This Science Fiction short story is a lead-up to the book titled, Onyalum Wars. The book is part of the Science Fiction Onyalum Series written by NB VanYoos.

Petima placed the ceremonial paints back in their pouch and bowed once more to the image of Krak, the god of war. With the intricate war paint completed, he was a formidable visage despite his youth. He had just turned twelve and was on his sacred quest to become a man by facing his fears. Those fears would be formidable, but he would not fail on his quest.

His people were primitive by any standard, but they ruled their world as the dominant species. Descended from arboreal creatures, they left the trees to take advantage of the greater food sources available on the ground. As tool development, and eventually weapons development evolved, their species rose in prominence and intelligence. Soon, all creatures of the forest feared them and gave way.

They were bipedal, had incredible binocular vision, and shed the fur so dominant in other creatures. Tan in color, they possessed small heads with two ears capable of independently swiveling one hundred eighty degrees to detect sound from nearly all directions. Their very large eyes were adapted to daylight but darkness was where they excelled, when hunting was best. Petima was nearly a perfect specimen of their species.

Petima’s smooth skin was marked from head to toe in the ceremonial colors his people wore when preparing for a hunt or battle against neighboring tribes. His only clothing was a simply loin cloth protecting his genitals and a small belt to hold his weapons. He was free and unencumbered for this quest.

Each boy within the tribe must complete a series of tests, each difficult and perilous. Many did not return from these quests, but those that did were welcomed into the tribe as a man and a warrior. Only then would they be instructed in the powerful art of battle and take their rightful place beside their elders protecting the people.

Petima had thought about his chosen fear to confront since first seeing the great lizard people when he was only eight. He and his sister had been out gathering nuts for his mother’s bread when a powerful light ignited the sky with a roar like thunder. They ran as far as they could and took shelter in a small stand of bushes as a great white monster fell to the ground spitting flames that destroyed all they touched.

His sister had cried and he held her mouth to keep her sounds from betraying their location. He watched from a distance as the great beast came to rest on the ground before belching forth lizard people in dizzying numbers. Hundreds descended from the beast’s belly, each wearing ceremonial garb and carrying strange weapons.

Though fearful, he had wanted to see more of this mysterious beast and its kin, so he released his sister who ran back to their village in stark terror. He crept closer to the large monstrosity, keeping low in the vegetation to conceal his location on the ridge overlooking the great beast. As he drew closer than he dared, he stopped behind a large del tree, its enormous branches spreading out above him, blocking the sunlight that might reveal him.

He watched from behind its great trunk as the lizard people unloaded strange equipment and supplies from the belly of the great beast. Several of the lizards had broken off from the main group and walked into the surrounding forest. Their eyes were covered in darkness and they wore large packs on their backs with mysterious devices in their arms. Petima was curious.

After walking a short distance, the lizard men aimed their devices into the forest and belched forth green flames of such brilliance that Petima was blinded and fell to the ground in shock. As his vision returned, he watched a towering inferno of fire engulfing the forest around the great beast. He ran as the flames licked at his heels. Large trees, thousands of years old were ignited in a pyre of horror, and Petima feared he, too, would be consumed by the strange fire.

He shook as he remembered that horrible day when the lizard people had arrived. At first the tribe had believed them to be gods sent to punish the people for their poor offerings. But later, after many had died at the lizard’s hands, they came to know them as demons sent to consume their world and all the life within it. They dug enormous holes in the ground, stealing the very life force of their world while laying waste to anything that stood in their way, including the tribe’s village.

It had been a sad day when the village was forced out of their home and chased across the land to another location far from their birthright. They cursed the lizard people, but against their power and magic, the people were no match. But Petima was determined to face them, bringing back a trophy that would prove his worth as a man and a warrior.

He placed his ceremonial equipment back in the hollow of the tree where he’d made his camp and set off into the forest toward the distant camps of the lizard people. Their numbers had grown great since his first encounter, but he was not afraid. He had faced many reptiles as a child, some large enough to swallow him whole, but he had always won because the people were intelligent, and reptiles were dumb animals.

He was a descendent of the great tree spirits, and from the moment they had descended to the ground from the high branches, they had grown to be the rulers of the forest, greater than all animals that crawled, climbed, or flew. This was their land, and although he might never see the end of the lizard people, he would let them know he was no coward, he was a warrior.

He made good time as his heart beat strong and his legs ran free. He knew these forests and was one of the fastest creatures on two legs. He came equipped with his boomerang, a knife carved from the great crystals of the mountains, and a small sling with which he was deadly accurate. But his mission was not to fight, his was to use stealth to make off with one of their prized weapons right from under their noses.

He stopped and surveyed the perimeter of their encampment as the sun began its eventual quest for bed that the moon may have its time in the sky. Twilight would be best for his quest. He slid beneath their barrier and made his way toward structures where many of the lizard men gathered. As he neared, he heard their insidious voices hissing demonic words while sitting around a fire cleaning weapons.

This was his chance, a perfect trophy for his quest. He eyed the strange metallic weapons reflecting light from the fire and he narrowed in on a small, handheld device that didn’t look too large to carry. The lizard men were large and strong and he was small by comparison. Their weapons could be heavy, and he needed speed to escape with his prize.

Convinced the smaller weapon would be manageable, he eased around the edge of the building, trying to still his heart from the pounding in his chest. He closed his eyes and chanted the sacred prayer of fear.

Fear is but a feeling, not an enemy. But like an enemy, it can beat a man down until he is defeated by only a feeling. Only an enemy is real, and only an enemy can cause death. Fear not death, for a warrior will rise again to join all the warriors that have come before him. Fear is but a feeling, not an enemy.

He checked his quarry once more and determined the path he would take after gaining his trophy. He took several deep breaths and focused. Sprinting from his hiding place, he was a dark blur through the lizard men as he grabbed the weapon in one stride, leaping into the air off the table they sat around. He heard their sharp hisses as he sprinted across the open road and slid beneath a piece of large equipment sitting idle.

Clearing the heavy machinery he was at full stride as he heard the lizard men curse him as they pursued him across their encampment. He passed other lizard men, his appearance causing shock as he sped past faster than a chitaca being chased by a lek. He was nearing the barrier and was prepared to slide beneath it in one deft move, putting more distance between him and his pursuers. Only two more steps and he was free.

His body went rigid and he fell in a heap, sliding into the barrier, its sharp edges cutting his skin. He lay motionless, stunned by the change in his circumstance, his mind reeling as he felt little but the blood oozing from his wounds. He could not control his eyes and he stared blankly into the darkening night sky, the first of many stars beginning to make their appearance.

His breathing was shallow and rapid, and his heart felt like it would burst through his chest. Fear gripped him as he realized he had been caught. He had faced his fear only to have it consume him. He would die and it was fitting, though he might never join the warriors before him. Suddenly, a large silhouette appeared above him, its demonic grin and razor teeth ready to eat its unlucky prey. He would be strong to the end. It raised a taloned foot and placed it on his neck, and Petima knew it would suffocate him as did the lek when it finally caught the chitaca.

∆ ∆ ∆

Seraar had just come from his hut when he spotted the commotion by his men. A small, dark figure was darting through the camp, and it carried one of their weapons. His eyes narrowed as he focused on the dark flash. He went into battle mode and sprinted from this hut on a path to intercept the local creature. Although they mostly kept to the woods, several of his men had been attacked as they patrolled the region around their mining operations. Fear was their best method of keeping the locals away.

Issgire were built for speed, and he easily clocked the local with little effort. It was small and would be difficult to catch, so he pulled his weapon and set it to stun. As he rounded a large tanker, he intercepted the small creature as it was preparing to slide beneath the perimeter fence. If it got into the forest, they might never find the small being. He aimed and fired twice, the second knocking the creature to the ground, its body sliding into the fence, the sharp wire cutting it severely along its arms, legs and neck.

Seraar slowed his pace and holstered his weapon as he approached the stunned creature. It was small, most likely an adolescent. The paint colors made it from a local tribe they had chased off years before. Why do they always come back against such impossible force?

He placed a foot on the creature’s neck and applied pressure. If it regained its strength, he didn’t want it to escape. He picked up the weapon as his men approached. It was a small handheld, but capable of killing on the highest setting. He flipped it over and read the name on the handle, Lisoor.

“Lisoor, step forward please.” He hissed in angry tones.

The young soldier stepped out from his peers and looked down in deference. “Yes, sir?”

Seraar wasn’t sure whether this incident warranted disciplinary actions or not, after all, no one expects a small creature taking off with your weapon in the middle of your armed camp. Still, it was best to make sure his men understood even these small creatures posed a valid threat. It wouldn’t have been much effort for the creature to turn the weapon on his men instead of just stealing it.

“I believe this is yours.” He hissed as he threw the weapon at the soldier’s feet. “How is it such a diminutive creature can make off with your weapon?”

“Uh…I do not know, sir. It came out of the darkness and was gone before we knew what had happened.” He picked up his weapon slowly and placed it in his holster.

Seraar felt the small creature beginning to stir beneath his foot and he made his decision. “I will not tolerate such sloth in my unit. This world may not possess real enemies, but the local wildlife can be just as dangerous when you do not pay attention!” He pulled his own sidearm and shot Lisoor with a stunning blast. The young soldier fell in a heap.

“Pick him up and make sure he is assigned exterior perimeter patrol for the next five nights.” He holstered his weapon and looked down at the now squirming creature beneath his foot. It feebly tried to bite him, but his scaly feet were far too hard to penetrate. “As for you my poor friend, I admire your tenacity and courage. However, we cannot have you wreaking havoc on the order of my camp.” He placed his large claw against the creature’s cheek and pulled his foot back, slashing a deep tear in the creature’s face.

Blood spread from the wound and the creature barely silenced a yelp from the pain. It was a bloody and muddy mess as it backed against the wire fence trying to flee from Seraar. He laughed as he picked it up by its neck and grabbed its flailing feet. “You won’t be bothering us anymore, and that scar will remind you who is in charge in this region. Tell your tribe to keep away or we will wipe you out!”

He tossed the small creature across the fence and it landed with a thud on the hard ground. He stared at its stunned form as it tried to recover from a demoralizing capture and release. “Run little animal, run!” Seraar hissed through the fence as he brandished his weapon, firing into the night.

 ∆ ∆ ∆

Petima placed a large heja leaf against his face to stop the bleeding and prevent infection. He spit blood from his mouth as he limped through the forest towards his village. He had failed but survived. His face was torn badly, and he feared a broken leg as pain shot through him with every step. He had a long way to go but refused to give up now. Despite his lost trophy, he had faced his fear and lived to tell about it.

