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#3
SEP 10 |
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The Fist of Dragoon, Part One:
“Old Ghosts”
2000 years ago
People screamed in terror as he strode forward casually and only a brave few found the courage to fire their weapons at him, but the energy was harmlessly dispersed as it struck his jagged armour. Onwards he strode, many running away in terror, others backing away more slowly, continually firing upon him uselessly. He laughed at their pathetic efforts to halt him.
The people of the galaxy knew him by many names: Dragoon the Destroyer, the Chaos-Bringer, the God-Made-Flesh, and so forth. He liked the last one the most, as it was the closest one to the truth.
This planet, like many before it, had stood against him and his mighty army and, just like those before it, he had come to crush the resistance personally. While his forces brought devastation to the rest of the planet, the Chaos Bringer had come to the heart of its military, a gigantic underground base filled with hundreds of soldiers.
With a casual wave of his hand he sent a wave of energy arcing out before him, decimating the opposition, but more quickly rushed in to take their places. It was clear they wanted to prevent him from reaching something.
“Relinquish your weapons and I might spare some of you!” he boomed.
He was an intimidating figure, seven feet tall and encased in wicked looking armor. Worst of all was the sheer indifference he displayed at opposition he met, his manner broadcasting that nothing could hurt him. Death laughed them in the face.
Suddenly the soldiers stopped, panic showed on many ivory faces as they realized they were backed up against a large metal door. “Whatever you do, don’t let him through that door!” shouted what looked to be the lead soldier.
The hulking figure strode forward and, with a wicked smile, he sent bolts of black lightning firing off in every direction. Screams of terror and agony only made his smiler wider as he knocked down the door with a single punch. More soldiers filled the hexagonal room; he ignored their annoying attacks as his fiery white eyes searched for what was so important about this place. And there it was, on the far side of the room, a small shard of pink crystal suspending by glowing yellow light.
Could it be? he thought. A shard of the M’Kraan crystal?
With a thunderous roar of triumph he charged across the room, crushing soldiers beneath his feet. He reached out and clutched the crystal in his gauntleted hand and was immediately bathed in harsh yellow light. Try as he might he could not move a muscle…he had been tricked, trapped like an animal. Outside the cylinder of light, stunned soldiers watched as their enemy was engulfed in yellow light and disappeared.
“D…did it work?” asked one young soldier, his pink eyes wide with shock.
“Yes boy,” said and older man. “Dragoon is gone at last, banished from the time stream.”
All that remained of the great Destroyer was his severed hand, still clutching the fake shard of M’Kraan crystal.
Present day, Milky Way Galaxy, Quadrant 4704
There was darkness all around, like every night, and he was all alone, like most nights. Not completely alone, as he had the weaselly little Shi’ar to keep him company, but alone enough. The balding doctor looked down his spectacled nose at his bound ‘patient’.
“Ah, Mr Longknife, I do hope you’re comfortable,” said the scientist in what was supposed to be a warm and friendly manner. “I must remember to send my thanks to Emperor D’Ken for sending you my way. Now I’ve been told your species has a high threshold for pain, correct?” He smiled, like he was chatting with an old friend rather than a prisoner. “Not talking I see? Oh well, I guess I’ll just have to find out for myself.”
The patient did not flinch as the doctor sliced open the skin of his shoulder with a scalpel, nor did he cry out in pain when muscle and sinew were hacked away, such was the way of his people. For hours the torture continued, bone was sawed off, arteries soldered, all without the benefit of any anaesthesia, and still he said nothing. Only when he felt the cold, metal monstrosity that would be his new arm did he start to scream.
Raza woke up in his bed, covered in cold sweat, as he did every night after the dream. Sometimes the nightmares were different, he often remembered his village being razed by Shi’ar soldiers or his screaming son being dragged away. But more often than not he remembered how he had been forced to become the hideous cyborg he was today.
Splashing some cold water on his face he examined the mechanical part of his face in the mirror sadly. He used to be such a handsome man. The cybernetics aided him greatly in battle, there could be no denying it, but everyday he wished he could be whole once more.
The Bridge of the Starjammer
“Blech! What do you call thiss sstuff again, Corssair?” asked Ch’od as he eyed a spoonful of orange substance.
