“I don’t think so. The Evermore doesn’t have weapons on board… the Pashier were pacifists,” Cuddy told him. Like his brother, he felt increasingly powerless.
Cuddy glanced out the window and noticed the surrounding darkening blue of the upper atmosphere. Soon they would be reaching outer space.
Now staring at the Viewscape with relief, they saw that the orb was getting the upper hand with the ongoing air battle. One after another, all of the incoming missiles were being destroyed.
“Get ’em… get ’em all!” Kyle cheered.
Cuddy smiled at his brother’s enthusiasm and also began to breathe a little easier. Noting they’d now entered space, he brought the ship into a low orbit.
“Um… what’s that, Cuddy?” Kyle asked.
Cuddy turned back to the Viewscape display—something was approaching the Revenge.
“Why doesn’t the orb just get away from there?” Kyle questioned.
“That Howsh ship’s got mechanical issues. The orb mentioned its one working drive was having problems,” Cuddy said.
It was now apparent that the object approaching the Revenge was not a singular thing but a huge foray of multiple missiles—certainly no less than one hundred.
Cuddy’s stomach sank. He whispered, “Come on, orb… just get away from them… do something!” He was aware the others had quietly crept back onto the bridge and were silently watching the Revenge too. No longer maneuvering this way and that, the ship no longer deployed countless plasma bolts to protect itself either. As the first incoming missiles descended upon their intended target, a bright flash at the center of the display indicated a tremendous explosion had occurred. And then nothing could be seen on the display. No missiles… and no Howsh spacecraft. The Revenge had been destroyed, the orb now… gone.
Cuddy slowly turned and stared at all the other stunned faces. No one spoke.
Finally, Brian broke the silence. “The flying robot thing… it’s destroyed, right?”
Cuddy nodded.
“And it was the intelligence behind everything, what you were trying to do… right?”
When no one uttered a word, Brian added, “You need to turn back. You do know that, don’t you? Take us back to the ranch and, with luck, nobody’s jacked with my car yet.”
“You’re a major tool, do you know that?” Tony said, leering at him.
“Look… you may not like what I’m saying, but at some level you know it’s true. I’m the oldest one here and have the most real-life experience. I make life-altering decisions on a daily basis, so it’s time now you let a grownup make the big decisions. I’m telling you, take us back to Earth.”
Cuddy shifted his eyes toward Jackie. Still focused on Brain, she seemed to be considering what he was saying, and he could see indecision in her eyes.
When Cuddy spoke, his words were barely audible. “I’m taking this ship to Primara. Neither you, nor anyone else, will get in my way of doing that. You chose to come along so you’re going to have to deal with it. Now get off my bridge… all of you!” Cuddy turned his back on Jackie and studied the console. He wondered if the orb was right—that possibly he already knew what was necessary for them to reach Primara. He honestly didn’t know. What he did know was that he already felt the orb’s loss. His thoughts turned to another… how can I do this alone, Tow?
Chapter 40
His official title was Lorgue Prime Eminence Norsh—but the standard, less formal way to address him was simply Lorgue Norsh. Currently, he was making his way forward, toward the Pintial’s command center. Normally, he’d stop and converse with officers and crewmembers along the way, but not today. Norsh was in a hurry, and also in a foul mood. He fumed thinking about the news he’d received only that morning—an interstellar dispatch, coming from a distant quadrant that typically was of little concern to the Howsh.
Lorgue Norsh entered the Howsh Marauder-Class star fighter’s command center. Like the spacecraft itself, the command center was voluminous. Norsh strode toward the principal dais—a raised section at the center of the command center—where only the most senior officers were permitted to enter. Norsh spotted the officer he was looking for off to the right of the dais—Sub-Forgue Molth, his second-in-command.
There were nearly sixty command-center deck officers present, and they nervously watched their principal commander make his way toward his first officer. Lorgue Norsh was an impressive sight. Like all those on board this Marauder-Class vessel, he appeared well manicured. His golden-colored body fur was trimmed down to a quarter of an inch in length. He wore a smart white uniform with an angled crimson sash that had row after row of ornate metals and ribbons—each symbolic of some past act of either valor or bravery in battle. Although Lorgue Norsh’s bearlike snout had turned silver, it was the only evidence of his advancing years. There was none other on board the Pintial, young or old, who could match the commanding officer’s capacity for close-quarter combat.
“Sub-Forgue Molth!” he said.
The first officer turned as the Howsh commander strode toward him. “Yes, Lorgue Norsh.” The lowly deck officer who had been conversing with Sub-Forgue Molth, lowered his head in submission and backed away.
Norsh towered over the smaller, slighter, Molth. Staring down at him, Norsh tried not to stare at a pinkish, mole-like growth between the Howsh officer’s eyes. Like a third unblinking eye, it had been growing—its overall mass ever-expanding over the past year. He was ready to order Molth to deal with it; get it removed or die trying. It was that distracting. That revolting.
“Who ordered the three scout ships into the Sol System? More importantly, who gave them permission to enter a primitive’s world’s atmosphere? To actually land there?” Norsh asked.
Sub-Forgue Molth exhibited the appropriate expression of confusion, mixed with dismay, and replied, “Scout vessels are intended for pursuit only… certainly not engagement.”
Molth was spouting the obvious and Norsh didn’t buy his act. He already knew that Molth had given the interstellar order. The real question was why? Crews manning the many thousands of Scout-Class vessels, dispatched throughout the galaxy, were one step above barbarians. Norsh had determined earlier that the filthy, ghastly beasts weren’t actually Howsh, but more like the cave dwellers seen on many of the worlds he’d come across over the decades. The ingrates defecated indiscriminately—anytime—anywhere! No, they didn’t have the necessary genetic makeup to string two thoughts together, let alone make war with other life forms. Clearly, Howsh Scout-Class vessels were good for one thing only—menial pursuit duties, and they were required to report back. Scout ships and their crews were disposable—trash.
“Unfortunately, their action will reflect poorly on my jurisdictional command. Something our High Eminence will have little tolerance for.”
Sub-Forgue Molth said, “I am immensely sorry, Lorgue Norsh… but there may be a silver lining to this turn of events.”
Norsh grunted, waiting for him to continue.
“We are already en-route to Primara. Destruction of that foul world is a forgone conclusion. What we do know is that the elusive Pashier spacecraft, the Evermore, has returned to space—is back on course, heading toward Primara. We will easily accomplish what three ineffectual Scout ships could not. Primara and the Evermore will soon come to their appropriate inevitable end—two problems solved.”
Lorgue Norsh thought about that. Sub-Forgue Molth was conveniently omitting the fact that the small fleet of Howsh Scouts, over the span of several years, had been decimated by an equal-sized fleet of fleeing Pashier ships, ones that were, for the most part, defenseless. Decimated not by reciprocal acts of violence, but by other means—most of which seemed to have stemmed from telekinetic acts—resulting in mechanical sabotage, often leaving Howsh ships adrift in space. The last Pashier—the one called Tow—had been far more resourceful than ever thought possible. Especially being the product of an inferior race. It was generally assumed that the heritage pod too had survived, which was unacceptable. Admirable as it was that Tow managed to evade the Scout ships over vast distances of the cosmos. Yes, Tow was certainly worthy of admiration, but it didn’t change the fact that his destiny would follow that of his world, Mahli, and his fellow Pashier compatriots, in destruction and death.