He didn’t know why the lizard had released him, but he suspected it was to warn others who might try such a daring quest. The lizards would step up their vigilance, and any attempt to penetrate their perimeter would be more difficult to virtually impossible. But he had faced them and no longer feared them. They were not demons as his tribe thought, but only warriors from a distant land in the sky.

He had witnessed his captor shooting one of its own, presumably for letting Petima steal his weapon. He smiled at the memory, but this only caused pain across his torn face. He stopped to steady himself as spots swam through his eyes. He had to keep moving and reach his village before his wounds felled him. If he fell in the forest, he would not last long. As it was, the smell of his blood would draw predators looking for an easy meal.

The stars above lit his path, and he yearned for the moon to rise, its brilliant light a beacon he could follow home. He drew his knife and held it tight as he continued to limp through the forest. He might not survive the night, but in his mind he was a warrior. He had faced hundreds of the lizard men and could tell the tale. Perhaps he hadn’t failed in his mission after all. He thought about the other boys in his village and knew his quest had been far greater than any they had survived.

He had no trophy like the tooth of a lek or paw of a teer, but he had faced the lizards and lived. As the moon finally peered over the trees, he smiled once more, grinning at the pain this caused. He felt the hot blood beneath the leaf and realized he would wear his trophy forever.

The Tlacidol were primitive warriors split along tribal lines across one continent on a world of three continents isolated due to the lack of technology. It was here the Leran armies hoped to establish a beachhead before taking over the entire planet. It was a reach for their forces, but they desired the raw resources available in the system, a system too remote from the reach of the Issgire Empire.

All except Tiir, an Onyalum sent by the creator Danirdan to infiltrate the primitive world as a spy and saboteur should the Leran make landfall. He had been on this world over a hundred years, living and fighting among the primitives he’d grown fond of. It was a young world, and he loved the primitive savagery inherent on such a planet.

He had risen in stature to a great leader of the Lapol Tribe, now the largest tribe on the continent. His berserker fighting style while under the influence of local hallucinogenic vegetation was legendary, and the many wounds scarring his visage presented a grim record of his battle prowess.

The Tlacidol were a powerful yet lean species. In the low gravity of their world, they evolved into a tall species with lightening quick reflexes and remarkable strength. Though not reptilian, their appearance was reminiscent of an earlier ancestor of the Issgire, thus making them the perfect ally. A sleek, hairless head was mounted on a slim neck that sat atop a muscular, bi-pedal body complete with a short vestigial tail. The skin was like tough leather, naturally green but often multi-hued due to the tribal paints worn by most. The colors indicated tribal affiliations.

The hands were remarkably dexterous with formidable claws sheathed when not in battle. The eyes possessed excellent distance vision and were able to see through even the densest nighttime jungle. Males of the species sported bony ridges along their spinal column, their size and intricacy associated with age and strength. The ridges stood tall like flags in battle, but remained folded down when not fighting. The ridges were used both as a territorial display against enemies and for sexual courting of the females. To Tiir, Tlacidol were an evolutionary combination of the best reptilian and feline features.

The system was named Saphilon-2146 in the Issgire Galactic Planetary Catalog, just another star in the remote Saphilon section of the Lannion Arm of their galaxy. It was too far from the Empire’s main holdings for the establishment of a permanent base, but desirable enough to seed it with an agent of destruction should the future require it. Tiir loved his job and couldn’t wait to foment revolt against the Leran scouts that had recently landed on this distant rock.

Continuing their rather effective method of recruiting worlds to their cause, the Leran worms had established diplomatic relations with a neighboring tribe, the Dnow. The Dnow and the Lapol had fought each other for centuries along the borders of each other’s territories, and Tiir knew they saw the Leran as an ally that would help defeat the Lapol thus widening their lands. However, the Leran, ancient and wise, rarely offered technology to those too primitive to create it on their own.

However, once the base was established, their defenses would be unassailable to anything but modern weaponry. This was why Tiir had to nip it in the bud before that happened. His spies established only two Leran drop ships had landed thus far. This was good news, but Tiir understood a larger force was nearby, dispersing scout ships to the various worlds in this remote part of the galaxy.

The key to success against this colonization was to demonstrate an inherent instability within the local populace to dissuade the Leran from establishing a base. They wanted the resources, but being so remote made an unstable populace less palatable as their own forces would spend too much time quelling uprisings rather than reaping the bounty of the rich resources they desired. It was always a calculated risk, and the Leran typically induced the local population with technology for increasing crop productions or curing illnesses, something this world didn’t need.

He knew an all out frontal attack would be useless and would only harden the Dnow’s resolve to welcome the Leran as protectors of their lands. Instead, Tiir had devised a method for creating instability in the Dnow Tribal ranks thus creating a civil war. Coupled with a frontal attack, the alliance with the Leran would quickly break.

Tiir had spent time on the other continents and knew their conditions were even more barbaric. This continent promised the most likely place for a base, but he believed he could change that situation if his plan succeeded. Long before the Leran had arrived, he had established relations with certain Dnow leaders in exchange for protection from his raiding parties. It was amazing what you could accomplish with nothing more than a few females to trade.

The instability he’d planted amongst the Dnow had taken root and his final objective would seal the fate of their leaders, chasing off the Leran for now. He and a select few of his forces had already overrun and killed the local border leader named Illut. The barbaric leader had never been in the good graces of the Dnow high council, but his prowess protecting the Dnow borders had kept him in power. He had always been viewed as a threat to the stability of the Dnow, and Tiir planned on exploiting that fact.

After killing Illut and most of his warriors, Tiir and his men painted themselves in Illut colors in preparation for starting the civil war the high council had always feared. At the same time, Tiir had ordered his own Lapol border leaders to attack the Dnow to the North. To the South, Tiir held off his forces as his allies expected the promised protection. It would split the Dnow tribe in two as northern leaders would expect the southern leaders to come to their aid. But they would not come, Tiir had seen to that.

The Dnow relations with the Leran could not survive a civil war combined with an all out attack from their neighboring enemies. It was everything Tiir had set in motion decades before, and he was excited as it began to unfurl as he had envisioned. The Leran would write off this world as too hostile for now, planting one of their worms to rise as leader all could rally behind. But that worm would have to contend with an Onyalum bent on destabilizing the world the worm wanted to pacify. Tiir could look forward to possibly centuries of excitement.

After painting themselves in Illut’s tribal colors, he and his warriors marched towards the landing area of the Leran scouts. Taking up offensive positions around it, their colors had thus far allowed them to move uninhibited within the Dnow territory. Various leaders were sending parties to meet with the Leran, so Tiir’s infiltration simply mirrored those other leaders.

As the hallucinogenic properties of the local plants began to take hold of his senses, he eyed the distant ships sitting idly on the open plain below them. From his lofted jungle position, he could see all the points of attack where his men were currently arrayed. When they started, mass confusion would reign, but his men would be merciless as they took down anyone not marked in Illut’s colors.

Each of his warriors would be under the influence of the narcotic, the drug heightening their battle senses to that of near supernatural proportions. He’d learned long ago that a dedicated fighting force under the influence of select narcotics could be made into a nearly fanatical religious force imbued with powers beyond that of normal warriors. His men were that fighting force, and they followed him as the Issgire followed the creator Danirdan.

Although they lacked anything more technological than swords, spears, and arrows, he had whipped up a batch of primitive explosives that would be used as part of their shock and awe campaign. They would hit hard, bringing the Leran into the fray before withdrawing. It would be quite the spectacle, and poor Illut would be blamed for the attack.

As predicted, one of the scout ships fired its engines as part of daily maintenance, that was the signal. He watched as his forces intermingled down below drew weapons and began the carnage. Those outside the immediate vicinity of the fighting had no idea who was attacking, so they could not marshal a defense against the mysterious foe. Tiir’s warriors mowed them down before they realized what was going on.

Tiir pulled his sword and sprinted down the hillside into the thick of the battle. His senses were at their peak and his berserker actions took out many surprised by an attack by their fellow brethren. It was nearly too easy. He paused, taking time to light one of his makeshift grenades which he threw into the fray. The explosion panicked the Dnow warriors and the distant Leran were suddenly on high alert as something totally unexpected caught their attention.

Other explosions sounded across the plain as more of his men threw their own grenades into the battle. It was too much for the Leran and they opened fire on the local warriors near the ships. Tiir smiled as the technologically advanced weapons tore through the Dnow warriors equally surprised by the turn in allegiance by the aliens. They could trust no one and fell back to tribal identities, fighting all others not in the same colors of their own local tribe.

Tiir laughed through his hallucinogenic haze as he took off another head with a deft swipe of this deadly blade. The fuse had been lit and the chain reaction he’d hoped for ignited the Dnow into a civil war that would take decades to recover from. He watched the second ship’s engines ignite as the Leran prepared to flee the chaos.

It was the final signal for his men to leave the fray and regroup far from the battlefield. He and several of his warriors headed back into the hills, their bodies covered in glorious red from their deadly assault. As he neared the top of the hill, he turned back to the roar of ships leaving the ground while spraying those left behind with a hail of supercharged particle cannons burning enormous black gashes in the plain while vaporizing anyone unfortunate to be nearby. The Leran would not be welcomed back anytime soon.

It was too much for Tiir to dream for, and he howled in victory as he and his men slipped into the cover of the thick jungle. It was good to be Onyalum!

As we continue to work through our grief, I will become more efficient in running our house, tending to my girl’s needs, and staying focused on my day job. However, my passions for both stargazing and writing will be a necessity as time goes by. I need my catharsis of creating books to entertain myself and my fans, and this blog is an integral part of that process.

To show my appreciation for your patience, I will be posting two (2) stories to this blog in December. Time permitting, the associated podcasts will also be available. As far as the Onyalum Series goes, book five, A Speck of Blue, will resume next year with a delivery date late 2012 or early 2013. At that time, book six associated with this blog will then be underway.

While my life has been busy since my tragic loss, my imaginative mind has been working on plots and story-lines for both this blog and my series. Although my world will never be the same without my wife, I hope to turn her inspiration into stories that will entertain for generations. Me and my family will live our lives to the fullest, pursing our dreams and our passions to honor her presence in our hearts. Thank you for your patience and continued support, your wait will soon be over.

Sincerely,

NB VanYoos

This Science Fiction short story is a lead-up to the book titled, Onyalum Wars. The book is part of the Science Fiction Onyalum Series written by NB VanYoos.

Seelzra quietly listened to Ambassador Molfe’s arguments against aligning with the Leran, a species he aptly pointed out was not from this galaxy. Seelzra shook his head slowly, as if any species’ origins dictated their intent. Whether they were homegrown or imported, they both posed threats that this world had to avert, the question was how?