“Baked beans and they’re fine, quit whining. The only food we have left are the long-life supplies we got on our last trip to Earth,” replied the Captain Christopher Summers, AKA Corsair.
As the big, green alien reluctantly ate his baked beans (which looked suspiciously like Nixxian Squidbat eggs) he couldn’t help but marvel at the Starjammer’s knack for surviving against all odds. In just two days they had escaped from a Shi’ar battleship, engaged in a dogfight with a Brood armada, and caused a massive battle between the Phalanx and the Brood.
A fleeting image of a techno-organic Acanti flitted through the Saurian’s mind. Broolanx? he thought, or maybe Phalood? This little mental joke brought a smile to his scaly face before the present situation wiped it back off again. It had been three weeks since that climactic battle and the Starjammer was still without a functioning hyper drive. They were going at a relative snail’s pace through what had so far been uninhabited space, supplies were running low and that’s why they were forced to live off baked beans, canned tuna and these salty, dry biscuits known as crackers.
“No wonder you don’t want to go home, if all your food iss like thisss.”
“Shhh, I’m trying to hail this ship,” hushed the Captain.
Corsair was smiling on the inside though. Ch’od was a breath of fresh air in situations like this, always upbeat and optimistic, unlike Hepzibah who had been moody ever since they had entered the Milky Way Galaxy. He knew she was angry over the fact that he had risked all their lives to save the people that she hates most of all, the Shi’ar, but every time he tried to talk to her about she ignored him.
“Hail received, Captain,” said the computerized voice of Waldo, the ship’s A.I. “Opening two way video communication.”
A squat, ugly look alien with maroon skin, a pig nose and bulging black eyes appeared on the screen at the front of the bridge.
“This is Captain Chiminin, Gonk vessel 589351. Which one of you is in charge?” Only Ch’od and Corsair were on the bridge at the time.
Corsair began to speak but was interrupted.
“Oh, and if you’re pirates, I should rightly inform you we are heavily armed and know how to defend ourselves,” said the rude captain.
“Relax, Captain, we’re not pirates,” replied Corsair. “I am Captain Chris Summers and this is my maintenance officer Ch’od. Our hyper drive is damaged so we’ve been forced to travel at sub light speed for three weeks. If you have the parts we need to fix it, or even some food supplies to trade, we would greatly appreciate it.”
Chiminin pondered this for a while with many heavily emphasized hmm’s before saying, “Sorry, Captain Sumner, but we have nothing to spare. Luckily for you though, there is a trading station on a large asteroid just several parsecs from here; sending the co-ordinates to you now. You’ll get everything you need there. Be careful however; though my industrious people do the trading there, we all know a crime syndicate really runs the show. A female by the name of Astra’s in charge and kinda looks like you. Rumour is she can teleport wherever she wants in the galaxy. Nonsense if you ask me hmm. Well, good day, Sumner.”
Without waiting for a reply the alien captain ended the communication link. Chris couldn’t help but grind his teeth at the ugly little captain’s indifference to their plight and the way he called him ‘Sumner’, but at least he gave them directions to somewhere to get repairs and supplies. Before now they had been flying blind in uncharted space.
Eagerly, he activated the ship’s intercom and said, “This is Corsair. Just letting everybody know we’ll be arriving at a trading post in just a few short hours. No more canned baked beans.”
He could have sworn he heard a collective ‘hurray’ from down below.
The rest of the crew joined them on the bridge over the next few hours travel, all eager to be off the ship even for just a few minutes. With a smile Corsair took look at each member of the Starjammers, his family: Ch’od, the gentle green giant with his furry white ‘pet’ Cr+eee resting upon his massive shoulder; Raza, the noble warrior; Hepzibah, Corsair’s hot tempered lover; and their newest member, Z’Cann, the telepath who had lost her own team to the vile Brood. Other than Z’Cann, the rest of the Starjammers had been together for nearly twenty years and they really were a family.
Trading Station
The asteroid on which the trading station rested was really more of a small moon, albeit shaped like a potato rather than spherical. It was also the only asteroid in a system of seven barren planets. The station itself was rather expansive, covering over half the giant rock and was a very busy looking place, with many unidentifiable ships coming and going.
