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A little confused, but willing to try it, ‘Lavuree nodded his acceptance of the orders. He likely felt as poorly as ‘Lygotee did right then, and personally the Commander couldn’t blame him. He had a hole in him right next to a major artery and it was a miracle the thing hadn’t been perforated. He was just centimeters from bleeding out. ‘Lygotee left the Elite where he had found him to begin with and returned to his own respective place, sliding down the wall to ease his own descent to the floor. Once down, and seated where he had been after the dual-blast had cleared, ‘Lygotee realized he had encountered a double-edged sword. Now he was down… and he wasn’t going to be rising again.
He pressed a hole in his thigh closed while he waited for their prey to arrive, wondering what he had in mind. Shoot them? Word was one of them had swiped a shield generator. Two had been confirmed as having Jackal arm-shields. Unggoy were fragile, as far as how much plasma fire they could take went. These Unggoy, though… a feral smile crept onto his withered-up features despite the pain that had curled them.
These Unggoy would never see him coming, and would never know what hit them.
‘Lygotee let his eyes rest while he listened to the splash and hiss of the plasma, the choking cries of the Grunts unlucky enough to be hit by some, and the shouts and insults from those pursuing them; One voice he recognized, as it rang loud and clear to his position; “You are a traitor to your race!”
“Down in front!” A Grunt responded.
“Grenade!” The commander Elite called, and shortly after came the explosion to mark the truth in their words.
“Holy light!” Another Elite shouted, but this time the response was more gratifying-
“Ahhh!” The Unggoy wailed. “Get it off me!” boom!
At the corner, the Grunts made a stand since they had more cover, but after saturating their antagonist’s position with more grenades- quite a number of them, ‘Lygotee mused- they all turned to flee towards his direction. He rather anticipated them to hesitate long enough to confirm his team was neutralized, but all the passing Grunts did was look at them after the first glance.
“I have a bad feeling about this…” The Unggoy in the back mentioned.
It was difficult not to smile at the comment.
“Keep up.” A comrade told him. ‘Lygotee sat forward when the last one had turned his back, and touched a primed grenade too his air tank as he walked away. The Grunt trod a good distance, before noticing he was doomed, but by then the fuse was pretty much spent. Still, he managed to panic and dart for his fellows before it detonated, blowing them all out in all directions from the non-protective sides of their filched shields. Their dying screams were the most satisfying sound ‘Lygotee had ever heard, but he realized after all was quiet again that the Unggoy had somehow failed to note the same thing he had; In his master plan, which at that point he wondered how it had worked due to the nature of the flaw, he had forgotten to hide the body of the Grunt that had done his team a number.
How had the other Grunts also fail to notice? It seemed rather unlikely that they assumed he had been killed by being too close to his own grenade volley, as his carcass’s only damage was the severance of head from shoulders. He bore no burns or flak at all.
‘Lygotee looked at ‘Pohamee, who was staring after the blast mark down the hall where all the Unggoy had blown up. “You have done well, brothers.” ‘Lygotee mentioned, gaining their attention. ‘Lavuree lifted his head, to see his Commander, but neither said anything. By the look on his face, though, ‘Lygotee knew he needed to get them both to care quickly if he hoped to have either battle-worthy any time soon.
‘Lavuree relaxed onto the floor again, with what sounded like a held breath released, right before the team that had been pushing the Grunts down their direction came upon them. ‘Lygotee couldn’t find the strength to raise his head, and was grateful he wasn’t lying mostly prone like ‘Lavuree was, but rather sat up against the wall, so he really wouldn’t need to. The Elite at the fore of the newly arrived team looked over the mess, but he had bad senses or something, as the one he knelt beside happened to be ‘Obaulee. Seeing the warrior was dead, he assumed the rest- who weren’t but looked the part- were, too. Looking up at a fellow Elite past a Jackal, he growled something ‘Lygotee didn’t catch before saying, “Curses upon these traitors. Go and make sure none are alive- they must pay for the blood they have spilled.”
The Elite moved down the hall with four Jackals and two Grunts, leaving the Commander where he was. ‘Lygotee caught him looking in his direction, and smiled wanly. “We persist where we may, brother.”