He eyed the Council, the wizened elders listening to the arguments dispassionately, waiting until all was laid before them before making their monumental decision. Seelzra had already made his, and the Leran were the lesser of the two evils.

Ever since being assigned this critical mission shortly after their world had been contacted by both species, Seelzra had realized his world was only one more conquest in a larger than life strategy game, the ultimate prize unknown. He wasn’t naive enough to believe everything the Leran told him despite their obvious age and technological superiority. They appeared non-threatening, and the alliance of worlds they had gathered from this galaxy was impressive—worlds that had once been under Issgire oppression.

He had dutifully spelled it out to the Council, trying his best to leave his own prejudice out of the presentation of his fact finding mission. But his colleague was not as professional, and his presentation reeked of promises of personal fortune should his side sway the vote in favor of the Issgire. It was inevitable, especially in politics. Even Seelzra had been offered bribes throughout his career, but he took pride in declining such offers, his own personal financial situation secure thanks to his family.

But the Leran had not bribed him, perhaps another vote in favor of their side. He would have mentioned as much if he had proof of his colleague’s collusion. Alas, it would come down to the merits of the situation at hand, the Council voting it’s conscience as always. If he held any doubts of their objectivity, he would have retired years ago. It was the one positive in a world increasingly moving towards the negative. This new development would not end well regardless of the vote, of that Seelzra was certain.

Inherently, something sinister was at play between the Issgire and the Leran. Seelzra didn’t truly believe the Leran were generous saviors from another galaxy sent here to free the poor souls under the claws of the Issgire reptiles. They wanted more and those that threw in with them might just prosper when all was said and done. Seelzra looked at it as an insurance policy, pick the right side and you might just ensure the future of your species.

He had left these dire predictions out of his analysis and presentation. Though his gut told him he was right, he had no proof to back up his feelings. Any attempt at deception or obfuscation with the Council would be seen straight away, easily defeating your arguments because of your poor choices. He believed Molfe was making that mistake. He smiled as he saw the scales of victory slowly tilting towards his side.

Despite holding back his own personal feelings, he hadn’t held back those of the species now aligned with the Leran. One such species, a particularly ugly one from a distant dirt ball on the other side of the galaxy, had claimed their people were slaves under the rule of the Issgire, forced to create weapons for the lizards using their own precious resources from a resource-poor system. The representative had even claimed the Issgire used the dead to create food for the enslaved, saving the real food only for themselves.

It was a gruesome thought indeed, but Seelzra rather believed the man had been lying about that part. Interspecies hatred would make most say outlandish things about those they were pitted against.

Nonetheless, as world after world presented their experience under Issgire rule, a clear picture of a brutally superior species emerged. Seelzra’s world had been spared the experience of Issgire rule, but word of the lizard empire had spread to their system, though many believed the tales were just that, tales to scare children at bedtime. Beware the monster lizards who will eat your young and have their way with your women! They appeared ridiculous at first glance, but Seelzra now wondered if some of those tales might actually be true.

Ambassador Molfe’s presentation was winding down and Seelzra listened to man’s final words. “…and without such protection, our world will be swept up in this insidious invasion of our galaxy by imposters posing as our saviors. They will take over our bodies, our world, our way of life, and our species will be erased from this Universe forever!”

Seelzra thought that was a nice touch, though overly dramatic for the Council. Still, he obviously was speaking about the supposed Leran’s ability to take over other species through some sort of possession or duplication, eliminating that species while maintaining their appearance. Seelzra scoffed at such a fantastical idea and mentioned as much to the Council. He believed the species that were part of the Leran Alliance were real and not duplicates created by the Leran. A ruse of that magnitude would be impossible to perpetrate.

Though the Leran were technologically advanced, Seelzra didn’t believe they were capable of replicating every single species he’d met, creating the illusion of an alliance that didn’t actually exist. Though he wouldn’t be surprised if they explored genetic research with other species they aligned with, he didn’t believe they were capable of possession or replication at the level the Issgire insinuated. After all, he’d met them, and they were a real species, old and from a distant galaxy for sure, but they were a real peoples.

The Ambassador finally finished his summation. “In closing, we must protect the integrity of our world and our way of life, accepting an alliance with the Issgire Empire to forge a future of mutual respect, protection, and sharing in the wealth this galaxy has bestowed upon us and our peoples. Thank you esteemed Council, as always, your wisdom will prevail.” Molfe bowed deeply before taking his seat.

Lead Councilor Catilosl spoke deliberately. “Ambassadors, you have given the Council much to deliberate, and we will discuss this matter in private before rendering our decision.” She rose from her seat followed by the other Councilors as they walked from the main chambers.

The secretary rose to her feet and made the prescribed announcement. “Please rise as the Council adjourns to private chambers.” The crowded room rose quietly as the Councilors made their way to the inner sanctum and quiet deliberations.

Seelzra felt rather confident he would win this decision. The Issgire, though a local species, simply didn’t offer as much as the Leran. The Leran alliance had already succeeded in recruiting many thousands of systems to their cause, and their momentum would crush the Issgire whose past was riddled with inequities and a reputation of supremacy over all they ruled. Their message may be peace and brotherly love now, but their true intentions were likely far from that reality. The Council would see this.

~

The Council retook their seats before everyone sat down per protocol. The press took up most of the public seating behind the Ambassadors, but cameras were forbidden in the Council Chamber, so artists scribbled quietly, trying to capture the Council’s mood as the decision was rendered.

Lead Councilor Catilosl read from her notes of their deliberations. “The Council has thought long and hard on these proceedings and we are not without passion for the import of our decision. Many on the Council expressed that passion as we discussed each side’s arguments extensively, no fact or innuendo left un-mentioned. Our world is on the brink of a new era, one in which we will become embroiled in a conflict started long before we even understood our place in this Universe. Now that conflict has caught up to us, or perhaps us to it.” She paused.

“It is more than our survival that we must ensure with this decision, it is the survival of our culture and our freedoms. Once we align ourselves in this conflict, we will be forever bound by that decision, the results unknowable, the future unknown. For that reason, our charge has been difficult at best, impossible at worst. But a decision has been made.”

She paused once more as the hushed crowd leaned forward to hear the results. Only the sounds of the artists sketching furiously disturbed the eerie quiet. “By the power invested in us by the fair people of Wazcatrain, we hereby declare an alliance be formed between our world and the…”

The blinding light that lit the chamber was followed by a rush of sound that crushed the ears and shredded everything in its path. Seelzra barely registered a thought of surprise before he was thrust into a world of utter darkness and silence.

~

“Are we on? Can they hear us? Okay, this is Jarila outside the destroyed remnants of the Wazcatrain Council in the capital city of Lathrone. Minutes ago, a bomb detonated inside the Council Chambers as the Council prepared to deliver their decision concerning the future alliance of our world with either the Issgire or the Leran! The explosion was enormous and knocked us to the ground as we waited on the steps outside. As you can see behind me, the entire roof of the structure was brought down, the remaining walls looking as though they, too, will fall inward trapping even more victims and thwarting rescuers efforts. Hey, wait! You can’t do that! We have a right to…”

“Apparently we have lost the feed with Jarila but will try to the reestablish that connection momentarily. At this time, we have no idea what caused the explosion and whether any of the Council or others inside the chamber survived the blast. We will attempt…wha…wait, this just in, we have received a video from an organization identifying themselves as the Wazcatrain Freedom Fighters who are claiming responsibility for the attack. We’re…yes, we will now play the video unedited in its entirety.”

“Good people of Wazcatrain, we are the Wazcatrain Freedom Fighters, an organization of concerned citizens who refuse to let our beloved world be sold to the highest bid from galactic trash like the Issgire and Leran! We will not stand by while our world is destroyed by those politicians who would line their pockets with the blood of our brethren, selling their souls along with our world! Today’s attack on the Council serves as warning to all who believe their backdoor deals will be tolerated by Wazcatrain’s peoples. We will fight and we will die for our just cause, and anyone who stands in our way better prepare to die with us! We will not let those dirty, off-world species pollute our culture with their lies and deceptions intended to fool us into aligning with their perverse armies and unknown purposes. We have our own armies and we will use them to fend off these invaders. It is freedom or die in this conflict—no other choice exists!”

This Science Fiction short story is a lead-up to the book titled, Onyalum Wars. The book is part of the Science Fiction Onyalum Series written by NB VanYoos.

Kiirgatt paced calmly in front of the large viewer dominating the ship’s bridge. As Overlord of his Leran, he watched the space battle with confidence. Although his ship rarely engaged in battle, this sneak attack by loyal Issgire allies was actually a blessing as his troops were placed under actual fighting conditions. A practice they needed more often as the war intensified with the Issgire. He never feared the outcome, his armies were more than capable of quelling such upstarts.

If there was anything disturbing in this attack it was that a non-Issgire controlled species orchestrated it. After eons of oppressing all those the Issgire viewed as inferior, the reptiles had changed tactics, matching the Leran’s as they offered greater autonomy to those worlds they possessed, turning the populace against the Leran and their message of peace. As the Leran extended their control through the galaxy, they were discovering more worlds turned by the Issgire, prepared to resist the offer to join the coalition of worlds led by the Leran. The damned reptiles were fighting fire with fire.

Kiirgatt was realistic and understood there was something disturbing about the Leran to other species, and the thought of being replaced by a replica of alien origin was more frightening than subjugation by a hostile reptilian species. The Issgire were exploiting this fact in a brilliant demonstration of their keen intellect. Their success in keeping the worlds they already possessed and recruiting new ones from the millions yet to enter the conflict was slowly turning the outcome of the war in their favor.

Kiirgatt shook his head, the motion elegant in the Dal body he typically created to move among his people. To many within their coalition, the Dal were the Leran. But the Dal were an old species the Leran had conquered billions of years before the war. The two species were so well integrated, very few real Dal survived. Kiigatt made sure the genetic line of the species was kept strong through careful breeding programs designed to strengthen the intellectual capabilities of the species while removing known genetic disorders. Several million actual Dals still existed within their ranks, but they were outnumbered by the billions of Leran that took their forms.

Every Dal knew of their Leran counterparts, accepting their conquest with humility and grace. The two had lived and loved together for too long for animosity to exist. Coupled with the backing of a god, Kiirgatt, the Dals were easy to control, providing the much needed face to the faceless Leran.

A large explosion off the port bow was abruptly followed by alarms throughout the ship as the damage caused a dangerous loss of atmosphere to that portion of the vessel. It was a minor incident, and Kiirgatt signaled the alarms to be silenced on the bridge. He watched as small ships swarmed the gash, quickly affecting repairs from the outside before those within the interior could patch the other side of the wound.

