the inside, where the Pod must have created the breech. Streaming through the hole was more and more of their hated enemy. Tate knew he had to seal the hole or the Pod would gain a foothold which would first threaten the North Gate and then the other gates, leaving the city protected only by the flimsy zinithium run Inner Perimeter Barrier and inadequate Inner Defence Wall.
‘Kron, take one hundred men and the engineers and secure that hole,’ he ordered the one man who could do such a thing. Kron didn’t hesitate. He fired out orders and the battle hardened men selected moved within firing distance of the hole. The Pod hadn’t noticed them, concentrating on the fierce combat with the Southgate soldiers. Kron lined up his men and they pulled out their photon rifles. Kron shouted an order.
One of the Pod, who was still some distance away, heard the shout over the noise of the battle and turned to look at the new arrivals. His face turned into a roar and his two sabre incisor teeth that jutted from the menacing mouth rose as he shouted a warning to his brethren. The Pod near him turned to see what the warning was about.
Kron wasted no time and organised the men into two rows of twenty-five and the rest in two columns behind them. On his order the men reached into their backpacks and pulled out a powerful zinithium powered rocket each, which they then fixed to the barrels of the rifles like a bayonet. He didn’t want to use these precious remnants of their arsenal but he had no choice. On his command the first row dropped to their knees and the second row aimed high in the direction of the breech. The Pod saw the danger and charged the men.
The second row of soldiers fired and an arc of rocket propelled weapons sped towards the hole. When they hit, the multiple explosions threw the charging Pod off their feet, many dying. Arms and limbs were torn off the crazed beasts by the devastating explosives. The tunnel became full of smoke, like a thick London pea soup fog rolling in from the River Thames. Even with this killing field in front of him, Kron knew that the battle was only half won.
Tate led the rest of the soldiers in a charge against the melee in the tunnel. He assessed that there were around two thousand Pod covering the wide tunnel floor.
In advance of Kron, Tate and his men tore into the left flank of the Pod as they reeled from the first photon grenade strikes. Tate skilfully wielded the seckles that seemed to be glued to his hands. He evaded the vicious sweep of the clawed hands of his attackers by levitating slightly at key moments to alter his position. His red force-field pulsated from his body. Surrounding him were his troops, relying on the accuracy of their long swords or seckle and blaster to compensate for their weaker force-fields.
A shout from one of his men drew his attention to a Pod who had approached him from behind. Tate spun round to face the beast, raising his seckles in defence.
What he saw surprised him. The tall Pod was injured, the rage, so present on the Pods’ faces absent. There was sadness in his eyes and his clawed hand reached out as if asking for mercy. The mouth drooped and the sabre-teeth rested unthreateningly out of the corners of his mouth. His bare chest heaved with exertion. Tate saw the wound in his side from the shrapnel caused by the grenades and the resultant free flowing green blood of the animal.
Tate dropped his seckles to his side in astonishment. The Pod began to make hand signals. ‘What are you trying to tell me?’ said Tate, blocking out the fighting around him. The Pod stamped his foot in frustration as he made the sign again, a circle and a finger gesture to firstly to Tate and then pointing to his chest. Suddenly, a shot whistled past Tate’s ear and the creature’s head was flung back and a mighty roar issued from his mouth. A new green gushing hole appeared in the Pod’s shoulder and with one last desperate look at Tate, the Pod male lurched off back to the hole.
Kron shouted his next command. The soldiers in the front row stood and they replicated the firing sequence. The explosions ripped through the tunnel. The smoke billowed out further into the main fighting.
Tate looked around as the second blast of grenades decimated the Pod’s ranks and the hole in the tunnel was nearly closed, the explosions bringing stone and rubble crashing down from the Pod-made opening. The Pod began to retreat.
He saw the manic grin of Taio Southgate, the twenty-five year old senior prince of the Southgate bloodline. Taio was chasing the fleeing Pod brethren and killing them where they stood with powerful cuts of his gold plated extra-long seckle – one of the heirlooms of the Southgates.
What was she doing here! Beside Taio was Jaida Blackstone. Ruthless, cold and killing with precision. She was also beautiful, tall and had a grace about her that would make a ballroom sway to her dancing. Why was a Blackstone with the Southgates? Had they reformed their alliance? He spotted members of the Blackstone Royal Guard supporting her and Myolon, the alpha male of the Changelings with his personal guard consisting of twenty. The Changelings were fighting as Roths and gouging the Pod with their horns, without holding back.
He made his way to them as he battled his attackers.
‘Hi Tate, nice to see you joining in the fun,’ said the grinning Taio, skilfully disembowelling one of the Pod who was covering the retreat.
‘Why did you leave the North Gate post so lightly guarded?’ said Tate, panting with the exertion of the violence, as he ducked a claw and then parried another with his seckle.
‘Heck, they will be fine…the attack is here not there.’ Annoyance crept into Taio’s voice as he brought his wicked looking seckle crashing into an outstretched arm. Pod blood spurted from the separated limb, adding to the slick wetness of the gore of the slain.
Tate decided not to push it. He was conscious that Taio still had his main guard close by and he only had a small force and there would be a time to debate this properly at the next Inner Council meeting. He deactivated one seckle and thrust it into his body armour and with one fluid movement pulled the ancient sword from the scabbard on his back.
Two Pod launched their huge bodies at Tate; he leapt away from the vicious trajectory of their swinging claws and then skipped past both his attackers’ now unbalanced position to dispatch them with two swings of the razor sharp sword, sending them to whatever afterlife they went to. He leaned on his sword to catch his breath.
