Star Brigade: Resurgent (Star Brigade Book 1) Read online

  Several Korvenites cried out in joy and disbelief. Maelstrom, the Korvenite llyriac of this same name, reportedly slain by Union Command almost four years ago. Khasos suddenly looked as if he had soiled himself. The touch of this strange Korvenite’s mind was too genuine to doubt. The strength from his thoughts brimmed with dedication to Korvan’s Way.

  “[Korvan has answered our prayers,]” Vantor whispered and smiled. He couldn’t even remember the last time he had anything to genuinely smile about. His spirit soared higher than ever before.

  “[Korvan!]” yelped another Korvenite. “[He has sent his Anointed herald to liberate us!]”

  [All I need is a moment to deal with those who imprison you. Don’t lose hope. Freedom is coming.] And with that, Maelstrom was gone. Vantor felt the llyriac’s presence dissipate from his mind, and then noticed the tears that wet his own face. The room quickly filled with sniffs and noisy sobs of joy.

  [“Maelstrom….]” Vantor finally remembered to breathe, barely able to whisper thanks to his deity.

  “A Korvenite out in space!!?” Fennimore shot out of his seat, barely containing his rage.

  “Affirmative, sir. Roughly a hundred pentametrids away.” The Nnaxan helm kept his eyes on the console when he answered to avoid Fennimore’s wild glare. “But it’s surrounded by a force field made of psychic energy—”

  “Zoom in on this thing so we can kill it.” Fennimore irritably waved off the warning. The viewscreen zoomed in on the Korvenite in question by a factor of fifty. And Fennimore nearly had a heart attack.

  “No, no! NO!” His voice grew louder with each denial he shouted out. Not caring who saw him, the captain immediately backpedaled and plopped into his seat. Luckily, no one even gave him a second glance. Every crew member present stared in outright fear at the viewscreen. Some swore, others muttered in astonishment while a few just stood at their posts with their jaws or mandibles hanging open.

  Three years ago, Fennimore had seen this renegade Korvenite and his terrorist group on the news network IPNN. He had heard of this terrorist’s relentless pilgrimage to get back the homeworld for his race. The images on the news of humans slaughtered in this monster’s wake still made him shudder. Now that very same Korvenite butcher glared back at him across the darkness of space. Maelstrom, leader of the Korvenite Independence Front and presumed dead by all, floated in the middle of open space and on Nathaniel Fennimore’s viewscreen. The Korvenite didn’t smile or frown, but exuded a supremacy unlike any this crew had come close to seeing from its own captain.

  The Korvenite’s long curly locks of violet floated in an almost rhythmic manner. His arms were folded across his chest as the taciturn solar winds whipped his indigo cape into a frenzy. Countless outlying stars shimmered off his sable-hued armor, which perfectly fit the Korvenite’s robust build. His black and gold eyes were cold, clearly bearing no tolerance for insolence.

  It didn’t matter that he and Fennimore were miles apart and separated by a ship. Maelstrom’s glower made Fennimore tremble…like a frightened child. “K-Kill that mindraper NOW!” Fennimore ordered.

  The Nnaxan offered an answer. “Sir, our weapons array is still down—”

  “THEN RAM HIM!” Fennimore roared. Everyone on the bridge jumped in their seat.

  On the viewscreen Maelstrom’s eyes flashed bright gold. Given your current position, I wouldn’t be so eager to deal out death, he Mindspoke not in Korcei, but in the Standard Speech of the Galactic Union.

  “NAAAAW!” Fennimore grasped at his skull as if to tear out his own brain. It knew his title and probably his name as well. “Get out of my head, mindraper!!”

  Human. The word sounded like an expletive coming from Maelstrom. You will relinquish the Korvenites in your custody to me. Do so and your crew lives. Resist and your crew dies.

  “You no-good Korvie bastard—”

  Death then, Maelstrom cut him off, eyes turning pitch-black. He held out both open palms toward the Fennimore, which dwarfed the Korvenite in comparison. Invisible telekinetic fingers stretched out from his hands, combed over the entire hull, grasped onto the edges of micro-fractures and dug into the dents caused by the z-bombs. Clenching his teeth, the Korvenite drew upon the psionic power that was his birthright. For several macroms, Maelstrom ripped and pulled at the weakened hull. Finally the micro-fractures ripped open like paper; jagged chunks of hull peeled off the Fennimore. Oxygen gushed out of the hull breaches in steady spurts, immediately crystallizing into icy bits at the first touch of space.