It was astonishing the small ship could penetrate their defenses and crash into a section of their vessel. He made a mental note to analyze the ship’s penetration to understand how it had got through their defensive network. A part of him wondered if it had been a suicide crash or simply a strafing run gone amok. Suicidal ships were not unknown but rarely did significant damage, certainly not enough to offset the cost of a trained pilot and tactical assets.

“Overlord, shall I pull our ship away from the fray while we make repairs?” His fleet Admiral offered.

“Nonsense, Admiral, we are perfectly safe where we are.” He said calmly. “Make sure we analyze the footage on how that ship got past our defenses. Clearly we have holes in our network.”

“Yes, Overlord.” The Admiral said deferentially.

“In fact,” Kiirgatt said ominously, “let’s move the ship closer to their home world, I want to see what they are fighting so viciously for.”

The Admiral relayed the orders with a lift of his brow. Kirrgatt smiled as the large engines came to life, the enormous ship moving forward towards the flash of lights illuminating the battle. The small blue disk of their home world grew in the viewer as he surveyed its tenuous atmosphere, something he could extinguish with only a thought. The planet’s significance to the Leran was location rather than resources. A permanent base on this world would be indispensible for their efforts in this region, and though he hoped to win that base through negotiations and treaties, he would take it with force if necessary.

“Overlord, we have received a preliminary analysis of the damage.” The Admiral said. “There were no life forms on board the ship.”

“Of course, that is how it escaped our network.” Kiirgatt replied. “Only robotic ships can evade our defenses so easily. This is a new threat we must consider. The rules of this war prevent the creation of robotic armies, but only if they are under the direct control of one of the competing species. Clearly they are exploiting a loophole as they form new alliances with other species who are not constrained in employing any army they choose.” He paused as he thought through the ramifications. “Brilliant.” He said in hushed tones.

“Overlord, are you certain we are safe at this distance?” The Admiral grew agitated as the thought of a robotic army made him nervous.

Kiirgatt ignored the question. The Admiral was a real Dal and inherently a coward. “Admiral, take us to their moon and shift our assets to the capture of it. Ignore the planet and focus on the moon.”

“But Overlord, the battle above its surface is far too dangerous for our ship.” The Admiral pleaded.

Although Kiirgatt knew the Admiral spoke some truth, he had to see what facility was producing the robotic fighters. If there was any connection to the Issgire, he could use that to force the hand of Watherful. “Admiral, I want that facility taken at all costs. Is that understood?”

The Admiral bowed as he relayed the appropriate orders to change tactics and targets. Kiirgatt smiled as he watched their assets disengage the planet’s defense system and move towards the moon. Only the moon provided the logical resources for such an operation. Easy to launch from, plentiful raw materials, and few civilian assets made it the ideal base from which to create a robotic army. Even the facility could be completely automated.

However, if they were using any Issgire technology on that base, it would be enough to cry foul on Danirdan. It might cause a forfeiture of the system, but would award Kiirgatt the right to create another world nearby, thus securing the base he needed in this region. He needed that base, intact if possible.

“Admiral, I want ground troops deployed as soon as our carriers are close enough!” He ordered with authority.

“But Overlord, we have not suppressed enough of their defenses to move troops onto the surface.” He protested. “We will lose a great deal of assets if we proceed too quickly.”

Although Kiirgatt was generally calm and level headed, his desire to prevent the destruction of that base overrode his normal demeanor. “Admiral, while I appreciate your tactical capabilities under normal battle conditions, this is not a normal battle situation and we must not allow that base to be destroyed either through our actions or our inactions. If that is too difficult for you to fathom, I will replace you!”

The man realized what replacement meant, a Leran duplicating his DNA, disposing of his body when complete. The Admiral shook his head and issued the orders with haste and authority. If they were lucky, they could stop the base’s self-destruction as the locals realized they could not withstand Leran troops. It was evident they had not created too many of the robotic vessels to have a meaningful impact, but the question remained, did the Issgire help them construct the facility, and if so, did they make sure it could not be captured?

Within minutes, their ship took up a position orbiting the moon. It was frenzied chaos below them as the smaller, outgunned locals put up an impressive defense of their base. Unfortunately, they would lose the battle. Kiirgatt watched as several drop ships disengaged from their carriers and headed to the moon’s surface. The base was visible below them, powerful guns peppering the space above it with hostile fire as they attempted to repel the invaders.

At least a dozen drop ships descended as one of them exploded in a fantastic fireball that knocked another off course and into one of the carriers. The damage to the carrier was too much as the ship split in half and began its slow spiral to the moon below. Damn! Kiirgatt swore under his breath as the Admiral’s predictions began to unfurl. It was an expensive blow, but he held onto his belief the capture of the base would be worth it.
He felt the vibrations as his own ship’s powerful guns were brought online to take out enemy emplacements on the surface. He could already see several of the drop ships landing, their troops rapidly deploying to protect the other ships following close behind. Kiirgatt smiled, they were going to succeed.

Another explosion sounded alarms as another robotic ship pierced their defenses and inflicted more damage to their hull. It was also minor, but they couldn’t withstand an infinite number of such strikes. He ignored the alarms, content to let them ring as the pitch of the battle intensified. The sound would rally his troops to battle, ensuring they stayed on their game to acquire their god’s prize.

He watched the monitor as ground forces mounted an attack of the base’s perimeter. Although most of the troops were neither Dal nor Leran, they were a loyal and powerful species that never failed to acquire their targets once dug into a world. He watched as a phalanx of the units broke through the perimeter and made their way into the guts of the base. He would soon travel to the surface to survey his hard won conquest.

A blinding light erupted from the position of the base, a monstrous fire ball clawing its way into space as if to grasp his ship in its deadly embrace. As the explosion subsided, only a blackened scar stretched for hundreds of miles across the moon’s surface. Millions of his troops were annihilated as the base was permanently cleansed. They were too late, but it confirmed what he had suspected. The Issgire were helping to build the facilities, covering their tracks with self-destructive devices that vaporized all evidence. He would talk to Watherful about this deceit, but without proof, it might be in vain.

He shook his head in disgust for the assets they had spent in the valiant attempt. “Admiral, please contact their home world and begin negotiations.” He said quietly. “We have both lost enough for today.”

“Yes, Overlord.”

This Science Fiction short story is a lead-up to the book titled, Onyalum Wars. The book is part of the Science Fiction Onyalum Series written by NB VanYoos.

Aagar watched silently as his subjugation forces began waves of attacks after their artillery softened up the city’s defenses. He knew Acriend methods were predictable, but so far they had proven highly effective. But the course of the war had been changing, their enemies adapting to the Acriend fighting style in ways that threatened the Acriend efforts. They refused to lose this war, so the Acriend adapted, too.

His real name was Throtnu, an ancient Onyalum with eons of experience behind him, and Aagar was his fifth possession since being recruited by Hammot before he’d even heard of the wars. He’d been tempted by the god with opportunities to wrought destruction on an epic scale only Creators could fully understand. He was an Onyalum of great viciousness, and the thrill of such a grand war could not be resisted. He’d accepted the god’s offer, starting low in the ranks before moving up as his great experience set him apart from the non-Onyalum.

He absently scratched his head as the new helmets irritated his scarred dome. The helmets were one more adaptation thrust upon them as their enemies invented new and ingenious ways to kill. Microwaving the brain cavity would be humorous if it weren’t so damned effective. The new helmet didn’t protect, but it gave one an early warning so one could move before the damage was done. Acriend slaves were still working on a permanent solution.

The smell of artillery exhaust was exhilarating, and Throtnu walked along the line admiring the efficiency with which they could deliver death. But he was always on guard as the new Trilliu became an effective force to contend with. Although this world was uncharted in their conquest records, the Trilliu had an uncanny way of getting their first, undermining their efforts as they helped the local inhabitants fend off an Acriend invasion.

Hammot had warned about this technique used by the Leran, a species the Acriend hoped to face after vanquishing the Trilliu in this contest. He shook his head, clearing thoughts of a future so far away, he would likely never survive to see it. But he would do his part to usher in that future, a future of Acriend dominance across two galaxies.

“Aagar,” a voice called through his helmet, “we have penetrated the first level of defenses. Should we consolidate or continue pressing our advantage?”

Throtnu smiled, Horok was a fine leader if narrow in his vision. “Well done, Horok, but dig in and send half your troops back to our lines.”

“Half?” Horok said in a tone that indicated his concern at holding the hard won possessions if half his troops were pulled back.

This was not the time for weakness, and Throtnu was never weak. “You have your orders, Horok!” He softened slightly. “I sense a trap, my friend, trust me.”

Horok obeyed as he had during hundreds of such invasions. “It will be done!”

Throtnu signaled his artillery to stop firing, their initial mission completed. He eyed the landscape both in front and behind his lines, but nothing stood out of the ordinary. Still, he sensed danger and he was rarely wrong about those things. The Acriend had been foolish in the past, and the Trilliu had taken advantage of that arrogance, dealing blows to the Acriend forces that stung deeply. He would not repeat those mistakes.

The silence after the artillery ceased was eerie, and Throtnu felt a sense of dread that only pumped him up for battle. Fear was a drug that united and lifted one’s soul to levels of violence and destruction only a true warrior could appreciate. Focus the fear and you focused the instincts. Kill or be killed, and Throtnu refused to be killed.

He relayed new orders. “All artillery units switch to anti-aircraft weapons and prepare to defend. All ground forces remain where they are until I signal. Nobody fires or moves until I give the command or I will personally eviscerate them!”

He watched as the nearby artillery units unveiled their latest additions to the weaponry, an anti-aircraft gun of formidable capabilities. If the Trilliu were planning to spring a trap, they would use their new craft to take out the carriers overhead and the ground forces below. They would be surprised. The spinning barrels of the weapons coming online brought Throtnu a feeling of contentment. He would not be arrogant, but he knew they would not give in easily.

A strange vibration moved through the ground, and Throtnu knew it was the beginning of the real battle. He pulled out his blade, it size and cutting surfaces scarring him as he practiced with it religiously. Rifles and pistols were still the weapon of choice for many, but a blade would be called for today. He could sense the hunters gathering, marching forward as their camouflage hid them from all but the best sensors. But this time, Throtnu was ready for them.

He signaled his units as half the invasion force rolled back into line, taking up defensive positions. “They are coming, but do not fire until they are upon us. Let them believe their ruse has worked. Ground forces wait for my signal.” He growled.

He turned back from the city scanning the horizon. Dust and haze filtered the late day sunlight turning the distant horizon blood red. Throtnu hit his chest in an ancient display of a warrior’s readiness. Those down the line following their leader, the sound of pounding a dull thud against the eerie silence preceding the battle.

Underneath the sounds of their bravado, a strange clicking coupled with a hum grew louder as the enemy approached. There was no artillery to hide their deceit, and the Acriend were prepared to welcome them onto the battlefield. Soon. He thought wildly.

