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 9

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Chapter 8

The Nameless

Velin woke up next to Reia, chest aching and the taste of blood still on his lips. For some reason, his rested mind was void of the otherwise usual for such moments confusion. He knew, no... felt, that his Loresinger’s life was out of danger, yet the soldier in him reached for a weapon nonetheless.

Gloved fingers grasped the Architect’s pistol, its handle pleasantly warm to the touch.

Still laying where they fell, the living were no longer two, for they weren’t alone. A small group of Avern’a, about thirty in number, had taken positions around the mech. They did took good cover among the rubble, and even constructed improvised barricades from the dilapidated, armored Jaern cadavers.

Armed with a motley assortment of salvaged particle-beam guns, old vibroblades, and IEDs, this was without any shadow of a doubt a resistance squad – Avern’a warriors, who’d come to their aid. It was them who used medsprays and healed their wounds.

Most of these haggard boys were between eight and ten, but had the eyes of seasoned veterans. The understrength squad was led by their senior, a one eyed thirteen old. Velin saw a few of the olden apparitions still lingering around, their gently glowing bodies passing through both the living and the dead.

“4514, report.” – Whispered the Avern’a squad leader, when another boy crawled out of the dark with a big sack on his back.

“Eighty-nine power packs and twenty-six grenades acquired.” – Tiredly answered the boy and dropped his cargo, barely standing on his two feet.

“Edibles... water?”

The boy frowned, threw one look at Velin and then made the no hand sign in Fringe Speak.

“Great work 4514, mission complete. Now enter sleep rotation.”

With a tired sigh, the boy named 4514 dragged himself to the nearest hole and, after tucking a Jaern skull under his head, immediately fell asleep.

Velin’s belly rumbled, but before he even reached into his backpack, the Lothorian made a simple calculation. It wouldn’t be aplenty, but between his and Reia’s supplies, they could comfortably feed these children. The hefty Terr’aan rations would amount to a small feast, from everything she’d told him about her people.

The squad leader approached hesitantly, one hand resting on the hilt of his vibroblade. Dressed in a combination of stitched together armored uniform bits, and pieces of bent armorplating, the young warrior had a still functioning shield belt.

One pink-colored, tired eye, met two blue ones and Velin took a deep breath. Before him stood a man in a boy’s body, a warrior who’d probably seen many a battle. Suffering and toil knew each other, therefore the Avern’a youth recognized what Velin was.

“One of the dead who fights, squad leader 12151920. We received summons through the Link; Her words called us here.” – The Avern’a stated while pointing still slumbering Reia, and then added:

“Secure perimeter around the Loresinger established; allies healed, ancient mecha and other armaments recovered. The Terr’aan-made, Japanese pattern slug accelerator I know of, but your uniform is unknown to me. I stated my number, rank, and mission – you do the same, soldier.”

“I am a Lothorian; Velin, son of Mir is my name. Trained in the Terr’aan Way, I hold the rank of sergeant and currently am under the Cowled One’s orders. He tasked me and the Loresinger Reia, with locating this machine and clearing a path to it. We need this olden mech to help guard an oasis, where many freed Avern’a slaves and allies live.”

The child soldier looked a bit confused, but only for a short few seconds.

“Rumors of Teal Death’s magicks reached our bunker, but I never thought his abode was so close. Nevertheless, we have recovered the mech and will use it to reclaim our shelter. Even if we are all that is left of its denizens... lest it be our tomb, not the enemy’s home.”

Velin canted his head, sighed and pointed at the ancient machine, a question on his lips:

“Can you repair and operate a mech of this size?”

“No, but we are Avern’a. We will win, adapt, and learn! We...” – The squad leader’s otherwise stern voice wavered after facing Velin’s calm visage.

“Young man, what you just said is undoubtedly true, but it is we who have a trained Avern’a mecha pilot.” – he said, one finger pointing at Reia – “Cull, her brother, not only studied from a metal book of olden knowledge, he was learned by the Cowled One himself. He rides together with our Terr’aan friend – the heavily-armed truck is soon to arrive.”

There was a glint of hope flaring up in the squad leader’s eye.

“Then he can stride into battle with us, help reclaim the bunker!”

“You and your troops are the last of your shelter, right?” – Asked Velin and holstered his sidearm.

“We are; our duty is to protect it, and all Avern’a within. It should be reclaimed at all costs!”

“Recover this bunker you shall, warrior, but not today. Like you said, it is void of people, but there is another place nearby, which is populated by them. A place in dire need of dutiful warriors, willing and able to protect.”