The motion he used to close the gap between them seemed more akin to a hop- he rose, moved, and knelt again, this time beside ‘Lygotee. “What happened here?”
“I was afflicted with a measure of bad judgment, and we were ambushed.”
“Who slew the Grunts?”
“We did.” ‘Lygotee answered. “After the first fight, we were too badly weakened to face them on our feet so we decided to use our predicament to trick them as they tricked us. It worked.”
“I see.” He glanced at ‘Pohamee, and noticed his gaze was returned. “How many are only pretending to have fallen?”
“Unfortunately, only us three. ‘Obaulee is truly dead, and I do not regret anything more than I do that fact.”
The Elite looked at him again. “Three?”
“‘Lavuree lives still.”
“Get your team to the medical ward, Commander, before all of you expire needlessly after the fact.” He stood, and met his own team down the hall, where the rent bodies of the renegade Grunts were getting holes burned through them from plasma fire. It was a waste of ammo for some of them, but one actually squeaked, so it proved a necessary measure after all.
‘Lygotee leaned to the side, and rested his palms on the floor to try to gain something resembling upright. At first he doubted he would succeed, but with a little determination he did actually manage to get to his knees. From there he could reach the toggle on the wall, and with this he was able to pull himself the rest of the way up. He spent some time resting there to gain a measure of his strength before moving to ‘Pohamee to pry the Elite from the floor as well. ‘Pohamee, though wounded in more places than ‘Lygotee, wound up being the one to pull ‘Lavuree aright, and between the three of them, they were able to take ‘Obaulee with them when they began the slow trek to the med-ward.
Eventually, somewhere along the way, their luck would end, and the spree would be over, leaving the team less than operable. ‘Lygotee carried ‘Obaulee’s deadweight like a burden he could never put down. His remaining Elites didn’t need to be told to recognize this.
Chapter One, part two:
1822 hours; Central Command Station Radiant.
Enin ‘Lygotee paced the hall with a mood bordering on angered impatience. He had been here for more than an hour, and his patience had worn thin. ‘Pohamee and ‘Lavuree were both in improved conditions, and resting in their personal quarters. He had been trying to summon the attention of the Prophet that was passing through the area, though, leaving no room for such activity.
It wasn’t that he didn’t find being blown to hell exhausting, he just needed to address an issue he knew would never be taken care of unless the Prophets dictated it so. And it had gone from a mild annoyance to a pressing problem. ‘Lygotee paused to consider the color of the wall beside him, but in the end it didn’t mean anything- the whole station was the exact same shade, plus or minus a few accessories to the bulkheads. Through a force-field extension, he could see a cruiser drifting into the docking rings, and briefly wondered who was aboard, but he doubted he would meet any of them unless they sought him out.
Something was changing- he didn’t like it, and didn’t know what it was, but it was happening nonetheless. Finally, the door to the chamber where the Prophet of Mercy had chosen to reside while aboard the Radiant slid open, and a chunky brute walked out. He curled his lip at ‘Lygotee, who growled in reply. Tensions between the two races had increased, but tolerance seemed to hold, so there was no outright fighting… yet.
‘Lygotee had learned to trust his gut, though, and his gut was telling him to prepare for that to be among the changes happening around him. He didn’t expect it would become much more than the Grunts’ complaints had been, though, and gave it little thought. When he stepped through the door, a panoramic view of the stars and the ships blotting them out in places around the Station’s upper quarter came into sight, framing the Prophet that hung in his floater chair in front of the window.
‘Lygotee approached, since the Prophet’s back was turned, wondering how he could make his case without sounding like an idiot. When he was within twenty paces, the Prophet turned in place, and looked down at him, so he dropped to a knee and bent his head. “Hail, Prophet.”
“Rise, Commander.” Mercy answered. When ‘Lygotee was again upright, he tilted his long spindly neck so his head drifted to the side. The little holographic symbol of the Sacred Ring projected from his headdress twinkled oddly as a star through the window became visible through one edge of it. “I am told you have a complaint you believe is worth the attention of the Prophets?”
“I do, Prophet.” ‘Lygotee answered.
“Voice it, then, and I shall decide if it truly merits our attention.”
[Edited on 3/9/2007]