“Artillery fire when you spot any aircraft.” He ordered ominously.

He gripped both hands around the hilt of his blade and prepared to meet them head on. His senses were heightened as his focused fear pumped hormones throughout his body. This would not be flight, this would be fight. He ignored the sounds of the Trilliu aircraft streaming into the area, the Acriend weapons spitting a wall of projectiles to intercept them. But Throtnu stood solid, his eyes spotting an imperceptible shimmer against the distant ground.

He spread his legs, posturing in a defense stance as he prepared for his enemy approaching at incredible speeds. They would be faster, but he would be stronger and wiser. He sensed more than saw the three hunters as they sped towards him with blades drawn. With perfect precision, he leapt above their attack, his twisting motion bringing his blade down on the three unsuspecting hunters, decapitating two while the third parried the blow.

Throtnu hit the ground, rolling upright before the third could turn to face him. They charged each other, Throtnu’s blade larger than the two held by his enemy. He dodged the caustic stream of chemicals spewed by the insect before they collided, the metallic sound of their blows a sharp contrast to the peppering spray of anti-aircraft guns in the background. The force of their momentum threw both to the side, but their steady feet maintained balance as they turned back to face each other.

The Trilliu hunter rose on its back legs, grabbing Throtnu’s arms with its middle limbs as it thrust blades with its forelimbs. Throtnu’s strength prevailed and he blocked the thrusts with his own blade, only one edge cutting his cheek as he executed a rollover that brought his enemy with him. One thing about Trilliu, they were terrible wrestlers.

With precision and strength, Throtnu wrapped up his enemy, breaking its lower legs with his weight as his blade came up and down on the creature’s neck. The balance of his weight pushed the sharp edge into the insect’s armor, the crunching sound satisfying as warm blood sprayed into his face. He rolled to his feet, his blade held ready for another attack. The twitching of limbs of his foe told the story, it was dead or dying.

He signaled his troops. “All ground forces emerge and clean up this mess!”

The earth rumbled as ground forces surfaced in new submersible, armored behemoths that crushed everything in their path. Like the crust of the planet split in an earthquake, the ground erupted with Acriend forces emerging from their hiding, startling the hunters, cutting them off with massive treads the Trilliu could not flee. The sound of exoskeletons being crushed beneath the tanks brought a smile to Throtnu’s shredded face. This is what he had signed on for.

Explosions rocked the battlefield as enemy aircraft hit the ground in glorious fireballs as fuel and ordinance ignited from the impacts. A few of Throtnu’s anti-aircraft guns were silenced in barrages of counter fire, but many more aircraft fell from the sky as new Acriend weapons worked flawlessly. There would be no defeat today.

He eyed the battlefield through a haze of dust, its torn crust interspersed with crushed Trilliu. He looked down at the lifeless form of the hunter at his feet, stepping on its form in another ancient, symbolic ritual. The blood of his enemy mixed with his own, the deathly scent filling his nostrils with the stench of victory.

This Science Fiction short story is a lead-up to the book titled, Onyalum Wars. The book is part of the Science Fiction Onyalum Series written by NB VanYoos.

They say, cut off the head and the body will die. Swirtoo was hoping it held true for the Acriend Subjugation Force occupying his home planet. He had been an ordinary citizen until the invasion, the occupation enlisting him into the insurgency as they stung the invading horde of monsters. His previous life had been filled with science and technology, a fine life despite the lack of socialization so many others enjoyed. At this point, those fanciful musings were long gone.

Swirtoo had been a weapons designer for his country’s military, creating new ways to kill in the name of protecting their precious borders. Now those borders had been shattered by the Acriend, a brutish race whose savagery was only eclipsed by their perversions. Swirtoo had watched many of his fellow Andanaens ravaged by the sexual assaults these beasts inflicted on those they captured. Swirtoo made a promise not to let that happen to him as he carefully stroked the suicide device strapped to his chest.

His race was not one to take life lightly, but since the invasion, little could prevent them changing into the savages they now faced. They simply would not be subjugated, young men and women picking up weapons dropped by those generations before them. But did it make a difference? Could they defeat such a massive force with so many overwhelming technologies and an army filled with monsters that could survive nearly everything they threw at them? Cut off the head, Swirtoo thought darkly.

His home world, a planet called Woorlta, was just another conquest in the Acriend’s merciless march across the galaxy. Before the brutes had arrived, everyone on Swirtoo’s world had believed they were alone in the Universe, a tiny island of life in a swirling galactic sea of hostile stars and deadly radiation. But they were wrong, and now they were nothing more than a prison planet subjugated by those more powerful and less moral than the people they crushed beneath their boots. He would do anything to strike back.

He and his people were the dominant species on their world, a rare, six legged mammalian species that had evolved in the equatorial forests encircling their planet. Over time, they had spread across their world, filling every niche possible as their intelligence grew in exponential leaps and bounds. They had believed themselves evolved to the highest level possible, capable of controlling the very world around them. But they soon learned they were nothing more than worms just crawling out of the mud looking to the stars in awe.

But these worms had teeth and they would use them to bite at the offenders occupying their rightful place on this planet. And they would not stop until they were all destroyed or their enemy chased from their soil. Swirtoo crawled through the dense underbrush quietly, his stealth camouflage hiding him from all but thermal sensors. Thankfully, he’d been given a map of those sensors and currently positioned himself on the hillside in a gap between them.

The hill overlooked the massive base camp of the Acriend Army. In the distance, a large field was filled with landing craft, the carriers of the beastly horde now silent as they enjoyed unencumbered access to the resources of this planet. But today, the rightful owners of this world would strike back, disabling as much of their craft as possible in one brilliant raid. But he was the key, the linchpin that would set their plan into motion. Cut off the head, he murmured silently to himself.

His six limbs pulled him through the grass, his primary weapon strapped to his back, fully charged and ready for its debut. If it worked, a whole arsenal of the weapons would be deployed, a new terrorist device with which to attack their enemy at the heart of their subjugation.

He heard a sound to his left and stopped. The deep voices of two Acriend security guards held him breathless as they moved nearby, ignorant of the threat nearly beneath their feet. He wasn’t a soldier, but he’d been instructed on how to move without being seen. His commander, a wonderful leader of his insurgency team, had not wanted Swirtoo to take on this mission. He’d seen the value of Swirtoo for his brilliant mind and weapon’s designs, but Swirtoo had insisted on getting a chance to finally get back at the monsters that had destroyed so many he had known. He might survive, but the odds were not in his favor. In any event, his coworkers could carry on his efforts. He’d left behind a whole raft of designs for even more deadly weapons. One way or another, they would chip away at the beastly horde occupying their world.

The sounds of the guards splitting up and moving in opposite directions made Swirtoo relax. With both so close, he would have to take them out before completing his final mission. He moved a bit further up the hillside, stopping at a large boulder that would make an excellent position. He carefully removed his weapon and placed it on the ground before preparing it for firing. It was a bulky weapon, but using the Acriend power sources easily acquired through inside sources made its capabilities far exceed its bulk. Without the Acriend technology, its size would easily be that of a small vehicle.

His four hands quickly ready the weapon, a green light signaling it was at full strength. He turned to his right and searched the area for the first guard, his thermal scope easily piercing the gloom of night. Within seconds he spotted the hapless brute standing on a large outcrop surveying the plains below. Swirtoo swept the area around the soldier looking for anyone or anything that might detect his attack. It was clear.

He attached the scope to his weapon and lined up the soldier in his sights. Once the large head was in his crosshairs, he pulled the trigger, a slight hum the only indication the weapon was working. Swirtoo watched through his sight as the soldier began to notice the initial tingling effects of the microwave radiation entering his cranial cavity. Unfortunately, by the time you detected the effect, you were dead. The view of the head popping from the boiling fluids was silent yet showy through the scope. The body fell from the outcropping into a small boulder field below. Cut off the head, Swirtoo said silently.

He swung the weapon back around to his left and removed the scope once more, quickly scanning the area for the other guard. Damn, nothing! The guard must have found a position of concealment, forcing Swirtoo to either ignore him and focus on the primary mission, or hunt him down to remove the threat. He eyed his watch and didn’t like how little time was left before sunrise. In daylight, the Acriend were deadly. The mission had to be completed before sunrise. He repacked his gear, deciding to let the guard be. It would probably cost him later, but he had to get the attack underway.

It took another fifteen minutes before he had found a satisfactory position wedged between two boulders overlooking the command bunker. As usual, many of the officers were gathered under a small tent awaiting their leader for the morning debriefing. Swirtoo would give them a surprise this morning. Cut off the head, he repeated one more time as he setup his weapon, steadying it between the two rocks. Although he had slipped into their sensor net, the boulders were hiding him from detection.

He remembered his many briefings, the picture of his target clear in his mind. The specially colored sash, the brutish features, and the overwhelming gray hair the seasoned veteran sported. He might as well have been holding a lit beacon as far as Swirtoo was concerned. The beast had no chance of surviving this attack. He put down his binoculars and pulled up the thermal scope, eyeing the area for the guards and snipers that surely were surrounding the area.

He quickly spotted two snipers on another ridge overlooking the base. Each was several kilometers away, but still capable of killing him if given the shot. Unfortunately, his microwave was ineffective at that distance. He turned to the plain below him and surveyed the forces on duty. He counted four regular guards and two towers manned by the slave aliens the Acriend employed. Would they attack or let their masters die? Time would tell.

He pulled up the binoculars once more and eyed the officers. Finally, their commander was coming up out of the bunker with his slave aide to begin the briefing. Swirtoo put the thermal scope back on his weapon and checked to make sure it was ready to fire. The dull green glow confirmed its readiness. He put his eye to the scope and took aim as his target sat down at the head of the table. Perfect, Swirtoo thought darkly as his target’s stationary position would make the shot easier.

With the beast’s head in his crosshairs, he pulled the trigger releasing the deadly radiation that would superheat the cranial fluids to deadly pressures. He watched intently, the drama stretching the time out in what seemed like an eternity. Finally, the leader scratched his head as the sensation was detected too late. Once again, the popping was silent but sweet as the body fell off the chair in the midst of a confused crowd of officers.

Job one done—now to signal the attack. He took aim at a large fuel tank near a collection of vehicles. Once his weapon was charged, he pulled the trigger. He wasn’t certain if it would ignite the fuel, but he was hopeful. The metallic container would absorb much of the energy, but he was banking on some of it superheating the fluid inside. He ignored the sounds of the base coming to life as they realized they were under attack. He kept his focus on the fuel tank in what appeared to be a vain effort to ignite the fuel.

