The Forbidden Army

By Henrik Rohdin

In the distant future, humanity has expanded into the stars and formed the Human Alliance. Over the centuries, they have fought numerous times with the alien Krokator Star Empire and for fifty years have been in state of perpetual cold war with their rival power. When a bomb goes off in the heart of the Alliance's capital and the krokator Emperor is assassinated during the holy week by an ultraviolent faction called the Forbidden Army, their decades-long détente will be challenged.

The task of finding the perpetrators falls to Major John Gresham, an Alliance military intelligence officer tasked with finishing a colleague's investigation, and krokator Akgu Zurra, an unquestioningly loyal soldier dispatched by the Emperor's sister to hunt down the Forbidden Army's foreign supporters. When their paths cross, Gresham and Zurra come to realize that they face enemies beyond rogue terrorists, and that the Forbidden Army has friends from as high as the Alliance’s elite to gangsters in the alien slums. As the bodies pile up and the clock ticks towards the Forbidden Army’s endgame, their mission becomes more than just a mission – it becomes personal.

Humans and krokator have always hated each other, but the unlikeliest of partners will have to work together in "The Forbidden Army", the first novel in "The League of Planets Adventure" from Henrik Rohdin.

The League of Planets Adventure:

Book One: The Forbidden Army
Book Two: Thus Spoke the Dragon
Book Three: Servants of the Empire (Coming Summer 2014)

• Language: English
• Publisher: Henrik Rohdin
• Release date: Mar 8, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310939204

Henrik Rohdin

Henrik Rohdin is a native of the Pacific Northwest. The "League of Planets Adventure" is his first foray into the wild, anarchic world of self-publishing.

Book preview

The Forbidden Army

Part One of the League of Planets Adventure

By Henrik Rohdin

Smashwords Edition © 2014

Chapter One: Piskka

Hrageth City, Planet Piskka, Lodon System

A single snowflake danced in the air above the mammoth Hrageth Crater. Beyond the frigid basin, the setting sun outlined black peaks against a cloudy sky. Another snowflake fell, and soon a third, a fourth, and a fifth. Anuut Oraank had never been to Piskka before, but he knew enough about the frigid hellhole to know that this was a precursor to a violent blizzard.

The krokator tightened his four-fingered hands into fists as the rickety elevator worked its way up along the side of the crater wall. In his time as a guerilla, he had come to know one truth – the Imperials loved to attack during inclement weather. As the snow started to fall heavily, his heart beat rapidly and he narrowed his eyes. Something was definitely wrong.

The elevator continued to move away from the main settlement towards a separate structure two hundred feet above, awkwardly glued to the side of the cliff near the crater’s top. Oraank glanced over his shoulder at his five bodyguards, each a tall, mottled gray-skin of Wurkkan like himself. Their clothing gave them away as krokator long separated from the norms of Imperial society and their torsos were covered in battle scars.

The elevator pulled into the bottom of the overhanging structure and screeched to a halt. The doors slid open and a purple-skin standing immediately in front of the elevator opened his arms in welcome.

Anuut Oraank, friend, the waiting krokator said. This krokator was a few inches shorter than Oraank and less muscled, but still an imposing presence. Oraank laid note to the long scar stretching from the bottom of his hairline down to his jaw on the left side of his face.

Comrade, Oraank replied and embraced the purple-skin. It has been a long time, Grakko. It is good to see you once again as a friend.

Marsa Grakko ran a hand through his short crop of spiky hair. I hope the accomodations here were sufficient?

This city belongs in the Origin World, but I have not been for want of food or beastwine, Oraank answered curtly. He indicated his associates. These are my bodyguards. We are armed but come in peace.

As do we. Grakko led the party of Wurkkanosh krokator into a large chamber overlooking the crater through a gallery of dark, tinted windows. A dozen krokator of every size and color lounged about the room, and a lone human – short, thin, and weak like his whole species – sat cross-legged on a chair in front of the door.

This is Mr. Fallon, one of our financiers, Grakko said, indicating the human. He hails from the Alliance, as I am sure you can see.

The human rose and approached Oraank, standing several heads shorter than the towering krokator. I represent the banking interests of the Forbidden Army. I understand you may be seeking our services as well.

Oraank glanced at Grakko before nodding slowly. I am a freedom fighter of Wurkkan, Fallon. We have fought valiantly against the Imperial garrison imposed after we failed to meet our grain quota, but our numbers are dwindling and we cannot last much longer without help.