‘Tate! Behind you!’ shouted Jaida. He pushed any thought of tiredness to the back of his mind and dropping into a crouch he swung his sword in a lethal arc into the side of a Pod who was attacking his seemingly unprotected back. The Pod let out an agonised scream and then Jaida, with relish, plunged her seckle through his heart. The Pod toppled over and lay still on the steel floor, resting on the bodies of his brethren, his face twisted in the pain of death.
Jaida offered Tate her hand, which, with a wry grin, he took and as he stood up, Jaida pushed her body against his and he could feel her hot breath on his face. Tate cursed as he felt his heart race and Jaida, as she apparently guessed what he was thinking, allowed a mocking smile to spread over her face. She cheekily pecked him on the cheek and then moved away.
A cheer rose from the defenders. The final remnants of the Pod had disappeared back through the reduced hole. Tate looked at the carnage in the tunnel. The Pod lay two and sometimes even three deep on the brushed steel floor. They had no weapons except their claws and ferocity. Why were they so hell bent on killing them? He wished he knew.
‘Hello, Tate, my darling, were you missing me and wondering where I was?’ Jaida again. His eyes rested on the most beautiful face you could ever hope to see. Younger than both Taio and himself, Jaida was a force of nature.
Both had courted her, where she teased, pulled them along until they couldn’t resist and then casually cast them aside when she was done. Tate had moved on but the scars still scoured his heart, there was no one else he had connected to or wanted to Join with and now he had settled in his own mind that he may be alone for ever.
‘Not exactly. What brings you down here, morning walk, sabbatical?’ he asked, the sarcasm, hiding his true feelings, or so he thought.
‘My dear Lord Malacca, sarcasm does not suit your usual dark brooding look,’ she teased, wiping a nonexistent piece of dirt off his cheek, knowing full well what buttons to press. ‘Can’t a girl go out for an early morning stroll with a friend?’ indicating Taio, who smirked. Jaida then linked her arm around the tall figure of the most senior Changeling, Myolon, now transformed into his Zeinonian shape, the only outward sign that he was not all he seemed to be were the animalistic amber flecked, multi-coloured eyes that looked impassively at Tate.
Tate didn’t react. There were tasks to do and he didn’t want to antagonise the Blackstones or indeed the leader of the Changelings. He called out to the Southgate troops to start stacking up the bodies of the Pod so they could burn them. Taio’s lips tightened. Tate knew it irritated him that he was in charge – the Inner Council was still his to command. The Southgate soldiers did not wait for their own royal bloodline to issue orders but began to stack the bodies. Lord Malacca had demonstrated to them many times his bravery and there was grudging respect in acknowledging that they and the Aeria Cavern would have fallen in the last few years if it hadn’t been for this young lord.
Annoyed that his soldiers were following Tate’s orders, Taio swaggered up to him until his face was within touching distance. Tate didn’t move but his hand rested on one of his now deactivated seckles within his tunic, He saw the blood lust in Taio’s eyes. Mentally Taio was still in the battle so Tate kept his body relaxed but ready for any challenge. Tate had seen and accomplished so much, that a spoilt prince was not a major issue for him.
Taio’s face was full of rage. ‘You think you are just the best don’t you,’ Taio spat out, spittle spraying out, some onto Tate’s face, but Tate didn’t move and stayed silent, enraging Taio even more. His vindictive eyes, burning still with the triumph of the battle, flashed, ‘One day my dear Malacca, I will be ordering you around.’
‘Sir, anything wrong?’ It was Kron. Taio took a pace back. If there was one man he feared it was this man. Kron just looked through him as if he didn’t exist.
‘Nothing wrong Kron, just a friendly chat between royals,’ said Tate, ‘Well Taio, if that day arrives, I will let you know,’ he concluded sarcastically. He wished for a time when he didn’t need to handle Taio’s tantrums.
‘Have the engineers close that hole up, fast,’ Tate directed his trusted captain who saluted and moved off to carry out the orders.
The engineers had taken their large backpacks off and each removed a set of steel sheets from each one. The soldiers had cleared away the bodies around the hole and most of the debris. The engineers then cut away any remnants of steel that jutted out and removed any remaining rubble. Then at a mesmerising speed the Tyther men in a coordinated display of team work joined each of the steel oblongs together one by one with their powerful operated drill packs. Within a short space of time the hole was covered with a patchwork quilt of steel joined with rivets. Tate surveyed the work in admiration.
They hadn’t finished. The chief engineer, with goggles over his eyes, pulled out a small device, similar to a blaster. The other engineers stepped back and placed goggles over their eyes. He switched the tool on and even Tate, who was standing a safe distance away, had to turn his head away from the brightness of the light.
The experienced engineer traced the edges first, the steel melting to become one with the rest of the tunnel steel. Once done he switched to any rivets or inconsistences where the other oblongs met. When he had finished he switched off the beam and took off his goggles to survey his work. Except for some red glowing areas where the heat had last been focused it was hard to see where the hole had been. Tate shook his head in amazement. He knew that the Oneerions were the number one builders and skilled craftsmen in the Universe yet you just knew the Tyther clan would challenge such a statement.
The survivors climbed onto the gliders to make their way back to their respective posts. The fire took hold of the piles of stacked bodies as numerous bonfires were lit. Tate tracked the thin tendrils of smoke climb to the roof of the tunnel where it was whisked away by the venting system. He had two questions crashing around his head. How had the Pod penetrated the steel walls? The weaknesses had always been the gates and barricades.
But the most disturbing question that challenged him was his encounter with that particular male Pod. What had he been trying to say? Why communicate at all? Were they not both committed to destroying each other? He was confused, not helped by the weariness he felt from the endless fighting. As they climbed back onto the gliders Tate’s mind drifted to the history of the Expeditionary Force and wondered whether they would ever come back. What he didn’t know was that he would find out the answer to his questions sooner than he thought.