Re: Chapter Fourteen
*****
Aranthka IX
(Sky)
“Damn he’s good,” Petty Officer Jean Hajar said through gritted teeth.
“Watch your language young lady,” Admiral Glover admonished, gripping the edge of the console hard as Hajar made an abrupt starboard turn. However, the move wasn’t fast enough to avoid getting caught by some of the quiver of blasts released by the shuttle on her tail.
“We’ve got to do something to shake this guy sir,” Hajar said. “I’m running out of moves here!”
“I’m sure you’ll think of something,” Glover said tightly. The admiral activated the shuttle’s aft phaser bank. “Damn, I missed him!”
Hajar glanced with a raised eyebrow at the older man. Glover looked chagrined. “On second thought sir, I might be able to do something. Your son’s nifty move on the Invidious got me thinking about aerial combat, and I’ll think I’ll try a Scissors move.”
“Forgive me Petty Officer Hajar,” Glover said. “But I never cared as much for old Earth aerial combat as my son or you obviously.”
“How about I just show you,” Hajar said, right before she was jerked forward as the shuttle rattled.
“Direct hit to our port nacelle,” Lt. Mendes called out. “We can’t take another one like that!”
“Get cracking crewman,” Samson ordered.
“All right sir, but I hope you didn’t eat a heavy lunch,” Hajar quipped. “Let’s see if our friend bites.”
*****
Aranthka IX
(Sky)
Though Glover should’ve known better than to take his eyes off the flight controls, the sight on the periphery arrested his attention. “She’s going to get a commendation if we get out of this,” he remarked as he watched the Zambezi execute a perfect Scissors move, zigzagging up and down, causing her pursuer to do the same.
Within a few seconds, Hajar had maneuvered above and behind the Romulan shuttle. The runabout’s forward phasers cut loose, shearing off one of the shuttle’s wings. The Romulan craft tumbled from the sky.
The Zambezi quickly swung about. “Captain, mind if we join you?” Hajar asked.
“Not at all Jean,” Glover smiled. “The more the merrier. That was some mighty fine flying back there.”
“I’m not quite done yet Sir. We’ve got one more bogie.”
“Any suggestions?” The captain coyly asked. The ship rocked as the lone Romulan craft connected again. His eyes misted as the acrid odor of smoke and burnt circuits filled the cabin.
“I’m on it,” a member of Dryer’s security detachment called.
“Yes sir, ever heard of a Thach Weave?” Hajar asked.
“Hajar, you’re breaking my heart here,” Glover laughed. “Of course I have. Let’s bait and hook this Rommie and call it a day.”
The Zambezi came alongside the Contest. “With two targets, he can’t resist sir,” Hajar said. “And I think he might want a piece of me for downing his buddy.”
“He’s all yours,” Glover said.
“I’ll try to draw his attention,” The runabout’s aft phaser array began to glow with charging power. Glover tracked the shot on sensors as it blasted against the Romulan’s shields. The attacking ship began to turn toward the runabout. The runabout poured on the juice, and Glover struggled to keep up with it. The Contest’s propulsion system had taken much more damage.
Once the two Starfleet craft had gotten an acceptable distance from the chasing Romulan, they turned in toward each other, crossing paths. The Romulan stayed with the Zambezi.
Glover was glad about that. He didn’t want Jean to have all the fun. She had a lot more practice at this than he did now, the captain thought with a smidgen of regret. Now behind the Romulan shuttle, the captain ordered Dryer to target it and fire.
He transferred power from several systems, including shields, to give the shuttle’s phasers more power. After almost a minute of intense fire, and aided by the Zambezi which swung around and joined in, the last Romulan shuttle cracked open like a stormbird egg.
The captain excelled after the carcass of the half-vaporized ship was blown to the winds. “I hope we’re done fighting for today,” he said.
“Not by a long shot,” Samson replied grimly.
*****
Aranthka IX
(Sacrificial Chamber)
“Where are the others?” The Priest-Queen asked, the spirits within her boiling with impatience, and burning with hunger. The smooth-brow and two hard-brows sat inside a circle of stones with Dar. Their shackles had been removed, and their loin-clothed bodies sprinkled with the blood of the worker beasts.