  Filled with renewed vigor, Maelstrom poured more psionic force onto the Fennimore. His telekinetics squeezed the transport’s weakened engines until they burst under the pressure. Plumes of bright orange fire erupted from what was left of the vessel’s ruined hull.

  Inside the ship, its bridge shook violently, ragged explosions bursting through its own walls. Computer alarms shrieked at deafening decibels, indicating multiple hull breaches. Crewmembers lay maimed or dead all around Captain Fennimore. Cal screamed as an argent burst of flames shot into his chest and face. The commander slid to a stop at his captain’s feet. Smoky curls rose from his charred flesh. Nathaniel Fennimore stood alone on his ruined bridge, barely able to stay upright. His forehead gushed blood as he screamed into the comm system, “Anyone in range! This is the prison transport Fennimore!”

  No one’s listening, human. Maelstrom’s voice taunted his thoughts. Some advice before you die. Blind obedience to the Galactic Union offers no rewards in the end. Another explosion shredded up the podium Fennimore stood on and hurtled him headfirst into the viewscreen. There was a stomach-churning crunch, shooting even fissures out from where he’d struck. Fennimore’s corpse, bent in ghastly angles, slid to the ground right before more eruptions collapsed the ruined bridge.

  Maelstrom had already forgotten about the death. He stretched his mind farther, his telekinetic fingers combing through the Fennimore’s rupturing remnants, and at the same time he scoured for the exact location of the Korvenite prisoners. Before long he found his brethren again. Their fear was transparent, but the faith in him and Korvan overpowered any other sensation. Maelstrom smiled to himself and continued to peel layer after layer off the crippled ship’s hull.

  “[Beloved deity of Sollus. Protect us during this time.]” Vantor bowed his head in prayer again. This time, every Korvenite in the cell followed his lead, even skeptical Rouma. This sense of unity made the Korvenite’s heart soar, despite the chaos that rumbled around their cell. Just as Vantor reached the end of his prayer, he felt the pressure on his wrists and ankles abruptly release. The bigger shock came when he smacked his face first on the hard metal flooring.

  “[Sweet Korvan!]” Vantor scrambled to his knees. The shock wasn’t lost on his fellow Korvenites, who also fell forth in heaps. The restraints that held them sparked and sputtered, releasing their limbs. Vantor didn’t know how to process this as he rose and shook off his stiffness.

  [Stay close to each other. It will only be a moment more.] Maelstrom advised in Korcei to his brethren. Instantly, Vantor grabbed onto Rouma’s hand, who took Cymae’s hand. The link continued with all twenty Korvenites and ended with Khasos, who looked more unnerved by the moment.

  “[Relax, Khasos. We’re safe.]” Cymae beamed at him. He simply nodded, but didn’t stop trembling. Metal around the cell twisted and warped, clearing its throat in anticipation of something big. Vantor squeezed Rouma’s hand a little tighter and the older Korvenite did the same.

  BADDAMM! The walls around them ripped away like paper, exposing the Korvenites to open space. At first, most of the Korvenites erupted in terrified, muted screams. Vantor never flinched. The young Korvenite could still breathe as expected, could feel himself rise from what was left of his cell. Maelstrom, in his vast power, had placed them in a telekinetic bubble to protect them as they were extracted from the ship. In short order, the other Korvenites quieted down, realizing there was fresh nitrogen to breathe and that they were surrounded by a most miraculous
sight.

  Across the unending blackness around them, an ocean of twinkling stars spread as far as their eyes could see. The sight astonished Vantor, who had never seen outer space before. Below the Korvenites were the remains of their former prisoner transport. Jagged pieces of the Fennimore floated away slowly from the main wreckage, but the wonders of the cosmos quickly drew their attention from the charred and ugly debris. And then they saw him.

  The Korvenite legend floated closer, and Vantor thought he was daydreaming. Maelstrom now joined his telekinetic bubble with the one he’d fashioned for them. He was taller than expected, the long hair and flowing cloak made him appear so…godly. Every Korvenite just stared at him.

