Three Against the Stars (15 page)

“How did this place go undetected?” O’Hara asked.

Akira snapped her fingers. “I bet the Drakonians perfected that cloaking system Lieutenant Hooks told us about—the one that blocks all communications and visual scans.”

“You mean it’s been hidden from our eye in the sky?” O’Hara asked. Then his eyes went wide with sudden realization. “By God, lass! Can you imagine the ramifications of this if them Draks were to apply this gadget to all their space vessels?”

“Exactly,” Akira said.

“This mewling told you this is one bad place,” said Makki.

Akira nodded. “Boys, you know what I think? I think we should return to base and come back with the whole regiment.”

“What? And get Cortez killed?” O’Hara complained. “A few of us might be able to sneak in and find him without anyone noticing a thing.
Then
we go get the regiment.”

Makki glanced at Akira, his eyes searching her face, begging her to act now.

“Well, come on,” she said. “Let’s show the angels what fools we really are.”

“Please,” Makki said. “Who is Princess Aura?”

O’Hara gaped at him. “My God! What’s Cortez done to ya, lad?”

444

The command center on the fifth level of the old temple was as busy as a Canisian stingerfly nest. Dressed in brown, tan and green uniforms, with crossed swords set against a blue star emblazoned on their jackets, Drakonian technicians and engineers rushed about the room. Inside cubicles of glass and plasteel, Drakonians and Grimalkins sat in front of computers and instrument consoles. Wires, cables and conduits lay like coiled serpents across the stone floor. The great viewport at the far end of the massive room provided an excellent view of the Baroda Mountains, the Giruda Foothills, and Jaipur Pass.

Vash stood surrounded by a gang of Khandra warriors—tigermen in black and silver body armor—armed with tazers, zapguns and blasters. He stared out the viewport, admiring the glorious landscape of his planet, relishing the thought that soon all Rhajnara would be within the iron claw of the Khandra Regime once again. It was a an intoxicating thought, to realize that he would stand near the top of the pyramid of power—second only to his father.

Mister Snark marched briskly toward Vash. “We have more visitors,” he announced.

Vash traced the scar on his tiger-like face with the tip of one needle-sharp claw. “Then we must give them the same warm welcome we gave to their friend,” he said.

444

Still wearing their holo-costumes, Akira and O’Hara followed Makki toward the steps of the ancient temple. They approached cautiously and looked around. The massive doors were closed tight, but Makki found an unlocked service door on one side of the fortress. He opened it quietly, and then motioned for his friends to follow him inside. They entered a dimly-lit chamber containing three squadrons of the pterodactyl-like Drakonian jet fighters.

“By all the saints in Heaven!” O’Hara whispered.

“This was too easy, Seamus,” Akira said, a feeling of alarm and paranoia creeping along the flesh of her arms. “You know I don’t like it when things are too easy.”

“That’s what you always say,” O’Hara told her. “And things usually turn out okay.”

“Usually. Sometimes,” she said. “But this time—”

Glaring white, overhead lights suddenly flicked on.

“Of all the bloody luck!” O’Hara mumbled.

Makki’s ears stood straight up. His stomach grumbled and threatened rebellion.

A score of Khandra tigermen bearing zapguns and tazer rifles rushed in to surround Makki and his friends. He growled a threat as O’Hara and Akira drew their .45 automatics.

The Khandra warriors charged their weapons and took aim.

Vash, Snark and two tigermen approached them.

“Do not move if you wish to live,” Vash said to them.

The tigermen disarmed O’Hara and Akira. Snark confiscated Makki’s medikit.

Akira turned to O’Hara. “You wouldn’t listen to me, would you?”

“This one begs your forgiveness,” Makki told them.

“Be silent or you will all die now!” Vash shouted.

Snark then pointed what looked like some kind of hand weapon at the three friends. They flinched as a beam of purple light shot from the muzzle of the device and scanned each of them for a few seconds before Snark clicked it off.

“The small one is definitely a Felisian,” Snark said. “The other two are human. One is a male. The other is female.”