Grakko smiled, his lower lip peeling down to the bottom of his two tusks. I am glad you came to me, brother Oraank. We may not have the same cause, but we share a common enemy – and my enemy’s enemy is my friend.

Fallon cleared his throat. Mr. Oraank, I am here to propose a partnership between your group and our own. We have the support of powerful business interests in the Alliance, interests that supply us with heavy weapons and provide a reliable source of income. Their backing allows us to move black money through Piskka to reputable accounts on foreign worlds.

Oraank flared his nostrils in contempt and studied the human. And what do you want in return for these services?

We’ll sell you more weapons than you yourself would need, the understanding being that you sell the excess as a source of income. In return, you’ll give us a percentage. Our typical rate is fifty percent, but we’re willing to accept thirty since we know times are tough for you financially.

Who exactly is ‘us,’ if you do not mind me asking? Oraank growled and felt his muscles tense up. Who was this human who dared demand he give him a cut of the profits?

Grakko quickly coughed to interject. Oraank, what are you doing? Fallon has powerful friends. It will not look good for me if the friend I introduced him to spit on his feet at the first meeting.

You have sold out, brother Grakko. You have abandoned the principles of your own cause to become a gun peddler for some human.

Mr. Fallon’s partners are keeping us afloat. We have not sold out, brother Oraank, we have just become more sophisticated in how we wage our war. You have seen with your own eyes that our methods have results. Remind me, how long has your struggle on Wurkkan lasted?

Oraank fumed, running his eyes along Grakko’s facial scar, secretly wishing he could extend further so that it crossed the purple-skin’s throat. Instead he grinned disarmingly, revealing his full tusks and rotting teeth, and replied, I may have spoken too brashly. Please, tell me more.

#

In Piskka’s orbit, a flotilla of Imperial warships hovered in geosynchronous position above the Hrageth Crater thousands of miles below, the world’s features indistinguishable from the spacecraft through the snowy white clouds covering the planet’s northern hemisphere.

On the deck of the lead warship, Admiral Runka Tarkas placed the cup of beastwine to his lips and took a long, deep sip. The dark, thick liquor warmed his throat.

Admiral Tarkas, the blizzard is intensifying on the surface. The pilots want to know if they should abort the mission, an aide said from his console a few feet away.

Tarkas set the cup aside and ran his tongues against his tusks, staring out the window at the planet below. There was a flash from one of the clouds, indicating lightning.

We proceed, he finally answered. "Oraank is meeting a Hudda Kugrall officer and one of their backers. We may never get another shot at him in the open."

And the financial records at the various bank offices?

We move on those as well. The days of the local government hiding the money of heretics are over.

The aide nodded and flipped two switches on the flagship’s control board. Teams One and Two, this is Control. You are a go, reconfirm, you are a go. Team Three, wait for my word.

Tarkas leaned back in his seat and swirled the beastwine in his cup. All that was left now was to wait.

#

In the settlement’s main cantina, a party was roaring. The beastwine flowed like a river from behind the bar and a diverse array of species from around the galaxy mirthfully partook in the revelry. Like every public place in Hrageth, however, there were always tall, stern krokator watching, their hands inches away from the okka pistols and Obedience Sticks dangling from their belts.

One of these guards’ eye fell on a slowly opening door at the cantina’s near. The noise was deafening, so he had a hard time hearing if his communicator was buzzing to tip him off to anyone coming down the back stairwell from the spaceport.

The door flew open and six krokator wearing gleaming combat armor burst into the cantina, holding okka rifles up to the eyeholes in their helmets. The cantina guards reached for their own guns in surprise, but before they could draw them the newcomers launched five-inch needles coated in the lethal venom of the okka plant across the room.

A needle buried itself in the shoulder of the nearest guard and he felt the poison pound through his veins, his back nearly breaking from the spasms. The other guards were struck by the deadly barbs, their shrieks ended by the ruthless efficiency of the okka venom, their suffering over in mere seconds.

The revelry abruptly ended as the patrons screamed and cowered in fear while the Imperial soldiers moved through the crowd. Everyone get on the floor! Get down!