He didn’t give up despite shots firing into the dark near, but not at his position. He was about to give up and flee when the tank exploded in a fantastic fireball lighting the base in an explosive fireworks caused by a chain reaction of explosions through the nearby vehicles. It was more than he had hoped for. He packed up his gear as shots ricocheted off the rocks around him. They had found his position.

He moved back up the hill towards his only escape, ignoring concealment in favor of speed. Shots came close to his retreating form, but none could find their target as he dodged and jumped to evade. He was nearing his final route, a backside cliff with a dark crevasse he could climb down when a sudden pain ripped through his side quickly followed by the loud retort of a nearby rifle. He felt his energy drain away as he fell to the ground, his lifeblood spraying out in fountains his feeble hands could not suppress.

The red of blood blurred his vision as a dark figure appeared above him blocking out the starlight now fading in the red sheen of his life draining from his body. He smiled at the dark shape, his lips moving in an attempt to say something witty. He wasn’t certain anything came out as a dark coldness swept through his body. He laughed inwardly, his mission complete despite costing him his life. Even now, the rest of his insurgents would be sweeping through the base, his distraction the necessary ingredient to conceal their sabotage. This sting would be significant.

He sensed more than saw more figures surround him as they stood proudly observing the death of the assassin of their leader. Cut off the head and the body will die. It was Swirtoo’s final thought as his heart stopped beating, the absence of electrical impulses triggering the device on his chest. The Acriend standing around him didn’t even know what happened as the fireball lit the top of the hillside sending thousands of pieces of each back to the base below.

This Science Fiction short story is a lead-up to the book titled, Onyalum Wars. The book is part of the Science Fiction Onyalum Series written by NB VanYoos.

Halkmi walked purposefully down the long corridor, her mind swarming with dark thoughts as she contemplated the pending meeting. Quog was not usually an unreasonable leader, but this latest loss was more than even he could rationalize. Something had changed within the Trilliu forces, and it had unraveled their recent attack, turning what should have been an easy subjugation into total defeat.

She pledged to take his abuse quietly, as was her place, but she churned inside from the stupidity he would unleash as he tried to exact revenge for the failure. It was the obstinate side of the Acriend male, and Quog was far from immune to it. He would retaliate with the remnants of his forces, perhaps losing that battle as well. Halkmi understood what was needed, a chance to perform a post-mortem to reveal what had changed so significantly that a formidable Acriend fleet and its pacifier forces could so easily be defeated. The losses were staggering, especially when one realized they’d gone up against a single hive. It was unprecedented and demanded patience and analysis to reveal the change within their enemy.

But Quog would not wait, so she would have to bite her tongue, using her limited persuasion to convince him otherwise. It was hard being a female Acriend, even harder serving in the Aerial forces. But Halkmi was not an ordinary female. Her keen intellect and formidable administrative abilities set her apart from her peers early on. After substantial victories due to her logistical knowledge, she was promoted to a leadership position, unheard of within the Acriend culture. Unfortunately, Quog had never approved of that promotion, viewing it as weakness rather than strength.

But these were not ordinary times, and extraordinary measures were becoming common place as they fought for their Creator, Hammot. The ultimate prize was within their grasp after stomping on the insects across much of the galaxy. They had successfully backed the Trilliu against a wall and were tightening the noose around them, but this latest battle could thwart that success, pushing Acriend forces back, changing the tide in favor of the insects. She was worried, and Quog would be too. The difference was she chose to act rationally.

She was the sitting leader of this fleet, and her decisions would be what Quog would question. He was her superior, a position he constantly reminded her of, but his pacifier forces had been completely wiped out and he would want to know why she had retreated, leaving the planet to the insects. It wasn’t even strategically important, a husk of a world sucked dry by the Acriend and thrown aside in favor of the ongoing conquests. But something had stirred the insects to capture it, and now their defeat of its rightful owner would send shock waves throughout the Acriend forces. Hammot would be unhappy.

Her decision to retreat had been difficult, but the statistics had warranted it. There was little reason to permit the fleet to be destroyed when they didn’t understand what they were up against. Had she stayed, everything could have been lost including the valuable intelligence they had yet to evaluate. Her decision to leave was correct, and she would defend it against Hammot himself. But she knew Quog would push back, viewing the decision as a natural weakness of females.

She tried to calm her herself, picturing her love slaves lathering her in luxurious soaps while pleasuring her during a bath. She imagined them penetrating her, the sensation making her feel weak and vulnerable, building to the crescendo all sought in such endeavors. She felt a deep appreciation for her slaves and treated them remarkably well considering their position within the Acriend culture. She wanted them to appreciate her good graces, sparing her the treachery when in the throes of ecstasy. She knew of many females who had been killed during revolts by the very slaves that pleasured them.

She finally stopped at the door to a large war room now cleared of all personnel except leaders and high ranking administrators. She wouldn’t be the only female in the room, but she would be the only female leader. The males didn’t appreciate this fact and often treated her with disdain, something she grew accustomed to. She stepped forward and the door slid open.

Within seconds of seeing her, Quog sank his barb, setting the tone for the contentious meeting.  “Halkmi, so glad you could take time from your pleasure slaves to fight this little war of ours!”

“No problem,  but it is so hard to find good slaves nowadays after you and your men kill them in your perverse orgies.” She retorted, refusing to back down despite her pledge to remain passive and quiet.

Quog looked angry as his upper lip twitched uncontrollably. She’d seen that before and knew the danger sign. Bite your tongue you idiot! She chastised herself before taking a seat at the right hand side of Quog. She didn’t return his stare while he watched her every move. Instead, she stared at the rest of the people in the room. Her fleet administrator was there, Quagi, a female who coveted Halkmi’s position. Beside her was Kaknok, her fleet leader for Aerial forces. He was a capable leader never questioning her orders, but she doubted he would be on her side today.

Across from them were Quog’s unit  leaders, at least the three who hadn’t been killed in the battle. Quog retained a single female administrator on his staff, Maknoki, and she definitely did not like Halkmi, undoubtedly pulling the party line of her boss. It was the never ending bane of being the sole female leader in a male dominated military. The men didn’t respect her and the women desired her position of power. So much for allies, she was on her own.

Quog refused to take a seat, his overbearing presence a genuine threat. He was a seasoned warrior and had learned some patience through the years. “I’ll let that comment pass, for now.” He said ominously. “First, I want a report of our total losses!”

One by one, his leaders delivered staggering statistics on equipment and soldiers lost during the battle. It had never been close except during their initial landing when they faced only the outer defenses of the Trilliu forces. They had decisively won that battle, the city seemingly theirs for the taking after they softened the inner defenses. But something had happened, and no one was brave enough to venture a guess as to what. The Trilliu had pulled something out of their bag of tricks, and it had been devastating.

Finally, her administrator and aerial leader read off their losses, once again staggering numbers of ships, fighters and resources. She believed it only reinforced her decision to retreat but doubted Quog would view it that way. They had not been prepared for the change in the Trilliu and it had nearly cost them everything. As Kaknok finished his litany, she braced for the attack.

Quog finally sat down, the twitch gone from his lip. “If Hammot were here, he would no doubt kill us all for such a failure! Shall we ask Him to destroy this world for us, our inability to take it an embarrassment to all Acriend?”

It was a rhetorical question and everyone remained silent. Their Creator did not destroy worlds lightly. The long range costs were too difficult to calculate, so Hammot banned such things without consultation. Until now, very few Acriend soldiers would even suggest such a thing. They wanted the pleasure of destroying the enemy themselves and hated such powerful weapons that could take a world down so easily. There was no sport in that, but their latest defeat might change that attitude.

Quog turned to Halkmi, and she knew what was coming. “Why did my fleet turn tail and run like cowards?”

There it was, and he emphasized ‘my’ fleet to ensure everyone understood the pecking order. She was the operational leader of the fleet, but he was the ultimate owner of it, behind Hammot.

She pulled herself together and faced him. “Our operational losses combined with lost resources warranted a speedy retreat before we lost everything.” She said brusquely before taking a breath. “Also, the unknown change in our enemy warranted analysis which might have been impossible had the fleet been destroyed.”

Well, she laid out her reasons hoping it would appease him, but she doubted it. In dire situations like this, he would probably prefer his fleet be destroyed to save face among his peers and Creator. He wasn’t necessarily a vane leader, but this was more than most male Acriend could face without death in battle to retain some form of glory.

“Unacceptable.” His voice was cold and dead pan, and she knew what was coming next. “Ever since your promotion to leadership, a despicable and foolish act, I have had to put up with poor performance, shoddy administration, and insufficient tactical skills. Despite your cowardly retreat, I am surprised you weren’t destroyed.”

None of his accusations were true, of course, but when he was on a rant, it didn’t matter. The reality was she was one of the best fleet leaders the Acriend ever had, and Quog knew it. But he was stinging from their loss and had to take it out on someone. Why not the female leader he did not approve of? She should tread carefully.

He finally turned his gaze to the rest of the leaders. “We will redeem ourselves, destroying those pesky insects on that worthless world, or we will die trying!”

Halkmi groaned inside. Here it was, irrational decisions to go back and face the insects, refusing to admit defeat, even if it cost them everything. When didn’t it cost males everything? They were a brutal race of perverted thugs, and the males lived their lives committing everything they possessed to the pursuit of victory. She wondered what their orgies were really like. Was vanquishing an enemy such an aphrodisiac that they would go to any lengths to achieve it? She would never know, she was a female and the closest she got to an orgy was having more than one slave. But she had to admit, they weren’t the same as the real thing.

Everyone around the table was surprised but remained silent, except her. “Quog, I can’t speak for the others, but I really think we need to analyze our intelligence and understand what happened before we return. Something changed within the Trilliu and they now pose a much greater threat to our forces than before.” She paused as his lip began twitching once more. “Don’t you think Hammot would want to know what has happened? What if the Trilliu have broken the rules of this war?”

He looked ready to burst but she would not avert her gaze. He was a fool and would doom the species before admitting defeat. This was the problem of having such an amazing track record in battle after battle. Soon, you believed you were invincible and could no longer admit or face defeat. He obviously believed their errors had changed the course of the battle, not something the Trilliu had done.

One of his leaders finally spoke. “Our forces are depleted, Quog, perhaps we should wait until we are back to full strength before re-engaging the enemy.”

The leader’s name was Thulk, and he was one of Quog’s most senior leaders, a capable pacifier. But Quog turned on him, his wrath slipping through his control.

“You listen to this female, Thulk? What, you want to mate with her?” His insults had an immediate impact.

“I don’t think rebuilding our forces is agreeing with this female!” Thulk insisted. “I’d rather mate with a Trilliu slug than with her.”