“It must have been a gizmo like that what gave Lieutenant Hooks away!” O’Hara hissed.

Vash nodded. “Thank you, Mister Snark.”

Makki snarled. “Drakonians make this one’s fur bristle.”

“They make my skin crawl, too,” Akira said, glaring at Snark.

Snark ignored them and searched through the medikit. He examined a laser scalpel, replaced it in the kit, and then pulled out the Whistler Bomb that Makki had stashed away. Akira and O’Hara exchanged nervous glances with Makki while the Drakonian studied the bomb.

Snark pressed the timer button. The glass lens on the bomb lit up with a red glow.

O’Hara and Akira stepped back. Snark looked questioningly at Makki.

“Photon rectal probe,” Makki said.

Snark pressed the bomb’s button once more, and the red glow winked out. Akira sighed. O’Hara wiped his brow. Makki grinned at the proto-saurian.

Shoving the Whistler Bomb back inside the medikit, Snark tossed the kit back to Makki, wiped his claws on his pants, and then nodded to Vash.

“Please deactivate your disguises,” Vash told his prisoners, holding out a paw.

Akira and O’Hara pressed the red buttons on their belt buckles, and instantly their disguises vanished. They removed the silver belts and handed them over to Vash.

“Very ingenious,” he said.

“All right, Whiskers,” O’Hara told him. “Tell us what you’ve done with Cortez or so help me—I’ll rip the fur off your back with me own two hands!”

Vash’s laugh sounded like the roar of some jungle cat. “Words of threat often lack the courage to back them up,” he said. “But we’ll soon see how brave you truly are.”

Akira scowled at O’Hara. “Nice going, Seamus,” she said.

O’Hara shook his head, shrugged, but didn’t have a thing to say—for once.

Makki’s ears drooped with fear and regret. “Oh, bloody hell,” he said.

Chapter Fifteen

The Claws of the Khandra 

O
verhead fluorotubes and a small desk lamp illuminated Colonel Dakota’s office. Additional lighting came from the digital readouts and displays from her computer screens. Beeping, ticking and humming filled the room with a symphony of electronic sound.

Dakota sat behind her desk, chewing on a stomach pill while she studied graphs and charts, reports and readouts. A plasticene water bottle sat near her left hand. Major Helm stood at ease in front of her desk.

“So that’s the situation,” Dakota told him. “Unless the Imperial Fleet can intercept the Drakonian starmada, the Draks will reach this planet in two days.”

A grim look darkened Helm’s face. “That explains the mass exodus of Drakonians, the absence of the ambassador, and all the Draks who left Earth due to a sudden ‘illness,’” he said. And if the Fleet doesn’t stop the Drakonians, Camp Corregidor will be a sitting duck.”

Dakota sighed and took a drink of water. “Yes. We will. And that’s a risk I am
not
willing to take, in spite of the general’s orders.”

“What
are
his orders, Colonel?” Helm asked.

The colonel’s face twisted itself into a mask that clearly expressed her opinion of those orders. “General Ford has ordered us to sit tight and patrol the planet.”

“But we don’t have the manpower, Colonel!” Helm argued. “And we aren’t even allowed to venture anywhere near Rhajni forbidden zones or any ancient shrines and temples.”

“I am well aware of that, Major, and we will do nothing to damage our good relations with the Rhajni Government,” Dakota told him. “Now, I have never questioned an order in my entire career, and I won’t start now. However . . . my mother was a lawyer, and the first thing she taught me was—
always
look for a loophole.”

Helm’s eyes flickered with amusement. “And did you find a loophole, Colonel?”

“Indeed I did,” Dakota said. “And it’s one that will allow me to move the regiment to a more secure locale, while still adhering to the intent of the general’s orders.”

“We’re bugging out?”

Dakota nodded. “We’re bugging out.”

“Where to, Ma’am?”

