Chapter 333: (Empire) (1/2)
The ship was an older model. Two wings that could separate into four, four sublight engines with hyperspace capability, four heavy lasers, and missile launchers. A one man aerospace fighter, capable of atmospheric or space dogfighting, the astrogation handled by a robotic unit that was locked into the frame behind the pilot.
It was an older model, but recently made. Despite the 'aging' on the frame, anyone who knew their LARP gear could tell it had been printed to look old.
The ship streaked into existence in the system, immediately broadcasting a non-PVP flag before even the ship's manifest and IFF beacon. It was flanked immediately by the hex-wing fighters, who escorted it to the planet it was looking for.
The pilots of the small attack craft reminded the pilot of the newer craft that this was not a LARP system. That any deviation wouldn't be weighed and measured against rules, but would be met with lethal force.
The pilot of the hyperspace capable fighter was slightly surly as he acknowledged the hexagonal side-mount ships.
The ship had to wait nearly two hours for landing permission, impatiently reminding the aerospace traffic controllers exactly who he was.
Finally the coordinates were given and the ship made its landing.
Anyone who was experienced with the small craft would have flinched at the fact the ship left a sooty trail of burnt ablative armor and ionized atmosphere as the deflector shields had to bear the brunt of reentry.
The pilot was obviously not highly skilled.
The ship set down in the parking lot of a large building, crushing several cars as it did so. It lifted off, moved, landed on several more, smashing them, then lifted off, wobbling, to finally setting in the clear area in front of the steps that led down from the large building.
The canopy lifted and a ladder folded down from the side. The pilot got out, wearing a flight suit, and took off his helmet, revealing a sweaty face and a mop of brown hair. He dropped the helmet and got out, climbing down the ladder.
The robot, secretly feeling a bit huffy about drawing an idiot, folded up the ladder and closed the canopy, then shut off the engines.
The pilot tapped his wrist-comp a few times and the pilot's suit reconfigured into a pair of light pants, a light white shirt, and comfortable boots. A plasma caster pistol rode at his hip as he headed toward the building.
The doors opened, white armored figures trotting out carrying rifle. Smoke poured out the double doors and martial music started playing from hidden speakers.
The newcomer stopped, waiting, tapping his foot impatiently, until a black armored figure nearly eight feet tall strode out of the smoke, his cape billowing.
The newcomer rolled his eyes, then stood, waiting, motioning impatiently at the figure in black to hurry up from the slow steady stride he was doing.
The figure in black refused to hurry, his breathing coming in mechanical wheezes, stopping only a dozen paces from the newcomer.
”You look stupid, Vic,” the newcomer said.
”Don't call me that,” the black armored figure wheezed. ”I am Darth Harmonus.”
”You're outside the LARP systems, Vic,” the newcomer said.
”What do you want, Jon?” Darth Harmonus asked. ”Speak quickly and leave.”
”You need to stop this. You've been killing living people, sentient beings,” Jon said, putting his hands on his hips. ”This isn't a game. These are real people who don't have the advantage of the SUDS system to save them.”
”Like you did?” Harmonus said. ”What if I don't stop? Who's going to stop me? You?”
”If I have to,” Jon said. ”Melody would...”
”YOU DON'T SAY HER NAME!” Darth Harmonus roared out, feedback squealing. He clenched his armored fists and lightning, red and purple, climbed up and down his forearms. ”YOU DON'T EVER SAY HER NAME AGAIN!”
”She was my wife, Vic, I'll say her name...” Jon said.
”Who you let die, Jon,” the black armored figure snarled. ”Get in your ship and leave. You're not welcome here.”
”Or what, Vic? You'll order your men to kill me like they've killed all those innocent people? Violence is never the answer,” Jon snapped back. He wasn't worried about violence from the black armored figure. He'd gotten the best reflexes and muscle memory when he'd resheathed after his world was liberated. His brain was full of the necessary memories and strategies to win any fight his brother-in-law wanted to engage in.
”Leave, Jon, before I remember that you are alive while she is dead,” the armored figure said. ”You have three hours to leave the system, after that, you'll be declared a criminal.”
”That's against the rules,” Jon said.
