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EPISODE THREE
by Dan Wallace
Freshly
turned soil, tarps, scaffolding and other signs of recent construction
still littered the grounds in and around the Alliance Guard Center. The
complex extended several levels below ground and included a hangar
accessible through underground passageways. Automated security was tight
but unobtrusive and it had a simple, modular design of many Triathian
government facilities.
Inside, however, was
another story. In addition to comfortable living and recreational quarters,
the council had furnished the center with sophisticated training,
communications, and weapons equipment. There was an interplanetary feel
inside as well including an organic design with smooth transitions between
rooms and flush or hidden lighting and control surfaces to help make the off-planet
officers feel more at home. A lingering acidic odor of manufactured
minerals had still not been filtered out by the ventilation system but the
finishing construction crews had finished up earlier that morning.
“I can’t believe this!”
The deep voice echoed
through the empty corridors from the control room. Inside, Areon Corthst
awkwardly maneuvered his boxy frame out from the inner workings of a
communications console. The short Atraelian’s bristly, dull-orange fur was
matted with streaks of gray hydrocal fluid and he was obviously ruffled and
agitated.
“You’d think they’d
finish hookin’ this garbage up before they turned over the keys to the
place,” he muttered, wiping at his forearm and managing only to make the
gummy mess worse.
“We’re only s’posed to
be on top of intergalactic events an’ they let the tech crews go with half
the damn systems still off-line.”
“Maybe they’re waiting
for parts,” Areon’s teammate Brithe replied.
“Yeah. Maybe. An’ maybe
those tree swallows on B’neeria Prime are vegetarians.”
Areon sighed and
slumped his shoulders in resignation. “Ah, so, anyway__. Y’got those
secondary hook-ups in sequence, kid?”
Brithe’s posture was
rigid as he gave Areon his complete attention. “Yes, Sir. Just like you
showed me.”
Although considered an
adult by the standards of his native Jotranth, Brithe was still a youth in
the minds of most other races. His large, black, reptilian eyes gave him a
cold, unemotional look but his nervousness at being on a new world, among
strangers, with no family and friends left to support him still showed
through like a beacon, radiating for all to see.
Areon shook his head in
exasperation. “Everythin’ checks out. So, how come I still can’t reach
Devin an’ Cory?”
“Tell you what; I’m
gonna head out to the hangar an’ fire up a com set on the cruiser, see if…”
The room shook under a
thunderous pounding as powerful blows dented the room’s heavy, alloy door.
Areon’s eyes narrowed
as he glanced back over his shoulder at Brithe. “You invitin’ friends over
already?”
In a matter of seconds,
the door buckled, warped, and finally burst from its frame. It flew across
the room and laser fire filled the air before it had even hit the ground.
Areon’s natural
strength, agility, and reflexes had been genetically enhanced to the point that
he was able to evade the crimson beams through a nearly blinding series of
acrobatics. He leapt and dodged and bounced from the walls, staying barely
one step ahead of the assault.
Brithe, however, was
not so fortunate. He had barely risen from his seat when searing pain
erupted from his shoulder. The shot went straight through the soft flesh
and sent him spinning around. Blood spurted from the wound and his face
slammed into the communications console. He caught himself briefly and
struggled to regain his balance but dizziness and nausea quickly
overwhelmed him and he collapsed to the ground.
Smoke had already
filled the room as Wargen Rast stepped into it, his tracking systems
unimpeded by the haze. With only one target left to acquire, he quickly closed
on Areon.
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"Distant Storms" is ©
and ™ Dan Wallace 2001
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