A voice crackled over the intercom. “This is landing control, Gonk station 112, state your name and business,”
“This is Captain Christopher Summers of the Starjammer; we merely wish to purchase some supplies and parts to repair out ship.”
“Very well, you shall dock in landing bay seven.Our tractor beam shall guide you in. Don’t steal anything or kill anyone during your stay.”
“Charming fellow,” muttered Ch’od.
Within a few short minutes the ship had been guided down onto a large landing platform on the surface of the asteroid. It appeared as if a special dome-like force field held all the air inside while allowing ships to pass through easily.
“Waldo, lock the ship to all but us, ok?” said Corsair.
“Yes Daddy…error 616,” Waldo’s circuits had been fried during the fight with the Brood and, while Ch’od had managed to repair him, his core processing unit had been slightly damaged, causing occasional random, but harmless, outbursts. Harmless so far…
As the quintet descended the ramp to the landing platform they found someone was waiting for them. The man was of similar height and shape to Raza or Corsair but no-one could tell what he really looked like due to the fact he was covered head to toe in some kind of armor.
This guy a cheap Iron Man knock off or what? thought Corsair.
He was right, the man (or maybe woman) wore a suit superficially similar to Tony Stark’s, though this one was a dull, lead grey and slightly rusted in some areas. The eyes were indistinguishable through a dull black visor and over his mouth was something that looked a lot like a gas mask.
“Are you guys the Starjammers?” his voice was slightly distorted through the gas mask, but he was definitely male and the accent sounded slightly familiar to Chris.
“I suppose it depends on who wants to know,” replied Corsair.
It seemed as if the armoured man had only just noticed Corsair, which was understandable considering Ch’od’s massive frame and Raza’s cybernetics.
“Are you human?” he asked. Corsair nodded. “Wow what are the chances, I’m human too, not that you could tell,” he tapped his armoured chest. “Where are you from mate?”
“Well…the U.S. originally.”
“Good stuff. I’m an Aussie myself,” said the man proudly, “little place called Rockhampton, doubt you’ve heard of it. Beef capital of Australia, mind you.”
“How’d you get all the way our here then?”
The armored man held one hand up, indicating a need for silence, while he placed his other hand up to where his ear would be under the helmet.
“She’s getting impatient, we better get moving,” he said.
“Wherre are we going, tin man?” growled Hepzibah.
“Oh yeah, sorry. Astra wants to see all of you. You don’t want to say no to her, but it shouldn’t take too long, sweetheart.” He glanced at Hepzibah’s scowling visage and took a step back. “Right this way…”
As the man led them down a long steel corridor the group noticed dozens of alien’s like Captain Chinimin. Corsair realized he’d seen people like this before, on the shattered space station, but those aliens had been taken over by Brood embryos. These ones were just rude.
“Are you getting anything from this guy?” Corsair whispered to Z’Cann.
“No, Captain. His suit must be blocking my telepathy somehow.”
“Ssso what’ss with the ssuit? Is there radiation we should know about?” Ch’od asked their guide, who laughed out loud.
“In a way, big fella, in a way, but don’t worry…it’s more to keep the radiation in…” he let his cryptic comment trail off as he led them through a pair of sliding doors, guarded by two armored Kree.
Compared to the rest of the sparsely decorated station, this room was a palace. Beautiful tapestries hung on the walls next to gleaming suits of armor and other various works of art. Exotic plants of every color imaginable were growing in pots placed all around the room, reminding corsair of a Sultan’s palace. On the far side of the room, in what could best be described as a throne, was the woman called Astra.
She was an attractive woman, who looked to be in her thirties, with short black hair and a face that would be pretty if it didn’t look so arrogant. Two scantily clad Kree males stood on both sides of her, feeding her various delicacies. After roughly two minutes of standing there waiting for Astra to notice them, the armored man cleared his through loudly.
“I know you’re there, Fallout, are you really stupid enough to think I didn’t notice you enter?” asked Astra coldly. She then proceeded to make them wait another minute before finally sending her two attendants away.