“The Oasis?! But... my home... the bunker.” – Blurted out with the utmost confusion a young man, whose entire life since he could remember was centered around his home shelter.

“A soldier’s home is where those he protects reside. His trench is dug around the farmer’s field and his hard bed, the miller’s stone. From dusk till dawn he breaths hurt and sweats rue, so that those who toil behind him, do not. Every drop of blood and star-second of life he gifts are seeds of future peace.” – Velin quoted what his Japanese mentor once told him, and witnessed hopeful wonder blossoming in the boy’s eyes.

“Now,” – the Lothorian said and reached for his backpack – “you mentioned something about edibles.”

* * *

The Overlord sent one hundred and twenty of his best raiders to explore a tunnel, where scouts reported seeing two of Oasis’s guardians enter. Rumors had long since alluded the presence of ancient tech, powerful battle vehicles, olden weaponry hidden inside these olden ruins.

These upstarts formed quite a well-armed group, and their so called Oasis was quickly turning into a fortified camp. At this stage of his gang’s expansion, he could not take any chances. Whatever was buried deep under that hill, the Overlord craved it.

Ahead of this force was one of his most ambitious commanders, a Taz’aran and an ex-officer of their Imperium’s mechanized troops. Now leading a band of experienced in the way of fighting, motivated raiders, the vicious man felt it was finally time for his star to rise.

Breaching the rubble and venturing deep inside the tunnel was not an issue for him or his well-equipped underlings. Where others had crawled like puny bugs, he blasted or melted his way through.

At the center of this tunnel network’s main hall, stood exactly what could make or break him. With his goggles, the Taz’aran not only noticed the treasure of a mech, but a gaggle of child soldiers, and his unibrow twitched.

These raggedy saps actually assumed themselves capable of holding this position!

Further observations revealed that there was one adult man among them, probably some trained to fight by the filthy Terr’aans Lothorian. Then there was the soon-to-be his very own sex slave – an exquisite-looking Avern’a woman.

Quickly, the Taz’aran gave orders to his underlings, made sure they knew that this pretty little thing was not to be shot at, but captured unharmed.

He’d become an outcast; forced to flee after executing his moron of a commander. There was his immediate promise of five hundred platinum-minted dekats, to any bandit under his command for her capture. These men and women were already well-paid, but giving them even more incentive to behave was the prudent thing to do.

Six of his sneakiest, he sent to scout from up close and if possible, lob a few stun grenades. If luck was with him today, he could even sell these children on the slave market. He watched how his scouts cautiously snuck forward, supposedly undetected, silenced weapons and hand grenades at the ready.

This was not in the stars, however, because as soon as these men got in real close, they were absolutely slaughtered by accurate small-arms fire. Then, a powerful voice boomed across the ravaged, ancient battlefield:

“Using these underhanded ways will not yield anything, except your doom and your underlings’, Taz’aran!”

“If you know what I am, then you should realize the futility of resisting, Lothorian!”

“I’ve been well-learned by people who resist for a living.”

“You are actually proud of becoming a mere Terr’aan bootlicker!? Any Taz’aran could best you in a heartbeat, weakling.” – Chuckled the Taz’aran, while ordering his raiders to carefully advance forward, using all available cover.

“Then you’d be more than willing to face me, a weakling, in melee combat? Unless you are afraid that your kind isn’t that superior after all...” – Ushered his challenge the Lothorian and unsheathed a vicious-looking, long vibroblade bayonet.

Having been made, there was no more point in trying to lurk around, and give the little fools more time. Even as he and the Lothorian exchanged pleasantries, the saps were further entrenching themselves. The Overlord did not like wasting his precious raiders, nor by that matter, them lallygagging around.

“Our racial superiority is a fact, proven time and time again on multiple battlefields, Lothorian. If not for the Terr’aans, you’d still be exactly where you should – toiling like a proper peon, under your masters’ heel.”

The Taz’aran ordered one of his best markswoman to move in range, and take the shot. If he could fell this lumbering oaf, then the child soldiers would offer little to no resistance. Again, his plot was somehow foiled, and the sniper shot dead, her head splattered all over her cover.

Wait... where did the beautiful Avern’a woman go?!

“Now that I have your answer to my challenge, not that I even expected anything else from a Taz’aran, it is time to teach you your proper place.” – Taunted him the rambunctious Lothorian.

Anxious that his new toy could slip through his fingers, the Taz’aran ordered his raiders to fully encircle and then attack. This prudent order of his they did attempt to follow and to the best of their ability.