A patron suddenly rose, grabbing a beastwine cup in his hand as a bludgeon, drunkenly hoping he could beat aside one of the soldiers and escape. The soldier sidestepped the wide swing of the pewter cup and almost as quickly tore his Obedience Stick from his belt, striking the unruly krokator across the back with the long, electrified baton. The patron collapsed to the floor, unconscious from the shock.

Two guards burst in through the far door, fingers clenched down on the triggers to their okka rifles. Needles tore through the packed bar, striking innocent bystanders in the crowd as the cries for help intensified. Two soldiers had their armor pierced and fell to the wounds, but their comrades avenged them with a return volley of barbs that slew their attackers as well as another half-dozen bar patrons.

"We said stay down! the leader of the Imperial contingent roared and the survivors all curled up on the floor. The commander pressed his finger to a button on the side of his helmet and said, Control, this is Team One, we’ve secured the lower cantina. Casualties are heavy and we lost Gurkk and Ulikkor. Seven enemy kills confirmed."

Confirmed, Team One. Secure the elevator bay at all costs! There was a pause before Control’s next message buzzed over the communicator. Team Three, move on target!

#

The blizzard was intensifying and the sentries atop the crater lip pulled their thick fur blankets tighter, squinting to keep the snow and ice out of their eyes. They huddled behind the massive anti-aircraft cannons placed fifty yards apart along the cliff’s edge or in the concrete foxholes interspersed between them, clutching their okka rifles.

One of the sentries glanced out over the crater, trying to see through the snow. He grabbed his communicator off his belt and held it to his mouth. Tarl Grakko, this is the battery. I saw something down in the crater.

There was no reply, only a buzz of static. The krokator stared at the handheld device in concern. The blizzard was not yet strong enough to significantly disrupt communications.

Lights suddenly appeared in the blackness of the crater and the sentries scrambled to action, attempting to bring around the cannons to face downwards. Sound the alarm! We’re under attack!

Out of the blizzard, okka needles buzzed through the air, some clacking off of the metal of the heavy guns and others finding their targets exposed in the foxholes. The sentries turned around to see twenty dark forms advancing quickly up the slope towards the crater’s lip.

There was a sudden roar and the sentries looked back towards the crater, from which six fixed-wing atmospheric craft were barreling up towards the batteries. From their undersides the contrails of rockets emerged and whistled up towards the crater wall.

Take cover! the lead sentry roared and threw himself to the floor of his battery’s cabin. The torpedoes missed his downturned cannon by inches and whooshed away into the darkness, exploding in the distance to illuminate the attackers on the ground. Two foxholes exploded and one battery was knocked on its side as a missile tore apart the ground beneath it.

The anti-aircraft cannons roared to life, spewing white-hot HV rounds into the air, evaporating the snow as it fell. The sentries turned the batteries skyward in pursuit of the fighters, but the leader turned his battery towards the advancing enemy on the ground.

Okka needles whizzed from the Imperial side as liquefied metal hissed towards the Imperial soldiers. Their combat armor was built to withstand okka needles, not HV rounds. Their cries echoed through the night, relieving the pinned-down sentries and allowing them to flee towards the safety of the battery cabins.

As they fled, however, the aircraft came hurtling back down, this time following the crooked edge of the cliff. Their guns hummed and their rockets screeched through the night, tearing through snow, rock, metal and krokator flesh as they pummeled the defenseless sentries and took out another two batteries.

The lead sentry ducked as a round seared through the metal of the cabin and dug into the floor only inches from where he stood, raising his hand to his face as he winced at the heat. He turned away from the hot metal, pulled back on the cannon’s throttle and tilted it skyward. His focus on hitting the fighters prevented him from seeing the Imperial soldier launching himself from a nearby boulder into the cabin, knocking him from his perch at the throttle to the floor. The cannon swung around, out of control, launching HV every which way.

The sentry tried to push his enemy away and reach the okka pistol slung on a hook on the cabin’s wall. The Imperial wrapped his hand around his throat, pressing the sentry to the floor while trying to grab the throttle and turn the cannon off. The sentry kicked out his enemy’s legs and rolled on top, reaching his fingers under the Imperial’s helmet.

The helmet came off, causing the sentry to lose his balance and topple backwards, dangling out of the spinning cabin. He saw HV rounds pierce a fighter high above purely by accident, sending the aircraft spiraling towards a building set into the crater’s side. The ensuing blast destroyed both. The sentry looked up to see the vengeful face of a krokator with jet-black skin, his dark eyes narrowing. His white hair was tied in fourteen braids whipping in the wind from three separate knots, identifying him as an officer.