“I disagree.” Quog said in a tone that meant he dared anyone to challenge his decision. “You have all failed me and our Creator, and now you gather together to escape your just punishment for that failure. And, Thulk, your mating wishes will come true after you take that damned insect city!”

She knew she would regret it, but she couldn’t let Thulk be bombarded by Quog’s anger at her. “He is right and not because it agrees with what I am saying.”

Quog spun back to her, his lip quivering as the anger pumped blood to his muscles. There was not fight or flight response in the Acriend, only fight. “Perhaps we should all leave so you and Thulk can mate to produce more bastards that don’t listen to their superiors!” He was shouting now. “Damn you, bitch, shut up, I will decide what we will do!”

She couldn’t stop herself. Maybe it had been building for too many years and needed to be released, or maybe she had become too much like the males after being a leader for so long. Either way, she refused to back down in the face of his fury. “No, Quog, you shut up you stupid male, you’ll kill us all!”

His speed and dexterity was so fast, she saw only a blur before she was down on her back. Even his ferocious roar had been silent during the surprise from the attack. Another part of her admired his prowess considering his gray fur. Quog was truly their leader no matter how stupid he was. She lay on the floor bleeding, the old warrior knowing exactly how to defeat the formidable Acriend body. The only female leader had been removed from office, and considering how Quog would spin this, she doubted any other would rise to such prominence.

But as the last vestiges of her life drained away, she knew none of those politics really mattered. Something had changed in the Trilliu, and until they figured it out, the Acriend would be thrown into chaotic confusion. Her vision began to fade, and she mourned the fact she had never mated with a male. Despite dying at the hands of one, she’d always harbored those feelings. The truth was she really had wanted to mate with a fine warrior like Thulk, and she was far better than a Trilliu slug.

This Science Fiction short story is a lead-up to the book titled, Onyalum Wars. The book is part of the Science Fiction Onyalum Series written by NB VanYoos.

A cold wind blew across the dead littering the barren landscape. Reeking Trilliu and Acriend bodies were strewn about the ground, remnants of an epic battle in defense of the hive. The predictable Trilliu soldiers had fought valiantly, their efforts inflicting heavy damage on the enemy. But it had not been enough, and they were overrun by the grotesque Acriend who rarely took Trilliu prisoners. All that remained of the Trilliu defenses were rotting corpses seething with local insects benefitting from the unexpected feast.

The Trilliu soldiers were victims of more than their enemy. They had been betrayed by the very soldiers who were created to lead them. These new soldiers, offspring of the scientists and engineers, were designed to lead the less intelligent fighters that were incapable of independent action. But that was an Achilles’ heel the new soldiers intended on exploiting to supplant the old guard with their own rule.

Though the hive leaders had agreed to the procreation of this new breed to bolster their floundering armies, their fears were grounded in reality. The scientist and engineers had devised this plan for millennia, working diligently to perfect this new line in their species, a breed that ironically sprang from an ancient line lost through billions of years of evolution.

In the far distant past, the Trilliu hive operated much as it did today. The leaders organized and protected the hive, breeding with females to create workers, guardians, and hunters. These hunters were the forefathers of the scientists and engineers. Their purpose had been to swarm the environment, bringing back the bounty that was processed for all to eat. And these hunters were formidable, cunning, and effective at taking down enemy hundreds of times larger than themselves.

They had been equipped with an arsenal of natural abilities that made them effective as hunters. And they were as loyal as any in the hive, often mating with females when their numbers dropped below certain thresholds. But over time, evolution and the scheming of the leaders who viewed the hunters as threats, forever changed their line into a highly sophisticated, but physically weak part of the hive. Their natural fighting abilities were atrophied, dormant within their genetic makeup, but nearly impossible to reactivate.

That was until a single scientist found that mixing the genetic makeup of the existing soldiers with that of the scientists, resurfaced many of those old attributes, creating a glorious new breed of soldier with the strength of the old guardians, the cunning and abilities of the old hunters, and the intelligence of the modern scientist and engineer. They were a marvel, and the leaders feared them for good reason.

The scientists wisely hid many of the hunter’s new talents from the leaders for fear of reprisal. Though Confale had blessed this new creation, the leaders still held the upper hand in the hive and in the eye’s of their Creator. But that would change as the rise of the hunters showed their true worth to the species. They would replace all but their fathers, forming a new hierarchy within the hive—a new evolution long past due.

But first, they had to win this conflict, defeating the Acriend before taking on the other species battling within the colliding galaxy. The hunters would tip the scales in their favor, and this battle would kick off their rise to prominence.

Jiirtik woke from his self-induced coma, vibrating his body like a jackhammer, the liquefaction of surrounding soil forcing his body to the surface. Within seconds, he emerged from his cocoon, his senses coming to life to survey the carnage around him. He was a hunter, and burrowing into the ground was an old trick hunters had used to ambush unsuspecting prey.

Sorry brothers, you are but victims of evolution. He thought quietly as he took stock of the guardians lifeless forms. Their loss was a necessary evil, a way to trim their numbers while the hunters displayed their true value. It was a senseless death, but would lead to victory for all in the long run.

The ground vibrated gently as the thousands of the hunters surfaced from their hiding. Their camouflage, far superior to the old guardian’s, made them nearly invisible against the barren landscape, scorched clean by an earlier Acriend occupation. The planet was nearly lifeless, hardly worth colonizing, but rich with raw materials the Trilliu desperately needed to rebuild their depleted forces.

The Acriend had invaded and destroyed the world decades earlier, its riches too far buried for them to mine. But they didn’t possess an inexhaustible supply of workers like the Trilliu. Given time, the workers of the hive would recover half those buried riches within the husk of the planet. But time was not being afforded as the Acriend came back to reclaim the world. It was a single hive against an Acriend fleet, but this time, the hunters would ensure victory.

Jiirtik walked over to the corpse of a fallen Acriend soldier, its mangled form a tangle of blood, hair, and swarming insects. Though he didn’t like feeding on his enemy, he needed the sustenance for the forthcoming battle. He leaned over, releasing a caustic soup of enzymes, breaking down the Acriend body into its basic constituents. Even before the reactions were complete, he began sucking the vile mixture through his proboscis, ingesting the food to rebuild his reserves.

Thousands of hunters followed suit, many forced to eat their fallen brothers, their loss turned to a gain. The sounds of artillery echoed across the plain, the final battle for the hive underway. Jiirtik knew how this campaign would progress, their plot banking on that predictability. After the Acriend overran the Trilliu’s outer perimeter, they would setup camp just outside the heavily defended city limits. Within those defenses were the oldest and most hardened warriors of the old guardians, and they would put up a powerful resistance.

But the Acriend would beat them mercilessly with artillery and probing raids, eventually breaking down the defenses to overrun the city itself. Once inside the city walls, the Acriend would be unstoppable. The Trilliu had watched in horror as many cities were overrun often with nothing more than pacifier forces. It was the beginning of the end of the Trilliu in this contest, and the hunters were the final salvation for the Trilliu species.

After satisfying his hunger, Jiirtik signaled his men using the clicking language of their distant ancestors. Only scientists and engineers fully understood this ancient language carried down for millennia as a means to speak without being understood. Plotting against the leaders was a dangerous game, and the scientists and engineers had become adept at playing. It was the only remnant of their former glory, until they had resurrected the hunters from their genetic slumber.

En masse,  sixty thousand hunters charged across the landscape towards the Acriend whose backs would be fully exposed and undefended. They would take out the artillery first, a signal to the Acriend soldiers that the final push for the city was to begin. It would be a false signal, and the fools would charge into a heavily defended position without backup. Caught between the old guardians and the new hunters, the Acriend would be crushed before any of their leaders knew what was happening.

The sound of the large cannons grew louder as they neared the outer perimeter of the Acriend army. Jiirtik came over a rise and stopped, signaling his men to wait as the rest of their forces moved into position. Time to survey the enemy before proceeding. He adjusted his goggles, switching between multiple spectrums to fully scan what they were up against.

From his vantage, he spied at least four dozen heavy artillery units spread out in a thin line only moderately guarded by regular troops. Many of the large weapons were only manned by non-Acriend aliens, slaves enlisted to fight the Acriend battles. They were smaller in size, easily dispatched. As predicted, the weakest links in the Acriend forces were their rear echelon, now unprotected with an enormous force of hunters arrayed against it.

Jiirtik eyed the distant spiral of the city walls, its protective field still intact. The Acriend knew better than to fire upon the city proper, the wall’s design and force fields could withstand powerful ordinance, even nuclear attacks. The Acriend artillery was simply softening the defenses around the city, weakening the old guardians to penetrate and swarm the great hive.

On his left, his squad mate relayed the signal for readiness, and he dutifully passed it down his right line, the message continuing in a long succession of units ready for the attack. From his vantage, he couldn’t see any sizable obstacle keeping them from completing their mission. Once inside the Acriend forces, they wouldn’t stop. They would mercilessly move inward, killing all in their path until their foe was vanquished.

At the same time, a swarm of new aerial fighters manned by hunters would launch from the city, their mission to destroy or heavily cripple the fleet overhead. It was a bold move by the Trilliu, and the leaders had been reluctant to commit so many of their resources to a single battle. But they had been convinced it was necessary, trusting the very soldiers they now feared. If they won, the rise of the hunters would be ensured.

He spotted the unit to his left moving out towards the enemy and he signaled his own troops to move out slowly. They crept along the ground on all six legs, their stealth and camouflage hiding them from all but thermal scanners. But even those would be hard pressed to recognize them against the background radiation, their bodies able to shift heat to their underside, presenting a colder, more ambient temperature above. To the casual observer, the ground would shimmer and move, but could easily be discounted as ambient temperature fluctuations.

They were within a hundred meters of one of the big cannons, its enormous size and sound an obstacle to the Acriend recognizing there was a threat. He held his troops steady as a lone soldier briefly turned to survey the landscape behind the big gun. But his eyes were not adequate to peer beneath the veil of camouflage hiding a swarm of enemy. The reckless soldier would be the first to die.

The shaggy soldier turned back to watch the gun crew continue firing towards the distant city, and Jiirtik gave his signal. Two of his troops moved out in a flash, covering the hundred meters in seconds. He and the others moved out behind them, their mission to disable the gun crew while the others took out the guards.

As he came upon the massive gun, he latched his strong arms onto the cold metal and lifted his body up to the main control platform. His other troops moved around the base of the gun to disable the workers feeding shells into the monstrosity. He climbed quickly, his multitude of grasping digits easily finding perches on the bulky weapon. He covered the final few meters and leapt onto the main controller’s platform, two aliens startled by his sudden appearance.

