Chapter 21: Things Get Worse

I ran between the Golden Dragon’s legs and stood at its left foot, which was big enough to cover two city blocks. The Golden Dragon seemed preoccupied creating a miniature sun in its hands, so it hardly even noticed me. I had no idea what I was doing, but I figured the beast was intelligent like its daughter, so that meant that it could probably communicate. Shouting as loud as I could, I called out to the Dragon. It did not hear me at first, so I did the stupidest thing that I had ever done in my life ... I kicked the Golden Dragon’s gigantic toe. That got its attention.

“Take us back,” demanded Éclair for like the umpteenth time.

“No,” repeated Rachel.

“Take us back right now!” screamed Éclair, becoming hysterical as she tossed back and forth in her restraints.

“No,” said Rachel dispassionately.

“If you won’t take us back, then let me go by myself,” ordered Éclair.

“No,” replied Rachel as stoic as ever.

Éclair sat in the co-pilot’s seat with her hands and feet bound with blue-glowing suppressant ropes that Thisimius had stored in his tool kit. On any other occasion, Éclair would’ve been thankful at Thisy’s ingenuity, but right at that particular moment, it just proved annoying. The equally mild-mannered Tork and Kavic sat in the back of the vehicle twiddling their thumbs rather nervously.

“If you don’t let me go after them right now, something really bad is going to happen ... I just know it,” pleaded Éclair, trying to keep her voice even.

“So tell me, princess,” growled Rachel contentiously, saying something other than ‘no’ after nearly half-an-hour. By the sound of her voice, she seemed just as angry as Éclair felt, and twice as formidable. “What ‘bad’ thing could happen that hasn’t already happened on this godforsaken mission? How could things possibly get any badder? I mean more bad ... or worse ... or ... whatever!” Despite the improper grammar, Rachel didn’t sound any less intimidating.

Éclair was just about to muster a retort when something hit the shields, causing them to flash in green and blue lights as projectiles were repelled from the cockpit.

“Incoming hostiles!” screamed Rachel as she hit the accelerator and propelled the massive machine into evasive action by forcing it to jump from building to building with its cat-like legs. “It’s an airstrike! I estimate at least six incoming fighters! Judging from the scans, they’re cloaked!”

“In the future!” shouted Tork over the roar of the enemy fire hitting the shields. “You should really refrain from such ill-conceived statements so that we may avoid these ironic twists of fate!”

“Not helping, Tork!”

Lord Gregory sat in his private Space Yacht, well out of range of the battle below as he ate prime ribeye steak, extremely rare. His surroundings, which made up the bridge, had been designed to be as fashionable and comfortable as possible.

Elegant silk curtains of red surrounded the viewports. White and gold lined the walls and the windows, giving an excellent view of the surface below. In fact, the very floor that Lord Gregory’s table sat on was crystal clear, giving him a bird’s eye view of the landscape that zipped by under his feet.

A golden chandelier hung from the top of the room, not even the slightest bit disturbed by the acceleration of the starcraft. Beneath his throne, which lay at an elevated height, Lord Gregory’s pilots and technicians sat at the controls, piloting the Space Yacht to remain a few kilometers behind his fighters. The walls of the bridge were golden platinum of such fine craftsmanship that Lord Gregory could actually use it as a mirror if need be as his own reflection shown on the walls perfectly.

Lord Gregory couldn’t think of a better way to spend his days - quietly enjoying a well-cooked meal while watching his enemies burn and die. The massive Mecha-Titan moved with the agility of a cat and the mechanical attributes of modern innovation. Even still, it couldn’t outrun Lord Gregory’s handpicked Sprint Fighters.

The L-11K-7 Hunters were in a league of their own - fully automated to deal out righteous retribution to both land and airborne targets. They even came equipped with top-of-the-line cloaking technology, allowing them to attack with heat percussion missiles and then vanish without a trace from both radar and sight. They were the fastest ships in the Tarrus armada, and the pride of Gregory Industries.

“I find this cloak and dagger business to be rather bourgeois. However, it is necessary for the sake of progress,” said Lord Gregory. As he stuffed another piece of steak into his mouth, a slight drop of blood dribbled from his chin. “History does not remember timid men, after all. History remembers men like me.”

“I couldn’t agree more, sir,” said one of the mercenaries in attendance. Lord Gregory couldn’t really remember the man’s name, though he didn’t care to know either way.

An elegant symphony by Ludwig van Beethoven played in the background. Lord Gregory paused to admire the music for a moment as he breathed in deep the revelry. “Ludwig van Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony was composed in the years 1807 to 1808 from Ancient Earth. Not many people know that fact nowadays. Most middle-class citizens attribute his genius to a modern man from Tarrus. Rather sad in my opinion.”

“Yes, sir,” said the lackey. “Quite sad.”

Lord Gregory started getting annoyed with this bootlicker. “And who asked your opinion, Mister ... um ... whatever your name is.”

“Collins, sir ... and to answer your question, no one asked my opinion, sir,” said the man timidly.

Lord Gregory didn’t even bother to look at him, and even if he had, he doubted he’d remember the face. Mercenaries had their uses when it came to brute labor, but other than that, they were a rather dull lot, unworthy of Lord Gregory’s attention.