Before he could react, the krokator raised his forearm, revealing the blade fixed to his gauntlet, and violently brought it down onto the sentry’s throat, nearly beheading him. The Imperial kicked the body into the crater and pulled back the throttle, bringing the cannon to a standstill.

His communicator buzzed and he pressed two of his four fingers to his earpiece. This is Sharm Akgu Zurra, Team Three Leader.

This is Control! What in Ugrand’s name happened down there?

They were ready for us and sounded the alarm. All sentries dead, but my team has suffered eight casualties, and one fighter is down.

We will send reinforcements. Team One is in place in the cantina and main elevator bay and Team Two is moving on the banking sector from the spaceport.

Zurra looked at the survivors of his unit gathering, beleaguered, along the cliff’s edge. I will go after Oraank. He will be trying to escape.

Sharm Zurra, it is too dangerous.

We have no other choice, Zurra replied and jumped down from the cabin, studying the descent along the steep cliff to the wide structure below. He pressed his earpiece to turn it off and took off running along the crater’s lip.

#

The lights flashed alternating shades of red, green and purple and Oraank snarled in anger, We are under attack! This is a trap!

The roar of the fighters’ engines rocked the glass windows and Grakko tentatively raised both of his hands. This is no trap, friend, the Imperials are here. You must have led them to us.

Oraank and his five bodyguards pulled their okka guns from their belts and aimed them squarely at Grakko and Fallon. You have truly sold out, Grakko! You have betrayed us!

You were too foolish to even consider that you may have been followed! Grakko snapped in reprisal and his dozen comrades leapt to their feet, aiming their guns at the Wurkkanosh. Stand down, comrade Oraank, and we will talk about this.

Enough talk!

Before any shots could be fired, a rocket exploded immediately outside the window, shattering the glass and throwing everyone to the ground. A glass shard struck Oraank in the cheek and he reflexively grabbed at it, feeling his dark blood flow between his fingers.

In the confusion, he saw Grakko scrambling on all fours behind a pillar. Oraank rose and darted after him, but was apprehended by one of Grakko’s krokator, who grabbed at his ankle.

Release me! Oraank bellowed and fired an okka needle into the krokator’s head, killing him instantly. He reached the pillar and saw a dim passage snaking away into the rock, cold air at its mouth. There was a secret escape tunnel.

As he stepped behind the pillar, he heard the whine of fighter engines and looked out to see an Imperial assault aircraft hovering outside the shattered windows. He dove into the escape passage just as the fighter fired its okka cannons, sending a spray of deadly needles zipping through the lounge, the force of the green barbs tearing straight through many of the bewildered krokator staggering to their feet.

The fighter pulled away and Oraank looked back into the lounge. Two of his bodyguards had stayed pinned to the floor and got on their feet warily, their faces pale with shock upon seeing the carnage. Oraank motioned for them and they quickly hurried over.

Grakko has escaped, Oraank said and indicated the illuminated passageway. He must have a secret way out of here and off of this planet. Let us follow him there!

#

Zurra sprinted along the roof of the lounge, watching the fighter pull up. He acknowledged it with a wave as it roared away over the crater to circle around and seek out more anti-aircraft nests. His communicator buzzed furiously as Control ordered larger transport craft to begin moving more soldiers in to secure Hrageth City. His focus was singular – he had to find and apprehend Oraank, the mission’s main target.

Zurra jumped down twenty feet to an adjoining structure, rolling to soften his landing. About a hundred yards away, he could make out shapes emerging from a tunnel dug into the rock atop a long, narrow cliff. That must be Oraank seeking to escape!

Out of nowhere, a hatch opened and a human appeared, grabbing at Zurra’s legs and sending him careening to the cold, icy roof. Zurra grunted, flipped over and fired two needles from his okka gun into the human’s face, the barbs eliciting the usual scream of agony followed by the abrupt silence of death.

He scrambled back to his feet and reached the edge of the building, watching the three shapes descend a series of cutbacks down the cliff wall almost three hundred yards away across a gaping chasm. The roar of fighter engines echoed across the crater as the winds began howling even stronger. He winced as a sharp flake of ice cut his cheek. The blizzard was getting stronger.

Zurra took a deep breath, slung his okka rifle over his shoulder and began scaling down the side of the structure.

