Ambassador of War

Chapter 8

They filed out of the airlock behind their Queen, forfeiting their chance of a free life for instead a death filled with blood and glory. As they cleared the bridge and the edge of the pit, they spread out, fanning across the town in small fireteams – sixteen warriors, sworn to lay down their lives for the people frozen aboard the Exodus, and the woman they followed into battle.

They had needed little explanation – the Protectorate were coming to kill their people: they had to hold the line. Whether it be for ten minutes or ten hours, they would hold that line until they breathed their last, and for not a second less.

They knew there was no chance of survival. They knew the cost.

They also knew that they would be taking Protectorate soldiers with them. For most of them, that was enough.

With her brother having gone with one of the men, Malar stood alone, watching the Protectorate come towards them with defiance in her eyes. She saw them start to spread, to cover the whole front; easily forty troops, too many for them to hope to beat.

We're not here to beat them, she reminded herself.

She saw the silver helmet, near identical to her own, which marked their leader from the rest. Taking in the image of him, his crown, his smooth, tan-coloured armour and his confident march, she felt an insatiable rage burn in her gut.

This was the one who ordered the enslavement of an innocent world. This was the one who led the slaughter of her people, people who had done nothing except defy his outdated views.

This was the one who murdered her son.

She freed the electron manipulator from her belt, turning it to the highest setting.

I may not survive today, she thought. I won't let you.

***

Xenon crouched behind a hut to the left of the small road, holding his revolver out in both hands, barrel angled to the ground and ready to be snapped into firing position at a moment's notice. The soldier with him stood to his side, aiming around the corner, over his head. In the distance, they heard the advancing enemy, and the Dark Ambassador Commander tightened his grip on the revolver, shifting slightly on the balls of his feet in anticipation of the coming battle.

"Do not wait for them to fire," he told his fellow commando. "The more we strike down first, the better."

"Yes, sir."

***

"Sir, should we deal with them?"

The High Ambassador eyed the single Dark who stood far down the road in a fighting stance, and his eyes thinned into slits as he realised who he was facing.

"No," he replied. "That is their Queen – I'll kill her, personally. Spread out, hunt them all down. Not a single traitor leaves here alive, understood?"

"Yes, sir." The soldiers began to fan out, splitting into smaller squads to work their way through the town, leaving the High Ambassador to face his enemy alone.

His manipulator sparking into life, lightning dancing along its length, the leader of the Protectorate began his slow march towards his opponent, holding his weapon out towards her. He saw her raise her own; the acceptance of his challenge, the agreement to duel one on one to the death.

To your death, he thought.

Then, he charged.

***

The first shots echoed across the desert landscape, and Xenon brought his aim up, lining the sights to the horizon. "Steady," he warned his wingman, even as his own body yearned to burst out, to actively hunt his enemy down and slaughter them like the pests they were. He held back – this was no raid. Their role was that of defender, and the defender used their home turf to their advantage.

As the first Protectorate commando came around the corner, Xenon flicked his aim down and fired. The heavy bullet blew the soldier's foot apart, and they went down screaming before Xenon's backup finished the job with a round to the head. The next to come around fired off a couple of rounds, quickly, and Xenon ducked as the shots shattered the wooden post beside him, splinters crashing against his helmet and tearing at his flesh.

Behind him, the Dark commando threw a volley down range, each gunshot ringing in Xenon's ears as he recovered his aim, launching his own salvo. The Protectorate soldiers, silhouettes in the cloud of gun-smoke, scattered, running to find cover. He heard cartridges falling to the ground, as his commando reloaded his spent revolver, sliding the final round into place and clicking the weapon shut. Xenon directed him to break cover, move to the other side of the road – the soldier complied, firing as he ran.

The smoke lifted slightly, and Xenon saw a commando aiming around cover. He fired a shot towards them, saw it gouge out a chunk of their shoulder plate, the soldier ducking back around reflexively. The Dark commander broke his revolver open, the dead shells flying out of the cylinder; he quickly filled the chambers with fresh ammunition, then closed the gun back up in time to respond to the commando's next attempt to attack.

***

Zion sat in the Edge's pilot's chair, the first time it had been occupied since its last pilot had brought it to land with her last breaths. He read the screens that surrounded him, showing a full tank of fuel and enough ammunition to last this battle at least. He hoped they wouldn't have to launch any missiles, that they would be able to escort the Edge and dock without the autocannons speaking with blazing tongues.

It would be a miracle if that happens, he reminded himself. They will come.

"Exodus," he hailed the larger ship, "how go preparations?"

"The last have been frozen. We'll be initiating take-off sequence shortly."

"Good." He changed to a ship-wide channel. "Right, the Exodus will be beginning their take off sequence in short order. Get buckled up, ladies and gentlemen; we'll be blasting off as soon as our charge is go."

***

Malar threw the first attack, a slice that came from her right and forced the High Ambassador to twist his body to catch it. They broke contact, and he swept his weapon back around, a downwards cut that she dodged, barely, a few sparks dancing briefly onto her armour.

She brought her blade down onto his, pulling it so the tip was in contact, drawing the lightning arc along her weapon before trying to lever her blade into his body. He anticipated this, pushing his blade along hers, cutting the arc down before it could burn into his arm. He drew away again, swinging his manipulator around, grazing the Queen's chin as the blade broke free, the electric bolts instantly running its length again.

Malar grunted, fighting the urge to grasp her face in pain, forcing herself to focus as her opponent launched his next move, catching the strike aimed at her head. She pulled his sword wide, then broke the contact with a flick of her wrist, leaving him open for her counterstrike that clipped his elbow, burning through the flesh.

He withdrew, and she pushed her advantage, forcing him to retreat further. She landed another hit, another cauterised laceration on his arm that caused him to flinch, his blade coming wide.

As she went for another strike, he swung his blade around, and she felt a blinding pain in her abdomen. She clutched the wound, staggering back, and when she pulled her hand away it was covered in blood.