Velin The Lothorian

Book 1, The Rifle's Song

Index:

Prologue | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 10

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Chapter 9

The Overlord

Velin was not at all sweating under the sun, and his Taksian companion threw another envious look at him. Said gaze twitched and his pupils widened, when the Lothorian removed his shirt. There were tiny few spots on his torso and back, where his skin was not scarred.

Such memories of pain does the sight of his marked skin evoke in onlookers, that even the burly Taksian winced.

He reached for a makeshift hoe and, with a precise motion, gently hit the soil. It was a thing both of fear and picturesque beauty, watching him tend to the earth. Velin anticipated some reaction from the much-suffered people who live here. Though, if he expected a lot of turned away heads, he was mistaken.

There were many sad eyes, looks filled not with pity, but understanding. It was so, for most of the people living here had experienced torture or were outright procured for torments’ sake.

“You said this Nekhtu plant will grow up tall, produce a lot of harvest. How do you store and cook it?” – Asked Bloker and scratched his stubby beard.

“The stems splinter and from them grow big, plump and elongated cocoons. Inside you will find more seeds and the soft, slightly sugary pulp. If you dry it on the sun and grind it, the flour makes for a great bread. Otherwise you can ferment the pulp into a sauce or make beer after brewing it...” – Knowingly answered Velin, after he planted another seed.

“For example, this tiny sack of seed is from one cocoon alone.”

“We do not have anything even resembling this Nekhtu of yours here! Wait till everyone learns how to grow it.” – Said Bloker and poured some water over the newly-planted seed with an improvised watering pot.

There were leftover scrap parts people scrounged for usable stuff, and to craft household items. A whole pile of salvageable debris was left, even after Sam’s truckers used most of the loot to overhaul their machines.

“I will be happy to teach them, me being a farmer and all. On Lothoria we grew mostly Nekhtu and it was the only thing which saved us from starvation.” – Said Velin and stopped the Taksian from pouring too much water over the seed.

“It needs only a little bit of water,” – he looked down at his boots and added nonchalantly – “piss will do fine.”

“What about fertilizer? We use leftover fish parts from cooking to feed our garden plants.” – Asked the Taksian, thumb pointed at the closest fish farm.

“We used our own crap... when we actually had enough of it.” – Velin said with a flat face, planted the last of his seeds and stood up.

“I am sure the Nekhtu will love fish guts. Anything and everything you can spare, the plant will eat.”

Velin stretched his limbs and, by habit of old, walked away from this newly-planted field, still shouldering the hoe. Glimpsing something at the southernmost end of the Oasis, where most of the old ruined buildings stood, he addressed the Taksian:

“What do Sam’s people say about the traps?”

Bloker looked the same way, winced and hand shielding his eyes from the sun, elaborated:

“They managed to set everything up, and are reloading the guns now. I and the rest of the guardians could hardly even assist them since most of us were cleaning the holy mausoleum.”

“How many newly-armed do you have now?”

“About three hundred forty, plus the thirty child soldiers and the eighty whom I trained, this amounts to quite the force. I think that road gang will think twice before...”

His somewhat hopeful and calm tirade was interrupted by a siren and then, as soon as the echo cleared, a booming voice announced:

“Rifleman, come and meet me! I know you are cowering here, for I can smell your fear light years away.”

Velin’s face quickly transformed into an emotionless, cold mask. Nevertheless he did not hurry, but carefully left the hoe on its rack and shouldered his Arisaka. Still shirtless, this towering man calmly walked towards the west end, where a small, but sturdy village wall had recently been erected.

Along the way, he witnessed many faces; all of them tracked his stature, yet none looked upon him with anger or fear. Velin cracked his neck, right before he and Bloker climbed up the stairs leading to the closed shut gate.

Since the people incorporated all usable ruins in the construction of their entrenchments, they could rely on some pretty thick walls. However, that was not true for all parts of said defenses – the buildings weren’t constructed in tight rows. Therefore, choke points had to be barred either by movable obstacles, or in the best case, jerry-rigged gates.

Velin stood atop the Oasis’s main gate and winced, eyes scouring the bandit infested wasteland. At a safe distance, more than twice a particle-beam shot, he spotted a brutish-looking war truck. Bristling with armor and gun mounts, the wide grav-vehicle floated much higher than those which screened it.

Standing tall, feet planted atop the truck’s hood, was the Overlord. Clad in heavy, Taz’aran-made field armor, armed with two handed vibroblade and twin pistols, the powerfully built man was nigh as tall as Velin.

“It is the stench of your own cadaver that you smell, for there is no unbroken fear running amok here.”

Witnessing the Lothorian’s stature and hearing his voice through his augmented faceplate, the gang leader hollered:

“Fetor there will be aplenty and soon, yet that would be the spoil of your corpse. None can escape the wrath of the Emperors! Pay and in full you will, for the desecration of my raiders, Lothorian.”