“For future reference,” said Lord Gregory while taking a bite of the succulent meat using his golden utensils and platinum plate. “Speak only when spoken to and not when I’m monologuing to myself. I don’t have much patience for dim-witted lackeys.”

“Affirmative, sir,” replied the mercenary.

Lord Gregory ignored the halfwit, turning his attention to the battle on the viewscreen. Of all the things that he possessed, Lord Gregory prized his Space Yacht the most. Elegant both inside and out, encrusted in white platinum and gold plating, and emblazoned with the title, Gregory Industries. Lord Gregory’s own logo designated his personal yacht and kept most authorities at bay no matter what speed violations he deemed fit to violate when the mood suited him.

Lord Gregory’s family logo was a wolf, so the vehicle had been fashioned to somewhat resemble a wolf’s head in shape, but in a more elegant and bird-like manner so as to cast luminance on the rank of the man who resided within. But the graceful physique of this aristocratic vessel was rather misleading. Lord Gregory had saved some of the most deadly and prestigious of his arsenals for his personal yacht. Being a weapons manufacturer did have its advantages.

Lord Gregory observed with much satisfaction as his Sprint Fighters swooped in, dived down on their target, and delivered another pinpoint strike before pulling up and vanishing with their cloaking devices. The Elementals tried to hold off their enemies, but their cannons couldn’t lock onto the fighters before the cloak hid them from view.

With each attack scored on their colossal land vehicle, Lord Gregory could see the shields weakening. In flashes of orange and red light, Lord Gregory’s hunters bombarded the cat-like machine without mercy.

The scene excited Lord Gregory and made his blood boil for the death of these enemies who had dared to humiliate him so. These peasants, these commoners, had dared to cross him of all people ... a mistake they would not live to regret.

“They don’t call me a warlord for nothing, you know,” said Lord Gregory to himself. “I almost pity the simpletons. They didn’t have enough sense to avoid detection, as if they thought that I wouldn’t be coming after them to wreak justice down on their ears.”

“Perhaps they figured there was no way to properly hide something as big as a Mecha-Titan in the first place, so they decided to concentrate their efforts into speed rather than stealth,” interjected Collins.

Lord Gregory turned to his annoying companion with disgust. “You do remember our little chat, don’t you?”

The soldier coughed nervously, and said, “‘Speak only when spoken to’, yes, sir! I apologize.”

Lord Gregory didn’t really feel like firing anyone again, so he let the matter slide, and instead focused all his fury on the Elementals who tried desperately to escape his clutches.

“Try to escape all you want, fools,” laughed Lord Gregory while sipping a martini. “Mecha-Titans are powerful, but every machine has its limits. My Sprint Fighters can find you wherever you go. You can’t outrun them, and thanks to my cloaking technology, you can’t outfight them.

“Your only option is to lie down and die for the good of the Empire. Once Tarrus is free from your taint, the people can finally step into a new era of peace and prosperity with me as their guiding light.”

“I can’t get a lock! They cloak too fast!” complained Tork as he manned the cannon high above the platform.

“Try to pinpoint their positions based on their last known trajectory,” replied Rachel. “Shoot where they will be, not where they are. Get a feel for their flight patterns and formations ... you’ll pick ‘em off eventually.”

“Trouble is our shields will probably fail by then, but as Grafael would say, better to go out in a blaze of glory. Huzzah!”

Rachel had become quite adequate as a pilot, Éclair observed. More than adequate - as she pivoted the Mecha-Titan from building to building, many bombs missed their mark. Rachel alternated between diving into alleys and jumping over buildings, avoiding multiple explosions.

Éclair had no doubt that if not for Rachel’s superb piloting, the shields would’ve failed by now. However, the enemy could attack with impunity thanks to their cloaking systems, so it was only a matter of time before the Mecha-Titan came to a crashing halt.

“Thisy,” said Rachel into the comm system. “I need more power to the shields.”

“I know, lassie,” groaned the irritated voice of the gruff yet lovable Ogre from the engine room below. “Just give me a bloomin’ minute here and try to keep them blighters off our tail for five seconds.”

“What do you think I’ve been doing, you ... Oh, slag it!” cried Rachel as the Mecha-Titan jumped the gap between two buildings.

Suddenly, an explosion of orange fire and metal shot through the sky like firecrackers, and Tork squealed in delight. “I got one! By Jove, I jolly well got one of those rapscallions!”

“That’s great, Tork,” said Rachel somewhat sarcastically. “Five more to go, that is assuming our shields will last that long at the rate you’re going.”

“Shields down to thirty percent!” exclaimed Kavic, manning the controls behind the cockpit. “According to my calculations, we won’t be able to shoot them all down before we’re dead in the water!”

“Rachel!” called Éclair. “I can sense them with my psionic ability. Give me control of the targeting system. I can use auto turrets to make them visible and then Tork can finish them off with the canon.”

“Your hands only,” said Rachel, snapping her fingers which caused the ropes that bound Éclair’s hands together to come undone. “Your feet stay bound, and the only powers you’ll have access to will be your sensory abilities. I don’t want you wandering off when you think we’re out of danger. Leon put you in my care, and I’m not about to let you turn me into a liar.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Éclair went to work right away at the controls. Although she said she could sense the fighters, that might’ve been a bit of an overstatement. Éclair had never sensed anything more than a few meters away, and now she was dealing with a few kilometers.