#

Oraank motioned for his bodyguards to stop as they reached a dead end. Hard snow and shards of ice pelted them as they stood exposed against the rocky wall above the dark crater.

Grakko is gone, one of his men wheezed, shielding his eyes.

There must be another way, Oraank barked and looked down. See, there are structures down there. That must be where the cable car at the main settlement goes.

They watched the cable car sputter to life on the other side of the chasm and begin grinding towards the wheelhouse. Oraank studied the buildings far below. Those buildings are no more than fifty feet beneath us, we can try to descend.

The two bodyguards stared at each other in concern, but the boom of a fighter patrolling above the crater underscored their peril and they begrudgingly followed their leader down.

#

Zurra heard the grind of the cable car and hurried his climb, reaching a catwalk at the bottom of the structure as the car neared. He stared over the edge to see the cables moving through the thick snowfall and glanced up at the wheelhouse on the other side of the chasm, nestled between two larger structures on a precipice. As he watched the far-off buildings, he noticed movement on the crater wall. It was Oraank and his men, climbing down the side!

They must be truly desperate, Zurra thought and watched the cable car emerge from below. He waited until it was fully beneath him before saying a quick prayer, vaulting himself over the railing and landing atop the small transport with a thud. The roof of the car was coated in a thick sheet of ice and he lost his footing, barely catching the edge of the roof and leaving him dangling in full view of the three surprised krokator inside.

So much for surprise.

The heretics all went for their okka guns. Zurra scrambled out of the way as one of the krokator kicked out one of the glass panes to get a better shot at him. As the heretic leaned out, Zurra swung one of his legs up, kicking him square in the jaw, causing him to lose his footing and plunge out of the cable car and to his death. Zurra pulled himself inside and found two okka guns trained right in his face.

Dumb move, Imperial, one of the heretics growled with glee as his finger tightened on the trigger.

A gust of wind rocked the car. Zurra seized his opportunity and grabbed the barrel of the okka rifle, swinging it towards the second heretic. Instinctively, the first enemy squeezed down on the trigger, accidentally peppering his friend with needles.

Zurra wrenched away the rifle and tossed it out of the open window, reaching around for his own. The heretic smacked him across the forehead, slamming Zurra’s head against a window, nearly cracking it. Disoriented, he tried to pick himself back up but found a pair of hands around his throat, squeezing down.

This ends here, the heretic spat and pressed his thumbs into Zurra’s windpipe. A blast of snow and ice poured in through the window, pelting them with frozen debris. Both slid across the floor and rolled into the far corner with a hard thud.

Freed from the vice of the heretic’s hands, Zurra grabbed the okka rifle from around his shoulder and swung it around, smacking the heretic in the head with the butt. In the split second it took for the heretic to sprawl dazed across the floor, Zurra fired three successive darts, all three striking between the shoulder blades.

Zurra rubbed his throat as his earpiece buzzed. Sharm Zurra, can you hear us?

I can hear you, he replied with a gasp. I am on a cable car nearing a wheelhouse at the bottom of a ravine. I think Oraank is cornered down here.

The fool! Find him and apprehend him.

Zurra nodded. Confirmed.

The cable car reached the wheelhouse and he jumped through the open window onto a thin iron walkway. Hundreds of feet below, he could vaguely make out the snowy crater floor. He made his way through a door back out into the blizzard and saw an isolated platform atop which was perched a lonely silver sphere. Before he could get a good look, a gust of wind knocked Zurra to the ground. When he glanced back up, the sphere had rolled off of the platform and into the darkness below.

The wind howled and Zurra stayed close to the wall, trying to see through the furious snow. Something moved up ahead and Zurra jumped aside as two okka needles buried themselves into the wall where he had been standing just moments before.

A mottled-skinned krokator came roaring out of the storm with his okka rifle raised high. Zurra grabbed the rifle before the krokator could fire again and twisted it away, losing control of his own rifle in the process. The large Wurkkanosh krokator struck him and sent Zurra toppling from the building down to the rocky outcrop below.

The Wurkkanosh hopped down after him. We have an Imperial, sir!

Zurra heard voices from up above and he slowly regained his footing, watching the Wurkkanosh approach. Come at me then, heretic!

