“Space team, disengage and evacuate as many people as you can from
the north coast!” The base was frantic, with Trexor, Fairns and the
other generals yelling commands to other military units across Raan;
many were beginning some sort of evacuation, but where was safe?
“Send them to Ketin.” Ketin was a smaller city than Tapal, but it
had not been targeted by the Xaosians yet. Trexor put the com-unit
down, before turning to Fairns. “How bad are the fires?”
Fairns shook his head. “The worst glimpse of hell that a man should
ever see.”
“What about Raan? Could it...” Trexor's words caught in his
throat. “Could what Xaos said be right?” Looking around, he
lowered his voice and said, “Could Raan be destroyed?”
Fairns flexed his fingers nervously, and they cracked like mini
explosions. “Come with me.”
Trexor followed him through the base. All around were injured
personnel, unable to go anywhere else. Doctors were with them, but
they could not keep up with the demand. The able personnel were
rushing around, gathering supplies, before booting up ancient
Dropships. The Dropships were deemed unnecessary in Tapal, due to
both the peacetime and the apparent deterrent of the military-base.
But now, they would aid in the evacuation effort. Trexor watched as
they rose into the air, whining as they did so.
Eventually, Fairns led Trexor into a small room, where three men sat
at a screen; Irinian, judging by their shimmering skin. Upon hearing
the door open, one man stood up clumsily and saluted. “Admiral
Fairns, sir!”
“Stand down.” Fairns seemed annoyed at the young man's sign of
respect. “What's the situation?”
“Worse than we thought, Admiral.” The man who spoke pointed at
the screen. On the screen was a geological cross-section of Raan,
showing the Sea of Oil at the very top. “As you can see in this
simulation,” he pressed a button on the screen's console and the
oil lit up in flames, “as this part the Sea of Oil ignites, it soon
spreads and the entire sea is aflame.” He looked at Fairns and
Trexor, who nodded slowly. He pointed at a small black crack which
ran from the Sea of Oil to deep in the planet's core. “It's this
fissure which is the problem; yes, it stops seismic activity across
the planet, and I thank the Adjeti for thinking of that idea, but if
the flames spread into there, it could, and I stress, could, cause a
chain reaction and ignite the inner layers of the planet.”
“And how would that affect us?” Fairns was flexing his fingers
again.
The man faltered, so the silent one answered, “We don't know.”
“You don't know?” Trexor's growl put a spark of fear in the
Irinians' eyes. “I want an idea, something! What. Could. Happen?”
“Worst case scenario? The planet ignites and everything on it
dies.” Trexor felt his face fall as a sudden cold rushed through
him.
“And the best-case?” Fairns asked, voice wavering.
“A few minor earthquakes.” The Irinian smiled as he said so, as
if he had delivered good news.
Trexor grabbed the Irinian by the throat and raised him off the
ground. The other two retreated to the side. “Wipe that smile off
your face, you little shit. Even one quake could level this city;
those skyscrapers were built for convenience, not to withstand
disaster.” The Irinian fell to the ground, clutching his throat as
Trexor released him. “Fairns, what do we do?” Trexor's face fell,
eyes and mouth drooping as he realised the hopelessness of the
situation.
“More evacuations seems like the only cause of action.” Fairns
cracked his knuckles again, wincing this time. “But we don't have
the resources.”
“Then the people will have to make do with an old method.” Trexor
marched out of the small room and into the bustling command hub.
Clapping his hands to get attention, he roared to the crowd, “You
lot! Get your arses in gear! Sound the alarms, we need everyone
evacuated and onto the farms outside the city! We have reports that
the buildings could collapse at any point; we need to save as many
people as possible. Now, go!”
*
The alarms rang and rang and rang through the day. Soldiers ran,
kicking doors down and dragging families from their homes, seeming to
the unwitting eye like the invaders that had doomed their planet.
Trexor jogged towards a skyscraper unscathed by the Xaosian attack;
it was at the furthest northern edge of the city. All around, curses
and slurs were written boldly in once-bright paint; a stain on even
this part of the city. As his eyes darted subconsciously around, he
remembered the last time he had been this far north. He rubbed a hand
over his back and winced; the pain had never went away and never
will: part of the knife's blade was jammed into his right lung;
removing it could kill him. Instead, Trexor adopted to have an
artificial expansion to his lung, effectively replacing the damaged
section. He hated this place. Glass cracked underfoot, bricks
clattered away from his footfalls and the needles and knives strewn
around would have pierced his foot, had it not been for the
steel-soled boots.
One of those boots sent the atrium door of its hinges, and it
clattered to the floor. Inside, there was no light; the power for
this district was probably knocked out, or rerouted to the
military-base. “Torches on.” he said to the five other soldiers
with him. “Spread out; I'll take this floor, you can take the
others.” The ground floor was always the heaviest populated; to
give the skyscrapers some sort of stability, the ground floor acted
as a large base for the spire to sit atop. Once the others had gone
into the elevator shaft, Trexor heard them activate their climbing
gear; elevator shaft was the only way up.