”As you said, this isn't the LARP worlds. Get out,” the armored figure began to turn away.
”Don't you turn your back on me, Victor,” Jon snapped, his temper fraying slightly.
”Or what, Jon? Violence is never the answer,” the black armored figure threw Jon's words back in his face.
”I've come to put a stop to this madness of yours, one way or another,” Jon said.
Darth Harmonus slowly turned to face his brother-in-law. ”Come, then, and learn the true power of the Dark Side.”
Jon's hand dropped to the pistol, pulling it out in a sloppy fast-draw, his reflexes slightly off from not having been practiced. The pistol came up, the reticle matched where the barrel was pointed and it blinked when it lined up. He grinned and he fired three times as a dozen small orbs with blinking lights on them flew out from behind his back.
Darth Harmonus blocked all three shots with an open palm, his arm out at full extension. The bolts screamed off to the side, hitting vehicles, blowing apart plasteel bodywork.
With a twitch of his hand Jon's pistol flew into Darth Harmonus's hand.
”You should have never come here, Jon,” Darth Harmonus wheezed.
Jon was surprised and more than a little irritated. His drones should have detected whichever drone or armor implanted equipment had used the tractor/pressor beam to pull his pistol out of his hand. Instead, they reported nothing. He tapped a piece of cyberware in his head, still grinning as new reflexes loaded up to replace the old ones.
If Victor wanted to play this, then fine, Jon would too.
Darth Harmonus watched, knowing full well that the news-drones had picked up everything from the moment Jon had landed his ship and smashed the vehicles of two hard working government bureaucrats.
Jon's clothing fuzzed then resolidified as robes as Jon drew a cylinder out and ignited it with a simple push of the thumb trigger. A length of green energy held in place by magnetic forces slid from the handle with an audible whoosh, humming as Jon smiled.
”I told you, I'm here to put a stop to your murderous rampage,” Jon smiled.
”You should have never come here,” Darth Harmonus said, his own weapon flying from his belt to his hand. The blade that ignited was solid red. ”My rage, my wrath, is not yet spent.”
Jon held back a frown. His cybernetic eye systems didn't detect any deflector shields, no personal battlescreens, not even any kinetic screens.
Just Victor standing there in black armor.
”Surrender, Vic, for Melody if nothing...” Jon started.
”DO NOT SAY HER NAME!” Darth Harmonus roared out. He held out one hand at one of the ruined cars, clenching his fist and making a jerking motion.
Jon started to smirk, seeing he'd enraged Victor to the point the younger man had forgotten to deploy his drones, which meant there was no tractor/pressor beams to...
The wreckage of the car hit Jon from the side, crumpling against Jon's shields, thrown the unarmored man ten feet across the parking lot. Jon's implanted reflexes kicked in, letting him roll with the impact, coming up on his feet without cutting his own arms off. His kinetic shields were down by 15% just from the impact of the car.
Jon snarled and brought up the reflex and motor skills package embedded in his cyberware.
If that's how you want it, Vic, he thought to himself. He brought his weapon up into guard position.
The black armored figure strode forward, making jerking motions with his hands.
Jon's wired reflexes saved his life as rubble and debris whipped through the air. What he missed with his force blade bounced off his shields, which were rapidly dropping.
Jon deployed a dozen more spheres from the cargo hatch on his light fighter, grinning.
It isn't the LARP worlds, Vic. I can bring as many as I want, he thought to himself, waiting for Vic to start complaining that Jon was using too many drones.
Instead, the black armored figure leveled his fist and lightning gathered around his forearm, snarling and sparking. It leapt from his fist to the drones, half of them exploding in a shower of sparks and debris. Three of them fell to the ground, carbonized and shorted out, and the last three dropped into place behind Jon, one smoking and whining as its grav-system tried to keep it in place.
”This is the real world, Jon,” Darth Harmonus wheezed, walking forward, trailing his blade on the asphalt, creating a wobbling smoking line in the black rock. ”You're so quick to try to stop me, but where were you?”
Jon was trying to figure out how his brother-in-law had thrown lightning. No orbs, no power surge in his armor. Just... lightning.
He barely got his sword in play, wired reflexes kicking in, managing to block the humming and glowing red blade in shower of sparks.