The krokator growled and pounced. Zurra blocked a right hook and spun the heretic into the cliff wall, grabbing ahold of his face and slamming his head into the rocks. The heretic grunted and sagged towards the ground. Zurra rammed his head into the cliff one last time and shoved him away, watching him roll like a rag doll down over the edge.

Zurra heard a commotion above him and glanced up, spotting figures moving along the catwalk atop the nearest structure. His gaze continued to a door opening out onto the outcrop from the building and he burst straight for it, okka needles piercing the snow behind him as he plowed through the door into the electrical shed powering the cable car.

He went downstairs!

Zurra gasped for air, watching his breath steam up one of the control panels. There was a noise from up above and one of the Wurkkanosh started descending a ladder at the far end of the shed. Zurra slung his Obedience Stick off his belt, flicked it on and twirled it in his hand, stepping back behind a humming generator in anticipation.

The large, gray krokator dropped down to the floor, okka gun ready. Come out, Imperial, so I can kill you!

As you wish! Zurra scoffed and stepped out from behind the generator, hurling the Obedience Stick across the room into one of the control panels. The electrified baton shorted the panel, spraying sparks and blacking out the shed. Zurra charged forward and pushed the Wurkkanosh into the console. There was a scream, a fizzle, and then only silence and the smell of burnt flesh.

Zurra carefully looked up the ladder. Oraank was waiting up there. Not one to hesitate, Zurra snatched the corpse’s okka gun from the floor and scaled the ladder.

#

Oraank staggered out onto the rocky ledge beyond the shed and a strong gust of wind nearly blew him off of the edge and he dropped to one knee, barely keeping his balance.

Where was Grakko? There was nothing on this ledge. He was trapped here at the mercy of the howling winds roaring out of the crater. How could Grakko have escaped?

He clambered up to his feet, looking around the cliffside. There was no other path. Another gust of wind whistled along the crater wall, and he at last realized that Grakko had found some other escape route he had failed to notice. He was trapped.

Oraank! a voice called from behind. Oraank spun to see an Imperial soldier crouched in the doorway to the electrical shed ten feet away. Stand where you are!

The wind howled and Oraank tightened his grip on his gun. What are you going to do? Arrest me? Go ahead and try!

Zurra tensed and inched forward. You either leave this ledge a prisoner or a corpse, Oraank. You know you are cornered.

Only a fool would follow me down here alone, Imperial!

I will not give you another chance, heretic.

Then come and get me! Oraank said and raised his okka gun, squeezing the trigger.

Zurra dodged an okka needle and fired two in return. They sailed wide to the left of Oraank but caused him to stumble backwards over the edge of the outcrop, and he vanished into the blizzard.

Zurra pressed a finger to his ear. This is Sharm Zurra! Oraank is gone. He fell over the edge into the crater.

"Why would he have climbed down there? He must have known he was cornered!

I do not know, Zurra replied, wondering just that. I do not know.

Chapter Two: Shoregrove

Two months later

Los Angeles, Planet Terra, Sol System, Human Alliance

Colonel Moss, in your opinion, is there sufficient evidence to back up the Krokator Star Empire’s claims against Hessian Engineering in light of the Piskka incident?

Colonel Gary Moss, a thin man in his late forties with quickly graying hair, leaned towards the vox. As far as Military Intelligence is concerned, Commissioner, there has been little information gleaned from the krokator that could be used in the ongoing probe of Hessian Engineering.

The hearing room, one of dozens of identical chambers in the bowels of Shoregrove Hall, was filled with reporters, politicians and intelligence experts. In front of the panel of twelve Commissioners, six from each of the Alliance’s two main political parties, Moss and Major John Gresham sat at a tiny metal table. The chief counsel for Military Intelligence barely fit at the end.

A new Commissioner piped up. Major Gresham, what is your opinion?

Gresham cracked his knuckles under the table and shifted in his seat. My opinion on what exactly, Mr. Commissioner?

On the Piskka raid and its implications for this special committee’s investigation, Major. It is my understanding that you are Section Four’s in-house expert on the Krokator Star Empire in addition to your duties as Junior Liaison Officer to the Commission.

Well, I’ve worked as a translator and political analyst, if that’s what you mean.

"I believe you authored this paper here, The Correlation of Military Spending and the Political Stability of the Krokator Star Empire, a few years ago, the Commissioner replied, holding up a thick, bound document. It is a very thorough work."

Well, I’m flattered you read it, Mr. Commissioner.

