Trails Through The Infinite

Trails through the Infinite

By JL Louw

All rights reserved

Copyright JL Louw, 2015

Smashwords Edition: December, 2015

Cover art by Sascha Duensing (Sirius-sdz)

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Contents

Fifth Sun Rising

Of Blood and Metal

Entombed

Schism

Bent like Iron

The Guiding Hand

Bound by Blood

When Dawn Comes

The Truth at Heart

Comforts of Living

Ageless

The Sovereign's Rangers

"A stare within the infinite spaces of time can reveal glimpses. Slivers of events cruel and terrible, all the same wondrous." – Chronicler Keyword of Eyes

Fifth Sun Rising

Prime Colonist Dellen shifted on the spot. His footing made for an unnerved dance of unease, a feeling he most likely encountered seldom, if ever. Though at first he chose to carry himself with quite the haughty bearing, with the esteem and mannerism befitting any self-respecting man who occupied a seat of authority, but that façade had slowly crumbled away. Given time, they always crumbled.

That fact never ceased to surprise Arkan. He easily evoked such responses out of his lesser men. He could break anyone, given time.

Let me shed some clarity on this. You’ve been given a full Ballanward cycle—thrice the length of a Luna cycle—to cleanse a mere Rhakkt infestation. If you fail to achieve that, then operations here will be shut down, and all of your hard work on the Antigan colony will be for naught. However, your simple group of pitiful sentinels have made a mess of things, an admirable mess at that, and now you’ve requested our aid to put a stop to this little threat of yours, Arkan paused to raise his index finger, intent on driving his point further. Moreover, we have less than one day left to achieve said goal. Am I correct?

Dellen opened his mouth, then promptly closed it again. Rather than stating a useless counterpoint, he instead settled for a curt nod. Next to him the lieutenant of his sentinel guard ground his teeth, indignantly, visibly livid at the insults being directed at his post. Nonetheless, it did little to deter Arkan, in fact, it only added a keenness to his edge. And rightfully so, Lieutenant Wylls should be mad. The dumb bastard brought cause to a great deal of trouble. His anger only masked the shame hidden underneath his overly confident demeanor.

You’ve made a smart decision to call on us, Prime Colonist, Arkan said.

You know what, friend, your lot— Wylls started, though he was swiftly interrupted when Dellen raised his hand.

You will do it then? Dellen asked. Arkan nodded.

Sir, the Dominion looks after all of its colonies. Planet Antiga serves the Dominion. We have no need to involve Enforcers in our affairs.

As Arkan walked away, he could feel the intense, penetrating stares driving into his back. And not only from the two men. The entire colony had their eyes on him. It bothered him little to know this. He somewhat basked in the attention, the adoration, the loathing, the fear. To him it denoted a position of honor, to garner so much responsibility and hatred and fear did not come cheaply. He exemplified an image of awe, an entity of power. He was both loathed and required.

After he’d passed well out of earshot—that of the average person, of course—his keen hearing picked up on the continued conversation.

Why are you placing your trust in these PsiCo freaks? The Fifth Sun may be the best of the best Enforcer Corps, but they are egotistical lunatics, not to mention damn dangerous. Their violent outbursts place every last one of your people at risk.

Lieutenant, Dellen answered, a snide air of contempt oozing across his low voice. We wouldn’t be in this mess if you had delivered on all your promises. I gave you ample time and all my trust on top of that and look at the position you’ve thrust me in. Three weeks and my colony– He sighed. The Dominion can very well see that their work force is down to half the number this colony started out with. But they are not mere numbers, Lieutenant Wylls, we are living people here… families. You’ve already lost six of your sentinels. I give less than a damn what you have to say about this. So, either you take these ‘freaks’ to the nest, or you’ll be relieved of your command. Make your choice.

Arkan’s smirk stretched. Although he heard no answer spoken, he required none. The winding road leading back to his shuttle gave him time to think the scenario through. When dealing with the likes of the Rhakkt, one needed caution and understanding. Luckily his crew possessed both. They’d dealt with the creatures enough times to know their deepest inner workings and a plan already brewed in the back of Arkan’s busy mind.

He strolled up to his PsiCo squad. They awaited his arrival next to the ship, deadly silent. Even without reading their emotions Arkan knew them all to a point of quiet understanding. Like him they already had that itch. That burning tingle. The uncomfortable silence that existed between missions. The long wait until the next kill order, almost like, Arkan often imagined, the distance suffered between two separated lovers.

Then again, Arkan wouldn’t know anything about the latter. Although he could very well imagine that the prospect of being handed a difficult target to obliterate sounded a lot like being reunited with a long lost loved one. He preferred lusting after actual prey though.

The good lieutenant will momentarily escort us to the site.

He got six of his men killed, Grint said, his stare fixated in the direction where Arkan had come from.

Yes, well that happens when those of little skill and weak-wills take on something far beyond them, and that pathetic coward deserved to have bled beside his soldiers, Tass said.

Grint’s eyes narrowed, granting Tass that slight scowl of his. He made nothing of the remark though. As they waited, Arkan held firmly onto his confident smirk, basking in the three inquisitive stares before him, taking in both sides of the solemn and brash comments his two outspoken squad mates so eagerly flung like innocuous verbal fire.

Arkan spared his heat though. Soon enough his own brewing flame would receive its due.

***

The spawned creature teetered on the brink of collapse. Desperately it sought to regain its footing. Although with three legs at its disposal it recovered fast from the heavy blow. Its four tentacle-like appendages trashed, eagerly seeking a meaty victim to suffer its retaliation.

But it found no nearby aggressor. No source presented itself. Whatever had struck it wasn’t even present and the flaps at the rear of the Rhakkt spawn’s leathery head avidly heaved deep gasps of air. Swiftly it caught a scent. Rows of beady, black eyes flicked from side to side. Attentive and aware, sensing their presence perfectly. A born hunter, but the universe bred hunters far deadlier than it.