“Thank you, Fallout, you may go.” The armored man gave an awkward bow and left the room. With a shrewd look in her eyes, the woman looked each member of the Starjammers up and down, taking their measure. “Your reputation precedes you, Starjammers. I simply had to meet the famous pirates, the ‘scourge of the Shi’ar Empire’.”
“Are you a human?” asked Corsair.
Their host’s eyes widened in anger at Christopher’s blunt question. “I am more than human, I am Homo Superior. And hasn’t anyone told you handlebar moustaches went out after the seventies?”
Corsair simply smiled and stroked his moustache. “Really? My wife always told me I looked like Burt Reynolds.” Though none apart from Corsair understood the joke, all present smiled slightly as Astra shuddered visibly, except for Hepzibah, who scowled at the mention of Christopher’s late wife.
“Why are we here, Astra?” Another blunt question from Corsair.
“I thought that would be obvious, Corsair…”
“Please, call me Captain Summers.”
“Summers?” The mutant woman seemed to lose her concentration for a moment, before continuing on. “I would like to offer you and your crew a place in my…organization. I could use people of your skill and reputation.”
Hepzibah practically licked her lips as she pondered the benefits of working for Astra: money, power and, best of all, excitement and danger. All the others, though, looked disgusted by Astra’s offer.
“Sorry Astra, but we’re not petty criminals. We only did what we had to fight a corrupt regime,” said Corsair calmly.
“Semantics!” screamed the crime lord. “You delude yourselves in order to justify the things you’ve done. You’ve lied, stolen and killed…you’re no better than me, Summers!”
Gone was the aloof arrogance of before…the mutant’s true colors were showing; she was used to getting what she wanted. In other words, she was a spoilt bitch. Her tirade continued for another few minutes before a man entered the room, immediately calming her. He was young, somewhere in his mid twenties, with long silver hair and a well muscled build. He strode up to Astra’s side and kissed her fingers.
“Are these people bothering you, my dear?” he asked. Corsair couldn’t shake the feeling that he knew this man.
“Ah, Magnus, they don’t want to work for me,” she pouted.
“Shall I kill them for you, my love?”
Corsair had his pistol drawn instantly while Raza held both his sabres in a defensive position. Before either of them could react, all their weapons were hurled across the room by some invisible force. Raza also realized that he was unable to move his bionic arm.
It was a stand off and the silver haired man held all the cards. The man, Magnus, was clearly a mutant with some kind of telepathic or magnetic ability. He looked down upon the Starjammers like they were something he had scaped off his boot.
“Not now, Magnus, we have a guest,” smiled Astra smugly.
Glancing over his shoulder, Corsair realized a cloaked figure had stepped through the sliding doors. Most of his (he assumed it was a male) body was hidden beneath heavy, blood-red robes and only a shadow of his snakelike face was visible beneath his hood. The look on this man’s face, the sheer contempt for all around him, made it impossible for Corsair to imagine him ever doing something like blowing out the candle on a birthday cake, enjoying a nice glass of wine or even brushing his teeth. It was disconcerting to say the least. It looked as if Z’Cann felt the same, as her golden eyes were wide with fear.
“Ah, Tesk-Nor, do come in,” said Astra, playing the inviting host once again. “Let me just toss out the rubbish...”
With a nod to Magnus, a large piece of the metal floor rose up on one end, sending the quintet rolling out the door in a rather embarrassing fashion. Their weapons slid out after them and the doors slammed shut with an audible thunk!
“I’ll teach that huffy little glatch not to mess with me!” hissed Hepzibah, but the two Kree guards blocked her path.
“Forget it, Hepz, lets go buy you something nice,” said Corsair, dusting himself off. This seemed to cheer up the Mephistoid slightly and she managed to push her anger aside for the moment.
“Corsair, I sensed something horrible in there that you need to know.” Z’Cann looked downright scared.