Please answer the question, Major, a female Commissioner reprimanded sternly.

I apologize, Mrs. Commissioner. I was merely clarifying the Commissioner’s identification of me as an expert, Gresham grunted. He turned his attention back to the Commissioner who had raised the question. To answer your question, sir, I think the Piskka raid is irrelevant in terms of your investigation into Hessian Engineering, and I think you are missing the big picture.

Moss leaned over to Gresham and covered the microphone. John, be careful. They’re not interested in anything not related to illegal weapons sales. You’re on thin ice.

The Commissioner cleared her throat to speak again. Major Gresham, I’m not sure what you mean. Could you elaborate?

"Certainly. Based on what little we know, there would not be sufficient evidence of Hessian breaking any Allied laws per se. The krokator have, predictably, given the Alliance no access to bank statements, transaction histories, or anything we could use. The existence of tax havens and money laundering hubs is deplorable, but whatever the krokator have on Hessian after Piskka, they’re not sharing with us."

There was a murmur of disapproval. The female Commissioner considered this and then asked, "Major Gresham, what exactly do the krokator have?"

They hit the pocketbook of more than one guerilla faction, and they have accused Hessian as well as other interstellar corporations of money laundering. With the evidence we’ve seen in regards to Hessian’s conduct on other worlds, it wouldn’t surprise me in the least. Again, my view is that the Commission would be unable to add charges against Hessian, Madame.

Moss smirked and said, Good job, under his breath to Gresham, who leaned back in his chair, letting out a long sigh. As the Junior Liaison Officer to the Commission – JLOC for short – he served directly under Moss, the Senior Liaison Officer. Both were longtime veterans of similar Commission hearings.

A new Commissioner chimed in. Major Gresham, you said something about us missing the big picture. Before we excuse you, what did you mean?

Gresham locked eyes with the Commissioner. Piskka is not part of the Empire. As an unaligned world it has sovereignty, sovereignty which was violated in the raid two months ago. If you’ll recall, fifty-five years ago the Krokator Star Empire violated unaligned worlds in a similar fashion, leading directly to the Fifth Human-Krokator War. The fact that you are more worried about slapping a military contractor on the wrist for illegal weapons sales and not addressing the most brazen belligerency by the krokator in half a century is more than stupid – it is a direct threat to the security of the Alliance. In my opinion, Mr. Commissioner.

There was a stunned silence before the female Commissioner slowly said, Colonel Moss, Major Gresham, you’re both excused. Thank you.

#

One of these days, John, you’re going to say something dumb in one of those hearings and some Commissioner will call our bosses and demand that they make an example of us.

Gresham and Moss emerged from the hallway leading to the hearing chamber into Shoregrove Hall’s spectacular atrium overlooking the palm tree-lined Crest Avenue. The old domed building, sitting square in the heart of Santa Monica, housed the Commission of the Alliance’s chamber. Ringing the building, visible in the early afternoon breeze, were the flags of all forty-seven member worlds of the Alliance, from economic powerhouses like Manhattan, New Prussia or Aurora to minor colonies such as Aegis Prime and Parsalus.

That’s assuming anyone at MID really cares what the Commission thinks, Gresham snorted as they walked out through a security checkpoint. Besides, it’s good for politicians to have their egos bruised every now and then.

They stepped out into the infernal July heat, each taking a deep breath that felt like inhaling fire. In the distance, against the hazy sky, the towers of downtown Los Angeles reached for the heavens. Crest Ave, miles long and originating amongst those same towers, stretched past them, heading for the nearby Pacific coast. The street was surprisingly empty for a weekday, until Gresham noticed that a section had been cordoned off.

A large crowd had formed around a podium built on the plaza separating Shoregrove Hall from Crest Ave, barely two hundred yards from where Gresham and Moss stood. Alongside the star-covered, navy blue Alliance flags fluttering in the breeze were garish teal and yellow banners with rounded edges – not a human design.

Well that I explains why the street is empty, Gresham realized. I completely forgot. The President of Vega is here on a state visit. He and President Paine are speaking soon.

You’d think the committee could have picked a different day to call us down here for their witch trial, Moss grunted and tapped his portable screen, reading a report. Security must be extra tight after all the recent terrorist attacks.

I’m surprised they’re even letting them speak in public, especially after the Gardelli Crown Prince was murdered a few days ago.