A phalanx of guards stood watch over them. Behind the circle towered the fierce, beautiful visage of Amonak, carved from the stone wall. She had already sent couriers to their nest-cities to bring the clergy from each enclave to attend the sacrifice.
Though it would be hours before they arrived, she wanted to taste the prisoners one more time before their blood and flesh would satiate Amonak’s appetite. She would receive not only the soul, but the totality of these creatures.
They would become a part of her, a piece of the creation. It was a great honor. The Priest-Queen was a little jealous in fact. But she was angry that several of the guards hadn’t returned with the remaining prisoners.
Even if they resisted, she had little doubt the hard-brows could overcome the Amonak’ai. Besides, the Priest-Queen couldn’t conceive of anyone truly defying the opportunity to be gestated by a goddess. It was a small price to pay for the breath Amonak had given them.
“I shall find the others,” her First Guard said, after casting a disparaging look at the rest of the shoulders. He started toward the entrance to the chamber, but was thrown back when the club end of a lirpa smashed into his face. One of the hard-brows moved quickly to lock an arm around the First Guard’s throat, flipping around the sharp end of the lirpa to stick in her loyal servants back. The other guards turned quickly to engage them, but the Queen ordered them to desist.
“Let the prisoners go, or I’ll kill him,” the half-brow said. The Priest-Queen noticed two other hard-brows, the older female and a young, fiery stripling creeping into the entrance. Both held lirpas and stood beside the one that had bested her First Guard.
“If he could be so easily overcome, he’s not worthy to be my First,” the Priest-Queen said dismissively, “Kill him if you wish.”
The half-brow looked at his compatriots, hesitation obvious in his expression. The stripling said, “Do it.” The woman said nothing.
“Before he falls to the floor, my guards will be upon you,” the Queen said with knowing confidence. “Release him, throw down your weapons, and embrace your destiny. It’s the only way.”
“The Hells it is,” the stripling said. He gored the First Guard, slicing his lirpa into the man’s side. The guard grunted, sagging. The hard-brow holding him yelled, “Narvek, what are you doing?”
The hard-brow female that had been the sole survivor from the incursion into their lair, jumped up suddenly. She flew at the Priest-Queen, knocking the woman over. The other guards hesitated, giving the hard-brow time to wrap her fingers around the Queen’s neck.
She gasped for air, reaching wildly at the mad hard-brow. The katras she carried had crossed over, and viewed her imminent passing with an unnaturally quiet grace. The Queen wasn’t so sanguine. “Drop your weapons, or she dies!” The woman’s spittle hit her face.
“Do it,” the Priest-Queen wheezed, but she wasn’t sure if the guards heard her. The hard-brow relaxed her grip slightly. The Queen’s throat was raw, and burning, but she repeated her order. The chamber filled with the clanging of dropped weapons. The voices within were now silent. The Priest-Queen turned her eyes away from Amonak’s stone face in shame.
“I know it can’t be that easy,” Dar said, amazed. He slowly got to his feet, stretching his aching limbs.
“I’ve learned to never underestimate Romulan tenacity,” T’Prell said, following suit.
“Or their thirst for vengeance,” Doval said, whipping around on one of the guards that had brought her in. She planted a fist deep into his crotch. The man fell like a stone. The other guards moved toward her, but the Priest-Queen stopped them.
“Leave this chamber,” she wheezed, “while you still can.” Talveth got off her slowly, keeping her eyes on the wizened woman the whole time.
As soon as the hard-brow had turned, the Priest-Queen struck. She dug her fingers into the unsuspecting woman’s temples. Her soul, and those of the others, poured into the hard-brow like a lava flow. She would never be able to remove the shame of not preparing this feast for Amonak, but the Priest-Queen at least would have her revenge.
Both women staggered, but the Priest-Queen held on long enough to say, “Hail the new Queen,” before she passed beyond the veil.
******