As if from thin air, the four PsiCo Enforcers stepped forth. At the forefront marched Arkan, his fists clenched and his grin wide enough to bear teeth. Rapidly, the Rhakkt darted at them. Arkan welcomed its fervor. At his feet, like a specter called from the afterlife, fire materialized at the beckoning of a thought and rolled outward like an incendiary wave. In repeat pulses it rippled onwards in relentless succession. The Rhakkt leapt, heedless to the threat of this deadly barrier. As it pressed through the flames—heat licking across its carapace—the same mental jab as before rattled its skull.

This time the Rhakkt spawn fell to the ground. Smoke spewed from its charred, writhing figure. What little life it had left were begging to escape. Three of the PsiCos merely regarded the creature while the fourth, Lexa, approached and stooped over it. For a while their gazes met—one from a smoldering husk of its former self and the other from seemingly dead, white eyes. A deep hatred passed between these two stares. Lexa’s features remained an impassive shadow, which made for a stark contrast to the maelstrom of malice that existed in the mind underneath it.

When she had reaped all the information they required, the creature abruptly quiver. Caught in the throes of intense agony, the last vestiges of life was torn from it. Ultimately, it succumbed and became still.

Cautiously, Lieutenant Wylls approached from behind a tree. His eyes darted all over the scene. His features dropped shades paler by the moment and contorted as an entire spectrum of emotion took hold of him. His pores practically leaked awe and fear, amazement and abhorrence… desire and contempt.

The nest is not far from this path. You should find it between the tall trees over there, Wylls finally said, pointing towards the sharp, pointed trees in the distance.

You have been so very helpful, lieutenant, Arkan replied, his lip twitching.

Wylls nodded. Not a problem. I’ll leave you to it then.

He promptly set off, leaving the four to look on in amusement. Arkan stared at the dimwitted man, shaking his head. The universe could certainly do with less of his kind. From here on the battle began in earnest. They afforded no cowardice in their company, even less from those under Wylls’ rule.

True to the weak-willed man’s directions, Arkan found the giant, three meter high mound sticking out like a putrid wart amongst the trees in much the usual way any Rhakkt hive appeared. Arkan could sense his squad brimming with electricity, overcome with an excitement palpable to his psionic senses, but none felt as keen to the task as Arkan himself.

Birthed, molded, and branded to deal with any threat, Psionic Agents were the greatest military arsenal ever devised. As one of essentially hundreds of squads, Arkan’s small, ragtag group could deal with just about any threat, stop anything before it even got close to Earth. But Arkan’s motives stretched far deeper. It was far more personal than the preservation of the Earth. Above all he lived for the kill. Every day the rage surfaced. His ever-present vexation intensified, like he was slowly to succumb to his fire and ultimately destined to be engulfed in a conflagration.

But every mission they returned from somehow quenched his seemingly insatiable fire. Every kill became an outlet. All things considered, Arkan would gladly fight beside his three squad mates any day, far more readily than being a deranged psychopath on some distant forlorn planet.

Psionic Command chose their soldiers well, they always had. And for that very reason they’d handpicked his squad for this assignment, knowing full well each of their extensive capabilities. Not to mention, Arkan’s squad had a zero failure record.

The four of them stood firmly amongst the top three Psionic Commando squads—a matter that would forever remain unsettled. And for good reason. If the Big Three were ever to faceoff so they could determine the best, none would survive the test. It was a recipe for destruction and many bystanders would suffer.

The very idea of it always brought a smile to Arkan. How glorious a battle of its kind would be.

Along one of the smaller side entrances into the mound, Arkan gathered his squad. In detail Arkan relayed his plan.

Do you think any one of them will survive? Grint asked after Arkan had concluded.

Well, we certainly won’t be doing any of the dying around here, Tass interjected, his head cocked to the side as he granted them half a grin. As for the rest of them, should we really care? They’re not even our equals, and if they’re that far beneath us then why are they even worth our notice? Besides, the job comes first. Right, Arkan?

Grint fixed Tass with another chastising glare. How such small, insensitive words could cut a man so intimately, Arkan would never understand. Then again the very nature of Grint’s mind had always been baffling.

Like Grint, Arkan had spent the greater part of childhood without any parents, but that was pretty much the extent of their similarities. The lanky, stern likes of Colt Grintlock made for a hard man. Nonetheless he often spoke fondly of his orphanage days. Arkan couldn’t help but appreciate the man it had made out of Grint. To an extent it allowed him to embrace the Psi Commandos—known more readily as PsiCos—as some strange extension of his family, which made him the glue of the squad.

Wenlow Tassiker on the other hand had been born into a wealthy family. They offered him privileges beyond compare and just about everything he ever wanted, and to the day he hated the idea. Possessing objects of material wealth meant so little to the scrawny man that he often stole things his family already owned, just to prove a point.

It made very little sense to Arkan, but then the point was never truly his to grasp. Tass called it the boredom of being, which made even less sense to him. However, what it translated to their youngest—and latest—member was to never become tied down by trinkets, but rather become renowned for your actions. It didn’t matter on which side of the moral compass those acts fell and that, often enough, led to confrontation.

Arkan couldn’t help but smile whenever he watched them champion the extremes of their maxims. At face value the two appeared so different and hostile towards one another, but they shared a bond of loyalty stronger than any cosmic power and a truly interesting friendship constructed on that very basis. Nothing could shatter the unity of a PsiCo squad.

Alright, you know what we have to accomplish here. Do whatever needs to be done, and kill as many of these things as your mental aptitude allow. Grint, the initiative is yours.

Even as the heavy hitter—the