‘Twas not enough.

Under his watchful gaze, he witnessed the Lothorian leap behind cover, a hated Terr’aan railgun in hand. Then, the boom of projectiles echoed across this olden hall and each found one of his most exposed raiders.

They were brutalized by the pellets; limbs torn, organs turned to minced meat, torsos’ blasted to bits. Exactly when they made a dash from one cover to another, each of them was hit by a projectile. It was as if that Lothorian had inscribed his pellets with their names, and, guided by some foul Terr’aan wizardry, they killed them without fail.

Now, after losing ten of his raiders, the Taz’aran could no longer risk being sloppy. The Overlord may very well have his hide, had he lose too many men or be forced to run, tail tucked behind his legs.

He ordered careful, probing attacks and from all possible directions.

Indeed, his raiders were outfitted well and had been tested in many a battle; moreover, they outnumbered the child soldiers four to one! Surely these saps, nevermind how fanatical they were, could not best an attack on all sides?!

In any other case, on any other battlefield, the Taz’aran officer would be right on the dekats. Any other, yet not this one, for these children were not actually all alone.

The Lothorian was indeed a force multiplier and, that pretty woman, revealed herself to be a stealthy fighter. She’d used another one of the much hated Terr’aan weapons – a needler. With it and backed up by brutish railgun power, what was the most beautiful woman he’d even seen on Avern’a, silently killed a dozen more raiders.

Aim aided by some unnoticed power, the child soldiers bravely repelled his initial assault. They managed to even lob accurate grenade salvos, further devastating his troop. He immediately ordered a temporary halt of the attack, sent more and precise instructions.

The goggles unveiled that despite their initial success, the obnoxious little saps received wounds and appeared worn out. Scared for his skin, the Taz’aran moved forward, and readied to personally join the next assault. That woman, no matter how beautiful and what exquisite slave she could be, was not something he’d die for.

It was then, a few star-minutes before the eighty strong raiders attack, when he heard it. Such was the want that he was suddenly overcome with, that this woman’s voice almost made him shake in his suit.

Loudly, in a ceremonial way, she quickly uttered name after name, as if in a hurry to bestow the saps with a hidden blessing or something.

“What, you think that naming these pathetic little children will make them better fighters?!” – Mocked the Avern’a ways he, right after switching his rapid beam gun to full dispersal firing mode.

“Men, joineth the living in this holiest of hours!” – Shouted with her fluttering voice the woman, completely ignoring everything he’d said.

“Their minds have long since grown – unlike yours, Taz’aran.” – Delivered a keen remark the Lothorian.

The Taz’aran officer had never been spoken to in such a manner, even while under command of idiot high nobles. He was about to scream, order the raiders to charge, overwhelm, kill the fool children and these two.

Instead, it was the Lothorian rifleman whose powerful voice roared, his words reverberated across the bone-covered battlefield:

“Avern’a of spirit and flesh, charge at them as one!”

Late, too late the Taz’aran realized that there were others still lingering, stalking these ancient halls. With a mighty roar, the child soldiers followed their Lothorian leader. As one they ran forth, leapt out of their cover after lobbing their last grenades.

Wailing and screaming, what would otherwise be a doomed force, shot, blew up, and even cleaved a gory path through the terrified raiders. From underneath the floors, straight through the walls and ceilings came at his force a number of phantasmal Avern’a.

Indeed, his raiders were armed with top-of-the-line Taz’aran particle-beam weaponry and in theory, they could fell even this ghostly enemy.

Yet, his troubles did not end with an assault most sudden from beyond the grave. The roar of overcharged grav-engine echoed behind, announcing the arrival of one big truck. The Taz’aran’s own part of the troop was speedily overwhelmed, caught between the hammer and the anvil, everyone around him slaughtered.

Angered and terrified, his snub gun aimed straight at the charging him Lothorian, the Taz’aran fired. If he’d die here, forgotten, his dreams of riches and slaves crushed, at least one would die together with him!

He’d set the RBG to wide beam dispersal mode, and, although some of his shots found the towering rifleman, those were glancing hits. Everything ended in much pain, chest ripped apart, his blood gushing all over and guts splattered on the floor.

Bayoneted straight through the torso, the Taz’aran could only unleash a gargle, a wimpy death throe.

Lost was this last rale of his, engulfed by the roar of a powerful truck engine, devoured by the battlecry of the no-longer-nameless child soldiers...

* * *

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