The Overlord’s voice echoed across the plane, empowered by his suit, easily reaching the ears of all who resided within the Oasis. Gesturing with his armored fist, the brooding gangster encompassed the entirety of everything built by these freed people. He spoke, voice a bit mellow, emanating a well-calculated, measured and brutal threat:

“Hear me, all those who reside within this... ‘oasis’! You need not share this Terr’aan thrall’s end; dangle on your entrails from atop a ruin, until you rot apart. Surrender to the Emperors and live! I, in all my magnanimousness, promise to spare your lives and sell you into bondage. You have the Overlord’s word – my raiders won’t lay a finger on you. There will be no mass rapes and no mutilation!”

Silence conquered the field, soon after the Overlord’s booming words echoed across the Oasis. A strong gust of wind carrying concrete dust hissed across the wasteland, rusty debris bouncing off the imposing grav-vehicles.

Then, slowly at first, the shouts of hundreds of people, the stomp of boots, and rifle butts hitting the ground rose in the air. In seconds, many more voices joined and all throats bellowed as one, finally birthing one mighty chant:

“Deeeeaaaathhhh!”

Velin’s face was a mask of stone, only the edge of his mouth twitched gently when he heard the people’s answer.

He kept his eyes locked on the Overlord; measuring him, trying to peer inside the brute’s strategem-filled mind. As the chant finally subsided, rifle over his shoulders, hands casually resting over its lengthy barrel and stock, the Lothorian shouted:

“Corpse, was this pitiable attempt at intimidation and coercion everything that you wanted to convey? If so, then go back to your grandiose cloaca and summon all of your soon-to-be-crowned ‘emperors’. Call them, for you shall be needing every single one of their rotting cadavers, if you are to even lay eyes upon the insides of our Oasis.”

“Villagers, listen not to this arrogant fool! The clement Overlord will give you three full star-days to accept his generous offer. Better it is to join the many hundreds in our camp, alive and waiting to be sold as slaves, than be viciously slaughtered. Be wise and choose slavery, choose life!” – Again the Overlord attempted to sway the Oasis’s denizens.

Velin could feel rage bubbling, boiling over from every word the Overlord uttered and finally, the Rifleman allowed himself one small, internal smile. An enemy enraged was an enemy off balance, and prone to making errors of judgment. Armored finger pointed at him, the gang boss roared:

“Tool of the Terr’aans, I promise to personally end you. Dead you labeled me and yet I stand here, breathing and very much alive! Come the third day and I will break you in full view of everyone. All dewy-eyed whelps shall know – one does not call for the Overlord’s doom and live to brag about it!”

The fifty strong escort of grav-cars, flanked by hundreds of bikes swiveled, followed the Overlord’s war truck, a large plume of dust and debris left in their wake. Boosted by his armor, the boss’s last shout reached Velin’s ears:

“Three days... you have three days!”

Velin nodded, a wide grin on his face and then slid down the ladder, quickly followed by Bloker.

“You made him mad, Velin! Was that... wise?”

“Mad enough to commit all of his force, act without careful planning, and rely on numbers alone?” – The Lothorian’s smile grew even wider, before he stated:

“Yes.”

“Now, send one of your guardians to call for Sam. We need to carefully think over, plan our next move.”

* * *

“I know that none of us actually believed what the Overlord said. We don’t have three days, but more like a night. He will attack on the morrow and in full force.” – Stated Velin, his voice calm, eyes studying the holo-map of the area.

They had all gathered inside the Cowled One’s starship; Velin, Sam, Bloker, Reia, and he. Sat around a table in the mess hall, it was a council of war and where no evil ear or eye could spy. Not even for a second did Velin think of talking about important things out on the open.

Plans had to be as dark as the night, impenetrable like a thick bunker wall, and unforeseeable like the dance of a hurricane.

“No, I gathered he’d lie, that vile thug.” – Grumbled Bloker, pointing at the small, but rapidly moving dots around their sensor perimeter.

“He has many scouts moving around the Oasis, keeping tabs on our every move with their grav-bikes. There are small raiding bands positioning even now, intent on blocking certain choke points. One doesn’t commit such a force unless a mass attack is soon to be launched.”

The Taksian punched a couple of buttons so that everyone could see various detachments under his command. There were the four-hundred-and-fifty armed guardians he mentioned earlier, plus one heavily entrenched squad of sixty old men and women.

“My guardians will hold them, but against a force so large,” – Bloker’s eyes focused on the Cowled One and he made a gesture of reverence, before continuing – “one would need a great force of holy magick to avert disaster.”