Knocking on the first door, Trexor heard no reply. “Anyone home?”
No reply still, but a scratching sound instead. Frowning, Trexor went
to knock on the door again, and it fell backwards and onto the ground
with a dull thud, throwing up a small dust cloud. The torchlight
helped to illuminate a path ahead of him, and he saw a pile of boxes
stacked in a corner. Making sure no-one was looking, he inched
ever-closer to them; something about them felt wrong to him. After
clipping his torch onto his shoulder, he pulled the top one off of
the pile and opened it. Dozens of bags of white powder were inside,
each marked with a red feather. “Bloodhawks...” Trexor muttered
to himself; whoever lived there was evidently a high-ranking member
of the Bloodhawks, one of the three major gangs that operated in the
North.
Thud.
Trexor turned abruptly, drawing his pistol from its holster, setting
it to stun; no need for more killing today. “I know you're there,
now come on out.” He saw something shine in the kitchen-doorway and
lurched back just in time for a knife to slam into one of the boxes,
spilling the powder over the floor. Trexor backed behind a chair and
kept his gun pointed at the doorway.
“My quarrel is not with you.” His attacker spoke in a soft voice.
“In fact, all I have done is get rid of a criminal; you should be
thanking me.”
Trexor turned his light onto the speaker; tall, slim, bald, but there
was a faint scar which arced from his left ear to his nose. He stood,
and looked at the man. “Remember me?”
The man cocked his head and smiled. “Ah, General. I never forget a
face, and you put up...” he paused and stroked his scar, “more of
a fight than others.”
“And you failed your mission.” Trexor said bluntly; this man,
Trexor found out months after his attack, was a member of the
Assassins: a group of mercenaries for silent murders. This man was
Trem Naylar, one of the lower echelon members. “I still have part
of your knife in my shoulder, you know?”
Trem smirked and exhaled as if amused. “I don't like an unfinished
job.” He drew a small pistol from a holster on his thigh and fired
at Trexor.
The bullet barely missed Trexor's head as he jerked to the side.
Growling, Trexor drew his own sidearm and took a shot at where Trem
was, but he had vanished. Trexor cursed; letting an assassin out of
your sight was tantamount to suicide. Deciding it was useless, Trexor
put his gun away and drew his sword instead; a better defence against
a close-range attack, as there would be no point trying to defend
against a gunshot he can't hear. “What now?” Trexor called,
walking over to the door. “I could just walk away right now.”
No answer.
Trexor pushed the door closed. “But now we can't.”
“It's like you want me to finish the job.” Trem's voice echoed
round the room. “But I would like my blade back.”
A shadow leapt at Trexor, but he put his sword up in the way, and
forced Trem back, before kicking his feet out from beneath him. Trem
slashed with the knife, but it caught on Trexor's armour. Trexor
stamped on Trem's wrist, and the knife dropped to the ground. Pinning
him to the cold floor, Trexor hissed in his ear, “You want your
damn blade back?” Trem struggled, but Trexor twisted his arm around
until he gasped in pain. Sheathing his sword, Trexor used his
now-free hand to pick up the dropped knife. “A fine blade.” The
handle was golden – too heavy for real gold – and had indents in
for each of Trem's fingers. The silver spike emerging from the handle
was long and thin like a needle, and almost identical to the one
still inside Trexor.
Trem twisted his head around and saw Trexor examining the blade.
“What are you doing? If you're going to kill me, get on with it!”
Trexor poked Trem's shoulder with the tip of the blade, nicking the
skin slightly. A circle of red slowly formed where the skin was
cracked. “I won't kill you, you're defenceless.”
Trem smiled. “Even after I try and kill you twice, your honour
stops you? That is why we win, General; no regrets.”
“I said I wouldn't kill you.” Trexor slowly eased the blade into
Trem's shoulder. Blood began to build up, and Trem's eyes widened.
“General, no. Please.”
Trem screamed in pain as the blade stopped, hitting bone. Trexor hit
the blade with the side of his hand, snapping it in two. “Now you
can live as I have.” Discarding the knife, Trexor left the room and
felt nothing but a dullness within; none of the satisfaction he
thought that he would have after dealing with his demon.
A grating sound came from beneath him, and Trexor was thrown to the
floor. “Damn...” he muttered. A shelf dropped off of the wall
behind him, its contents clattering to the ground. Glass shattered a
photoframe fell from its hook. Trexor got up and ran outside, calling
for backup.
As he got outside, the grating sound echoed through the area once
again, and he flailed his arms to stay upright, but to no avail. When
he stood, he looked up to the sky and saw windows shattering, falling
glass shards. He dove out of the way, flinging his arms over his
head. Moving further away from the skyscraper, he saw that the very
top was rocking from side to side. “Get out of the building!” he
yelled into his com.
Bricks tumbled down from the building, shattering into dust and clay
as they met the floor. Smoke poured out of the ground floor as
damaged electric cables met burst gas pipes.
And amidst the smoke and debris, a dust cloud arose as the skyscraper
came rushing down to earth.
The quakes had begun.