Before they could signal anyone there was trouble, he sprayed his caustic chemicals into their faces, the mixture dissolving their bodies while strangling their screams. Within seconds they lay lifeless on the grate, the chemicals leeching their brains through the deformity created in their faces. This was yet another weapon the hunters had at their disposal, a powerful spray of chemicals easily fired nearly ten meters with deadly accuracy. The leaders didn’t know about this ability either.

The gun was silenced, and Jiirtik moved to the ground to see how the rest of the assault had faired. He’d heard only a few shots of small arms fire from some of the guards, but most had been disabled before they even knew what hit them. Hunters were not as large as a full grown Acriend, but their strength was nearly on par. But a chemical arsenal mixed with a lethal combination of blades, small sidearms, and lightning speed made the hunters a serious threat to any Acriend soldier. Teamwork was what made the hunters lethal.

Jiirtik eyed the dismembered remains of one of the Acriend soldiers, his troops using nothing more than their speed and strength to take him out before he knew they were there. He was satisfied with the initial assault and signaled his men to continue moving inwards, squeezing the Acriend army between the hunters and the old guards. They moved onto all six limbs once more, stealthily making their way towards the distant spiral city. The artillery was silent now, and the foolish Acriend would launch their final invasion in their final moments of life.

As Jiirtik covered the distance between the artillery and the Acriend troops, he was excited to watch swarms of fighters launch through special bays installed within the city walls. Thousands poured forth, their powerful engines lifting them into space, signaling doom for the Acriend fleet as they ushered in the rise of the hunters.

This Science Fiction short story is a lead-up to the book titled, Onyalum Wars. The book is part of the Science Fiction Onyalum Series written by NB VanYoos.

Shreshlin remained quiet as distant crunching signaled the approach of his enemy. The metallic sound of their voices caused him to tense as he relived past battles and injuries, but he remained still, the ruse critical to his mission’s success. In these final moments of life, he recalled the voices of the doctors and leaders who had urged him to sacrifice so much in the hopes of freeing his people from the tyranny they had suffered for so long.

“We don’t know why they are here or what they hope to gain!” The main leader had insisted, his emphasis on gain ironic.

“Indeed,” another officer agreed, “we have lost many, and still they remain elusive and mysterious.” His voice insisted desperate measures were required. Shreshlin would be their desperate measures.

The main leader had leaned close, his breath thick with liquor. “Soldier, we cannot afford to lose anymore. We must stop them now, before everything we hold sacred is forever lost.”

Their fear had been a wakeup call, and it steeled Shreshlin’s resolve to strike against his oppressors, the personal cost irrelevant in the face of such indomitable odds. He would make the sacrifice, sparing his world the fate of countless others that had succumbed to the insect horde.

His mind wandered back to the present as his targets surrounded him, their grating voices prickling his nerves while he maintained the ruse. He felt the insect soldiers moving bodies as they sorted the dead from the unconscious, saving the living as sustenance for their hive. But Shreshlin would change that, providing them a gift that would change the course of their occupation of his world.

“Your legs were too badly damaged, son.” The doctor had told him after his unit had been overrun by the insect army. He and two others were the only survivors. “We had to amputate or you would have died!”

At the time, he had felt the ghostly presence of those lost limbs, the words of the doctor not meshing with his sense of reality. But seeing the stumps brought the message home with a newfound vengeance he nursed for the enemy that had denied him his proper life. A life of love, children, and a future that didn’t include a wheelchair.

Love. He would never know anything more than the love of his family and friends. He would never know the intimate touch of a woman, the warmth of their shared bond, and the pleasures of their shared bed. He would forever be a virgin, sacrificing himself to the gods of war, hoping his meager offering would turn the tides of their fortune.

He settled his mind as he felt the dead body above him moved to the side. Alien appendages gently lifted him, their voices indicating he lived. His dead weight was thrown onto a hover-cart with the rest of the meat harvested from a unit that was sacrificed for his mission. They hadn’t even known what was happening, their unit forced to advance against an impossible foe with overwhelming strength.

He had been added to their unit at the last minute, his disability hidden inside his exoskeleton armor. His orders were simple: advance with the unit, survive, and await capture. At the time, it had seemed easy, but the reality had been far worse when the unit came under heavy fire. It took every ounce of energy to remain breathing during that onslaught, and he watched in horror as so many were easily felled. During the unit’s final moments of valor, he had covered himself with the bodies of those that had fought beside him, whispering a prayer as he lifted their lifeless forms to hide his own. His death served a higher purpose.

The inner voices replayed his final days as the cart moved on to the next pile of dead. “Why, son? Why must you fight after losing your legs?” His mother’s voice barely held back tears as he told her of his final mission. Though he hadn’t revealed the details, she understood he wouldn’t return.

“Mom, you know I can’t sit by while more are killed or captured by those abominations!” The tears streamed down his face, but the anger in his voice had been real. “I can’t let you and everyone else in this town be overrun by those mindless monsters!”

She’d taken him in her arms, both sobbing as they remembered the losses they’d suffered at the hands of the insects. Srilin, his older brother, had been the first to die, the early battles clearly indicating the superiority of the insect forces. His father had been next, refusing to stay at home while his world and everyone he’d loved was taken over by aliens. He’d lasted longer than Srilin, returning several times to recount the battles to Shreshlin when his mother was not in the room.

When the letter had come to the house announcing his death, Shreshlin had enlisted that day, forcing his mother to sign the age waiver. She had cried then, too, her tears forming pools of grief on the table as she signed her last child’s death sentence. But she knew what was at stake, and she would not hold him back from duty.

The cart stopped one last time, and Shreslin felt another tear stain his cheek as he relived that final farewell to family and friends. Many hadn’t understood his need to enlist so young, but then, they hadn’t lost so much. He recounted his father’s tales of the enemy, his friends listening silently as they tried to imagine such creatures existed. But now, the broadcasts were open and candid, no longer hiding the reality facing their world. The invasion was complete, the insect city a dark sentinel in the distance, swarms pouring forth in sickening raids to consume the people of this planet.

Shreshlin wouldn’t have it. He’d told his friends he wouldn’t remain passive while innocent lives were torn apart by the plague sweeping over their land. After that, many had joined, their own families dismayed yet proud of their young sacrifice. Most never returned, alive or dead.

His childhood friend, Litishin, had attended training with him, those weeks passing rapidly as they learned everything their world knew about war. He had trained hard, with purpose, and was rewarded with rank even so young and inexperienced. The military’s ranks were being decimated, and anyone showing aptitude to lead was quickly promoted to lead others into battle. And Shreshlin had been one of those leading the charge.

But more often than not, he led them to death, his squads cut down by the merciless insects, their technology and weapons too great when paired with their size and strength. They were impossible to defeat with conventional warfare, and so unusual measures were being employed. His sacrifice might save millions, and that filled him with renewed purpose as the cart hovered across the decimated landscape towards their hive.

He felt a transition as the air became antiseptic and cool. He was inside and his sacred moment drew near. He recalled the briefing of what to expect, the information barely discovered from a soldier who had miraculously escaped during a rare raid on the city itself.

“My injuries had been mostly superficial.” The sergeant had spoken in a cold, clinical voice as he recounted the grotesque processing of live prisoners. “The monsters had repaired me before beginning the processing.” The poor man had witnessed his unit undergo the sickening preparation, and Shreshlin was amazed he could retell the story without breaking down.

“After I was healed and cleaned, I was stripped of all clothing and attached to a rack that carried me into the main processing center.” He voice was precise and distant as he relived the gruesome experience. “Other racks around me were filled with men from my unit, most upside down with their feet shackled to a chain driven line moving us into position.” He paused, the first sign Shreshlin had seen that the experience haunted him. “Thankfully, most were unconscious.”

“I was opposite the men, watching in horror as each was moved into position and processed.” His voice had caught, and Shreshlin had thought he would finally break. But he had swallowed hard before resuming the tale. “After being sprayed with powerful disinfectants, they were positioned beneath a device of needles and hoses. They injected them with an orange substance, the effect immediately causing spasms until the body finally succumbed to the poison. But the needles would not stop, the hoses filling their bodies until they bloated like a balloon, their eyes turning a ghostly white as they bulged from their sockets!”

Now the retelling took its toll, and Shreshlin had been mesmerized by the horrific process that turned ordinary men into food for the hive.

“Finally, their bloated corpses were moved onward, probably into storage.” The sergeant had stopped, his eyes downcast. “Thank you for doing this.” The man’s gratitude had shook Shreshlin, especially after the tight embrace that took his breath away.

Shreshlin felt his cart stop and bodies removed. He was lifted off the cart and placed on a table, his armor and clothing beginning to be stripped from him with surgical precision. His muscles wanted to react, wanted to flee the horror that he knew awaited, but he had taken the muscle relaxant as ordered, his lifeless form appearing unconscious. He wanted to open his eyes, sneak a peek at the monsters who were preparing his unit for dinner, but he remained still, his eyes shut against the ministrations of his captors.

Their voices were like a wire brush against a sheet of steel, and anger surfaced as he imagined them treating the men like meat in a butcher shop. He quickly ran through the process he was to follow, the insect’s discovery of his missing legs soon to occur. The instructions were simple, he only hoped he had enough strength to execute them.

He felt his pants being removed, and the insects began screeching to each other as they spotted the unusual limbs beneath the special, lead-lined cloth. Like gray columns of steel, his legs were made from a metallic substance of particularly high density. He hadn’t really understood when the process had been explained to him, but the metal had properties that could be catastrophic when brought together in sufficient quantity.

Each limb had been carefully machined, the weight nearly impossible for him to move without the exoskeleton. He felt heat radiating from the smooth surface as light and sparks formed between his legs when the two, exposed masses came into close proximity without proper shielding. The final step was simple: Ignite the shaped charges on either side of each leg, slamming the false limbs into each other, creating a critical mass.

The insects clamored as alarms rang through the facility, signaling others of the danger facing their city. Their arrogance and greed had unwittingly brought the destruction into their hive, and like a birthday present, they had opened the gift wrapped device without first identifying if it were man or weapon. It was the last mistake they would ever make.

He barely could move his arms as he opened his eyes to see his enemy before they were obliterated. He inched his fingers down to the center of his waist where the trigger was hidden inside a false waist attaching his metallic legs to his body. He clutched the small trigger with his forefinger and hesitated. The moment slowed as he realized his destiny was about to unfold just as his life ended.

He wanted to say something, to spit in their faces and laugh at their folly. But nothing came to him. He heard the screech of their voices as soldiers were dispatched to avert the logical conclusion. He couldn’t fail now, not when he was so close to success. He opened his mouth slowly, the relaxant making the movement slow and difficult.

“Eat this!” He slurred as soldiers grabbed for his hand.

But they were too late, and the explosion that tore Shreshlin into a million pieces was followed by another that lit the horizon like a new sun dawning.