“The time for me to unleash my full power is yet to come. I cannot risk alerting the invader to my presence, and thereby ruining what is to come. One thing are rumors spread by bandits, yet another me personally evoking magick, liquefying hundreds on an open battlefield.” – Said Teal Death and waved his hand, causing multiple yellow treads to appear over the holo-map.

Velin traced the lines, as they kept following one or another dot on the map. These communication links kept all of the Overlord’s scouts and raiding bands in one, cohesive striking punch. That, and to someone as apt in mysterious magicks like the Cowled One, revealed the main camp of the Emperors.

The intricate motif on his mask changed to resemble the shape of a vicious smile, and the Mage’s crystal eyes glinted, before he continued:

“I can do much from the shadows, still. Hack communications, jam scanning beams, even make certain people or things appear where they are not.”

“Between the information the child soldiers gave us, and the underground irrigation network’s murals, we now have a complete map.” – Added Reia after her teacher offered his aid, and plugged in a data-crystal in one of the table’s ports.

The map was updated with all underground tunnels, pathways both natural and Avern’a-made, overlayed upon it. After quickly fixing her long hair with a white, crescent-shaped hairband, the maiden elaborated:

“From all the lore and stories I have studied, utilizing these now largely cleared of danger tunnels, can be of great help. Like my teacher often says, knowledge is power, and ours comes from unknown to the enemy songs. Tales of olden feats, tactics and strategies that won many a battle.”

Sam added his own data-crystal, and their map displayed every single of the now well-placed, stocked with ammunition traps. They’ve even supplied the micro missile launchers with hand-made rockets of all types, and augmented the old mines’ charges with better explosives.

Certain heavy armaments like the machine guns and anti-tank weapons had also been jerry-rigged with hand scanners. Each setup had a PDA with good combat algorithms, further enhancing the otherwise deadly beyond measure network of booby traps.

“The gear of our enemy is now going to kill them.” – Grinned the trucker, who followed Velin’s advice and took one full day to rest after toiling to fix the traps.

Velin nodded in agreement; the plan he crafted earlier, while exchanging words with the Overlord, took final shape.

“We act before dawn breaks. Sam, how quick are your trucks, now after you modified them?”

“You’d be surprised Lothorian! I can run circles around their cars, even outrun the grav-bikes for a short while. Make them eat my dust for a minute or so, before the grav-engines overheat. Why, what do you have in mind?”

“What if you make the heat go away better?”

“But we already did that! Every truck now has an upgraded heat sink, plus air-cooling armored ports on each grav-drive.”

Quite a hearty man, Sam articulated with his hands as he spoke. He then swiped one of the files from his PDA onto the holo-map, so everyone could see what he and his truckers did. Indeed, just as he stated, nearly all of their trucks’ systems and weapons were upgraded.

“Is it possible to make temporary use of your cargo holds, jerry-rig something there?” – Suggested Velin, one finger pointing at the spacious back ends of their machines.

The American blinked, eyes full of wonder and scratched his blond beard a few times, before chuckling:

“Scrapper heatsinks?! We have leftover salvage, and can fashion something on the fly. It will take us two hours, tops. But,” – Sam’s fingers already worked on the holo-file of his truck – “what exactly are we going to be needing those for?”

“Why, for the surprise assault on the Emperors’ main camp, what else? Just be ready to remove these things, so we can give all those freed slaves a lift. Make sure to load the leftover handguns, plus some food and meds too since our reinforcements will need those.”

“Even if they can’t catch up to us, the scouts will see. Them trucks ain’t actually liddle, you know!” – Sam grumbled, yet he’d already finished his scrapper heatsink design and even linked it to his truckers.

“I am sure that the presence of one quite visible, yet very unreal dust storm, can be arranged.” – The Cowled One’s insouciant cackle made everyone around the table at ease, even though they were planning a move most risky.

“Reia, please ask squad leader Alken and his men to report at Sam’s vehicle yard in thirty minutes. Tell them to grab their new chameleo-cloaks and the needler snub guns. Everyone should carry extra ammo and one of those stun grenades we looted from the raiders.” – Instructed the Loresinger Velin and added:

“If possible, you could employ your mastery of the Link and help us see through the eyes of the captives. Loresinger you are, yet tonight, you shall be our battle guide!”

“I will do my best, my Soldier! My brother too, he is ready to do his duty and since the mech had been repaired, Cull awaits, hidden from sight. He knows that he is our only trump card, and will join the battle at the most opportune moment.”

“He will do exactly as the olden pilot of his machine taught him. Surprise, ambush, and a bold strike will win this day. Now,” – the Mage floated away from the table – “you go forth and do what we planned in secret. I have a beautiful, but insubstantial storm to evocate.”

* * *

You can find The Rifle’s Song and the second novella, Velin And The Bunker Of Death here.