  Maelstrom smiled. [You are slaves no more. As Korvan’s emissary, I have seen to that.] There was weeping, cries of joy and laughter as every Korvenite swarmed around the llyriac to touch him. Of course, the void of space muted the rejoicing, but their expressions and gestures spoke volumes.

  Maelstrom looked upon them all, eliciting a joyous look from each of the former slaves. When he beheld Vantor, the young Korvenite heard only a few words. [Thank you for giving them hope,] the llyriac smiled broadly. Vantor swore that he was dreaming. Maelstrom turned to Khasos and his expression hardened. Vantor’s joy overruled the oddness in that exchange.

  [Your new home, the Libremancer.] Maelstrom pointed beyond them into space. At first, Vantor didn’t understand, until the black space behind Maelstrom rippled. A Monarch-Class Command Cruiser wavered into view from behind a sensory shroud. Resembling a massive sapphire fang, the Command Cruiser was several times bigger than the Fennimore, studded with lights and weaponry. Every Korvenite in Maelstrom’s telekinetic bubble were visibly exclaiming loudly, though the void muted any sound. Now Vantor understood how the llyriac got so far out into deep space.

  [This is the start of our journey with Korvan. To rid our homeworld of the human maggots that have imprisoned us, took our homeworld, stripped you of the gifts Korvan blessed upon his chosen race.]

  Maelstrom spread out his hands disarmingly. [No more. The humans and their sycophants, who will all be expunged from our world. And we’ll walk on the unsoiled hills of Sollus. This I promise you.]

  And Vantor began sobbing. Never had he been so proud to be a Korvenite. The twinkling of space began to fade in a shimmery sparkle before his eyes. Maelstrom’s presence soothed any fears he or his fellow former prisoners had, as they all transmatted onto the massive Command Cruiser.

  [So this is what freedom feels like?] Vantor thought as space completely disappeared in front of him.

  [Freedom will be when we’re on Sollus, young one,] Maelstrom replied. [Always remember that.] Having picked up its quarry, the Libremancer made an abrupt turn to starboard, moved away from Union Space and into the black. The massive sapphire vessel rippled again and faded from view; its sensory shroud obscured it once more. Strewn in its wake was the rubble once known as the Fennimore. The burnt and twisted debris floated away into empty space, another victim of the Korvenite Independence Front.

  1.

  The first day of summer, Terra Sollus’ hot season during the mid-year, was typically the last day of cool weather this planet’s northern hemisphere experienced before the temperature shot into the triple digits for the next four months. And to kick off the new season, the star known as Rhyne rose in the east unopposed by any clouds. Within moments, a fiery dawn began to wash away the dark covering Conuropolis’ sweeping cityscape.

  The enormous korvanes statues at the city’s outskirts were the first recipients of the morning warmth. These monoliths were constructed out of the planet’s sollunium ore centuries before a human ever stepped foot on Terra Sollus; so each statue unsurprisingly resembled gigantic Korvenites frozen in overly majestic poses. Even after the Earth Holocaust, citizens still enjoyed the sight of them, so the monoliths remained untouched. Along with that, Union officials commonly felt that they added a historic offset to Conuropolis’ endless rows of towering starscrapers. The Galactic Union emblem fluttered atop many of the smaller edifices; a massive globe orbited by seven smaller multi-colored worlds, centered inside a sixteen-sided pitch-black star, all set against a white diagonal square on a bright red backdrop.

  As the city continued to wake up, its many government and UComm buildings looked even more splendid with their plasteel viewports, glittering under Rhyne’s radiance. A steady flow of mammoth shadows moved across the land, indicators of starliner crafts departing from or arriving at Conuropolis’ Hyperion Interplanetary Spaceport. Closer to the surface were the usual long, beady veins of hovercar traffic. Lanes crisscrossed for miles around every city block. Each vehicle, large or small, sped with shiny self-importance to its particular destination.

  Just another pristine morning in Conuropolis, largest city-state within the Galactic Union of Planetary Republics.

  But the incredible view did nothing to alleviate Captain Honaa Ishiliba’s mood. In fact, it incensed him further, so much so that he sprang from his chair and began pacing in front of the viewport. Honaa’s large diamond-shaped ginger eyes, triangular snout, thin lips, wrinkled and protruding brow revealed nothing. His scaly maroon skin had grown more leathered in age, typical for a male of the reptilian Rothorid species. His long and sinewy physique was evident even beneath the black and grey captain’s uniform. On his flat snouted face, the Rothorid displayed a stoicism that brooked no tolerance for unruliness, but his long, scorpion-like tail stuck straight out and vibrated as he walked—betraying his inner turmoil.