The colonel touched a spot on a computer screen, and a holographic map of the Vanalooj supercontinent materialized above her desk. She pointed to the map and its corresponding locations, showing mountains, foothills, desert, and passes.

“At 0600 tomorrow, the regiment will proceed to the Baroda Mountains and establish a temporary command base in Jaipur Pass. We can conceal our mechanized vehicles in the Giruda Foothills and establish temporary barracks and headquarters in the caves.”

“Excuse me, Colonel, but that’s forbidden territory.”

“That’s all been resolved, Major.” Dakota smiled. “As long as we remain within the pass and do not venture beyond that point, we break no taboos nor desecrate any holy soil.”

“What are your plans for the Comanche squadrons?” Helm asked.

“I was just getting to that,” Dakota replied. “You will command the squadrons from the
Iwo Jima
. I want a defensive perimeter of AEVs in orbit around this planet by 0900 hours, tomorrow. Understand?”

Helm smiled and snapped to attention. “Aye, aye, Ma’am! But if I may ask . . . where did you get the idea to move the regiment to that location?”

“Actually, it wasn’t my idea,” Dakota said. “Lord Chanori suggested it.”

444

The prison cell was located on the fourth level of the Khandra stronghold. Concealed fluorotubes in the ceiling lit the cell and its metal cots with a harsh, white light. There was a small window with titanium bars cut into the stone wall above one cot. It was the only view of, and the only light from, the outside world.

Sergeant Cortez sat on the edge of the cot, leaning forward so his injured back wouldn’t rub against the stone wall. Every time he moved, his wounds ached and burned like flares caressing his flesh. His face was pale and bore a number of purple bruises. He sat there without the comfort of a weapon; even his solarstik had been confiscated.

At the sound of footsteps from the hallway beyond his confines, he looked up.

The metal door to his cell opened with a soft
whoosh.

Six heavily-armed panthermen shoved Makki, Akira and O’Hara into the cell. The Khandra pointed their weapons at the humans, showed their sharp teeth in threatening snarls, and then backed out of the room. The door closed behind them.

“Sergeant Cortez!” Makki cried with happiness. He noticed Cortez’s torn and burnt shirt, and rushed to tend to his friend.

“Saludar, mi companeros!”
Cortez greeted his mates.

Makki searched through his medikit for the items he needed to care for Cortez. O’Hara sat on the cot across from him. Akira shook her head and sat down beside the big Irishman. Cortez noticed the worried look on her face. He smiled, hoping to ease her concern.

“You don’t look so good,” Akira said to the wayward Spaniard.

“I am all right,” Cortez told her. He looked at O’Hara. “Let me guess. You did not bring the regiment, did you?”

“Bring the regiment?” O’Hara scoffed. “We thought you was captured by some secret Rhajni priests for violatin’ their sacred temple.” He glared at Makki. “I thought you said this temple was full of priests?”

Makki hissed and showed his teeth. “This one not say one word about priests! Sergeant Irishman roars so loud he cannot hear what is being told to him!”

O’Hara jumped to his feet. “Listen here, ya fuzzy little—”

“Sit down!” Akira said, tugging at O’Hara’s arm until he resumed his seat.

“O’Hara, you are an idiot!” Cortez said. “Here I go and capture the whole enchilada of Khandra and you do not have enough brains—”

“I wasn’t the one what got hisself caught in a bloody trap!” O’Hara interrupted.

Cortez laughed, and then grimaced with pain. “Then what are you doing in this cell?”

“Why, you ungrateful—”

“Shut up, Seamus!” Akira snapped. “Cortez—take off your shirt.
Pronto!
”

With a shrug and another grimace of pain, Cortez carefully removed his shirt, revealing the zapgun wound in his shoulder.

“Now turn around,” she said, taking the shirt from him.

Cortez turned, revealing fresh, bloody lacerations across his back.

Makki’s eyes fluttered wide when he saw Cortez’s back. “By Azra and Luzsara!”

O’Hara’s face softened. “I’m sorry, lad. Does it hurt much?”

“Only when I look at you,” Cortez told him.