The Withered Land: Dragons and Marauders

Dragons and Marauders, Part Sixteen

The deck shook and rolled as an unstoppable concussive wave forced its normally rigid surface to roll and undulate, rocking the entirety of the facility. The main structure shuddered and groaned and glass shattered, falling in giant scythe-shaped shards. On the promenade deck inside Ureeon, a frenzied scene of panic and mayhem played out as ion-packet tracer fire suddenly streamed down upon the facility's patrons from the upper mezzanine and from the doorways to the external catwalks. Victims of the tracer fire were immolated on impact, leaving only a liquid smear of smoking scarlet mush to fall upon the floor after they were hit. It wasn't until after the second set of thundering explosions rocked the mechanized dockyard that the screaming started in earnest.

Ureeon was under attack. From within.

A trio of harried naval air sailors sped past Baron Farhoon just as the Dockmaster emerged from inside his private offices. The wildly running men were disheveled, their attention focused on what was happening some two stories above them, and they fumbled clumsily with their side arms as they ineffectually defended themselves. The floor a dozen steps in front of them suddenly flashed with green-white fire and the metal surface erupted upwards in an explosion, launching them into the air and igniting their flesh, throwing them over the protective, waist-high railing. Farhoon grimaced and narrowed his eyes against the glare from another series of ionic force-bolts and lunged across the mezzanine's unprotected open space above the central promenade, his own bolt-pistol drawn, seeking targets.

Who would dare do such a thing as this, he wondered angrily. Ureeon Base was universally recognized and agreed upon as neutral territory...

There was a sudden whoosh of displaced air and then an immediate concussive roar as an explosive projectile of some sort was launched nearby from a hand-carried mobile launcher. A tongue of scarlet flame streaked across the space from one side of the towering rotunda over the promenade to the other, impacting an entry arch on the ground story of the facility, and blew up spectacularly. A rolling wall of dark, tarry smoke issued from the impact crater.

Traytheq Farhoon followed the path of the projectile back to its point of origin and saw who had fired it. It was one of the mercenary Xar'queyeks who'd docked only a few hours ago. With a hand held to his helmet's earguard, he appeared to be communicating with another member of his group on some private internal transmission frequency. It was quickly obvious that the bounty-hunting commando group were engaged in a hostile military assault on the facility. Someone somewhere had secretly employed Layvis Kroule and his hard-bitten, ragtag team to take out the dockyard.

A sudden hornet's swarm of armor-piercing needle flechettes swept past Farhoon and he stumbled as he threw himself to the floor, ducking under the lethal fusillade. He landed heavily on one knee and cursed bitterly as he tried to right himself, felt his leg give out, and then struggled again to stand unsteadily, grasping the mezzanine's railing. He still managed to hold onto his gun and took a futile moment to try to lock onto a target. No luck. The mercenaries were organized and moving too quickly from one position to another, using the facility's strange, upright nautilus-shell architecture to provide themselves cover from return fire.

The shuffle of boots on the floor, a softly-pitched voice, behind him, calling his name... Farhoon dropped painfully into a crouch and whirled around, his gun arm extended.

Rae'vynn Wyyng. She was under the corridor arch, her back against the cracked surface of the inner wall, a Kryugen thermalwave pulse- rifle cradled in her arms, her right eye behind the targeting sight, the index finger of her gloved right-hand in front of the trigger.

"Stop staring and get over here, old man," she hissed impatiently. The urgency in her hardened voice was colored by the emotional intensity of her combat instincts. Her attention through the rifle's targeting scope was well past the Baron's position as she swept the vicinity for hostiles.