  Right now, Honaa would much rather be back on his homeworld, Rothor IV, with his family; seeing his One companion in the scaled flesh every day and not every few months, being an integral part of his children’s daily lives, and then there was his health issues…Yet his private wants mattered not. Honor your duty, honor your family. It was the Rothorid way. Honaa couldn’t abandon the military unit that he had fought for, bled for and nearly died for countless times over the last fifteen years — the Strategic Assault & Reconnaissance Brigade, aka ‘Star Brigade.’

  Though Star Brigade was but one spec ops division in the unfathomably vast and powerful Union Command Armada, Honaa knew in his hearts how valuable his organization as in dealing with certain specialty cases of counterterrorism — chiefly the super-powered variety. Leaving now with the Brigade in its current state, would be a dishonor to his duty. Too many others had done the same, leaving Star Brigade with barely any combat operatives, most of them rookies.

  Honaa and his subordinate stood in the office of a Galdorian admiral from UComm’s Joint Special Operations Group, an admiral who was running late. The office itself was impeccably planned and furnished; the space between the desk and the wall behind it, the circular arrangement of military awards from the Galdorian’s time in the UComm Planetary Defense Corps. Even the chairs had completely parallel placement to the desk. All this reminded Honaa of two things; how meticulous Galdorians were with their room arrangements and how little the Union Command Armada cared about salvaging the organization to which he had dedicated his life. Now Honaa was figuratively—and soon literally—powerless to stop Star Brigade from certain death. The Rothorid barely swallowed a venomous hiss, tempted to grab hold of that perfectly organized desk and distort it into crumpled slag with a thought. Just one of his many talents thanks to being a maximum.

  ‘Maximum’, a term Honaa didn’t care to label himself, was the blanket word for anyone born with abilities beyond their species’ maximum genetic potential. Honaa and others like him represented a species-agnostic evolutionary leap that had started over 150 years ago. The copious maximal mutation in earthborn humans had generally been linked to nuclear fallout from Old Earth’s third World War in the early 2000s. For other species, evolution, radiation exposure or illegal genetic experimentation had been the theorized causes. Thankfully, the maximum-monitoring agency Section M and some forward-thinking UComm leaders saw a tactical gain where the interplanetary populace saw a growing menace.
Hence the creation of Star Brigade, a government-sanctioned team of living weapons, in 2375. Honaa’s powers manifested in his early twenties. The Brigade had offered him a purpose and an escape from Rothor’s marshland slums, and did similar wonders for many other Brigadiers. To see that decommissioned, scoured of all useful components…

  Honaa couldn’t finish his thought, focusing instead on pacing. His tail’s anxious vibrations grew more volatile.

  “Christ, Honaa, stay still. You’re making me nervous,” said a smoky feminine voice from his right. Honaa wheeled around in mid-pace to glare down at his subordinate, an earthborn human of mixed ethnicities. “Wearing the floor out won’t help our situation any.” Commander Samantha D’Urso rose from her seat and met the Rothorid’s gaze squarely, not at all regretful for how she’d just addressed her superior officer.

  Sam, spymaster for Star Brigade Intelligence, was a maximum like Honaa. For this meeting she wore the formal blue UComm officer’s attire of a Star Brigadier, filling it with an athletic yet curvy build.

  Even though Sam had worked in the Brigade about five years less than Honaa, her ambition and intelligence experience helped her move quickly up the ranks. Now she was very close to reaching his rank of Captain. Sam’s heart-shaped face, cute upturned nose and high cheekbones were accentuated by smooth olive skin, evoking an exotic allure that hadn’t changed since Honaa first met her. “Things will work out. Now quit with the death glower and relax,” she said with less bite than before.

  “Relax?” Honaa furrowed his scaly muzzle. “Of coursssse I should relax after we come groveling to another ssself-abssorbed UComm Admiral and then get our appealsss for lifting Ssstar Brigade’sss charter sussspension denied, again!” He rasped the last word with tart severity. Every word Honaa spoke, especially those using the letter ‘s,’ sounded like a hiss. And not welcoming ones.