John Gresham! a voice called out over the plaza. John, over here!

Gresham turned to see a tall, firm-jawed man in his early forties approaching. The handsome figure waved again to acknowledge him and Gresham grinned.

Greg! Good to see you!

Commissioner Gregory Reed heartily grabbed Gresham’s hand and shook it. I thought that was you. How have you been?

Oh the same, you know, Gresham chuckled and indicated Moss. Greg, you remember Colonel Gary Moss, SLOC Section Four.

I recall hearing your presentations on a committee or two, Reed said and shook Moss’s hand. Nice to see you again, Colonel.

Commissioner Reed.

What brings the two of you down here? You here to see the President’s speech?

The special panel investigating Hessian Engineering wanted us to come down and tell them things they already knew, Moss remarked sarcastically. It’s a shame you’re not on the committee, Commissioner. It could use somebody with an understanding of the military and our general line of work.

You’ll have to excuse my colleagues, Colonel, they mean well. Reed glanced back at Gresham. It’s been way too long, John. It’s good to see you again.

That’s my cue, Moss interjected and shook Reed’s hand again. Pleasure as always, Commissioner. I’ll see you back at the office, John.

Gary.

Gresham and Reed entered the crowd, pressing their way to get a better view from a pair of steps leading up to the glistening glass façade of Shoregrove. Two members of the Shoregrove Police were adjusting the microphones on the podium while an aide tested them to make sure they sounded right.

How’re the wife and kids? Gresham asked as they found the best vantage point.

Doing just fine, thanks for asking! You seeing anyone now or are you still holed up in that apartment of yours like a hermit?

You’re an ass, Greg, Gresham snorted and crossed his arms, quickly changing the subject. Speaking of the Hessian committee, what’s the latest on the investigation? They any closer to filing charges against the company?

Any day now has turned into any week now, Reed replied. The defense contractor oversight legislation is even more bogged down. You know how it is in this town. Commissioners from both parties get cold feet once their campaign contributors start calling them up to protest new laws or regulations. Business as usual.

You’ve turned into a cynic, Greg. We don’t spend nearly enough time together enough for me to rub off that much on you.

A yellow humanoid stepped up onto the podium and began testing the microphones. The alien tapped one of them, smiled and nodded at a nearby human in approval.

So how’s that MID officer doing?

Hmm?

The one who got attacked at Defense a few days ago. I heard about it on the news. They said he got stabbed in the chest and stomach trying to stop a burglar.

Gresham grimaced. Oh, you mean Jeff Vance. Well, yes, he’s alive. More than can be said for the employee at Defense who got his throat slit and intestines spilled all over his office. Looks like he was the target. Beats me as to why.

There was a storm of applause as another yellow-skinned humanoid stepped up to the podium and the crowd started waving small Vegan flags. A voice introduced the speaker as Usines Haimon, President of the Vegan Union.

We should get lunch soon, Reed suggested. Maybe shoot some hoops. What’s your schedule like the rest of the week?

Mostly free, I think. I’ll take a look and give your office a ring.

Please do.

Haimon began his speech, People of the Human Alliance, I extend the thanks of the entire Vegan Union for your gracious hospitality this day. I have never visited this world before and it is an honor to be the representative of my people to yours.

How far is Vega from Alliance space? Reed wondered.

About twenty-five light years. It’s actually the closest League of Planets state.

I always thought it was further. Reed indicated the speaker. Word is Haimon needs this visit to go well. He’s deeply unpopular at home and there’s an election coming up.

Why is he speaking alone? Shouldn’t President Paine be up there with him?

He’ll show up in a moment. Probably a security measure –

The explosion consumed the entire stage and tendrils of flame reached out into the crowd. Gresham shoved Reed to the ground as shards of white-hot wood and metal cut through the air and the surrounding bystanders, the fireball expanding rapidly and a dark cloud blotting out the sun.

Gresham shut his eyes as he felt the black fog entire his mouth and nose, and for the first time in many years, he wondered if he was going to die.

Chapter Three: The Loyal Sister

Krokandir, Planet Rukkur, Kroka System, Krokator Star Empire

Morning broke over the Krokandir – the Imperial City. Just above the horizon, Kroka’s gentle rays of light broke through the low-hanging mist. As it rose, the old star burned golden in the cloudless heavens and as the sunrise splashed the blackrock and swardstone buildings, krokator