Astra’s Throne Room
“That idiot Summers doesn’t know what he’s missing out on, not working for you,” crooned Magnus in Astra’s ear. She smiled at him appreciatively. When her first clone of Magneto, Joseph, had failed in his mission to humiliate and destroy the Master of Magnetism, the teleporter had promptly created a new clone. This time, though, she’d employed a Pintarian telepath to create false memories. The alien had charged an arm and a leg but it was worth it, her clone thought he was actually the son of Magneto, and that his father had tormented him his entire life. This proved as both a blessing and a curse, as with these new memories he had become his own unique person, rather than a pale imitation, and Astra had quickly fallen in love with him.
With this new love she disregarded her need for petty revenge against Magneto and focused on strengthening her criminal organisation. Taking over ships and space stations was child’s play with a man who could manipulate metal. They didn’t have the perfect relationship though: Astra was greedy and arrogant while Magnus was constantly trying to prove to himself he was better than his ‘father’.
“Please, come closer, Tesk-Nor,” she called to her guest, playing the perfect host. “Would you like something to drink? Kree wine is so hard to come buy these days.”
Magnus floated a metal goblet full of pink Kree wine to their cloaked guest; he stared at it suspiciously before waving the thing away. To Astra, Tesk-Nor was a vile little man, one of the worst kind of people: a religious fanatic. The alien and his cult, the Vanguard of Dragoon, had hired her to help search for a planet where their so called long lost god had disappeared. She couldn’t help but feel that with worshippers like Tesk-Nor she would disappear too.
“You said you had information for me?” The cultist had a voice like nails on a chalkboard.
“Oh, better than that, my friend; I’ve found the location of your planet,” replied Astra smugly.
Tesk-Nor’s eyed widened in surprise. “So soon? Our Order has searched for two millennia.”
“Yes, but I don’t think you have the necessary people skills to really get the information you required. Plus, it’s a big galaxy.” She quite enjoyed taunting her employers when she had something they needed. “What’s more, I can take you to this planet almost instantly. No doubt you have heard of my abilities? Good. Well it will cost you an extra twenty thousand credits.”
The cultist narrowed his eyes at the added charge but did not argue. “It is a deal. I shall gather my brethren.”
The Market
“So let me get this straight…Astra’s been hired by some fanatic to find a missing god?” asked Corsair incredulously.
“I know it sounds mad, Astra doesn’t even believe it, but when that cloaked man came into the room I could just sense it was completely and utterly true. His whole order is dedicated to finding this god of theirs.” Z’Cann was growing frustrated
“But there’sss no ssuch thing as godss,” stated Ch’od.
“Well, there are certainly a lot of figures out there people might mistake as gods: Galactus Thanos, the Beyonder, Thor, Hercules…” said Raza
“Exactly. This powerful figure, Dragoon, was somehow banished from the time stream. If they found out where, it’s possible they could bring him back,” said Z’Cann.
“Look, Z’Cann, this guy sounds like a fanatic to me, and just because he believes this to be true doesn’t mean it is. We’re here to get the Starjammer repaired and that’s it. We can’t go sticking our noses into criminal and cult business or we’re liable to make some enemies,” replied Corsair.
“But…”
“I know you feel you have to make up for the death of your teammates, but this isn’t the way,” said Corsair. “Why don’t you go with Raza to buy the supplies? That should take your mind off things.”
Before the Skrull woman could reply, Corsair lead Hepzibah and Ch’od away into the hustle and bustle of the trading station. Raza tried to place a comforting hand on her shoulder but the cold metal of his cybernetics made her pull away. She didn’t see the hurt look in his good eye.
“Please, Raza, this could be bad. Isn’t it at least worth investigating?”
“I think the captain is right, friend; you couldn’t prevent the death of your team so you feel the need to make up for it.” The cyborg tried to look sympathetic.
“And you don’t feel like a failure for not saving your son or your race?” she asked.
“Who told you…”
“My room’s right next door to yours, remember? I can’t help but sense them. How long have you been having those nightmares, twenty years? I’m sorry about what happened to your people but now we have the chance to prevent something else bad from happening.”
Raza was torn. On one hand there was his duty to his captain, and on the other hand was his honor code that dictated he had to protect the innocent. He decided a little investigation wouldn’t hurt, and he did feel the urge for a little excitement after being stuck in space for three weeks.
“Ok, we’ll investigate, but if we find out anything we go straight to the Captain, ok?”
“Thank you, Raza, you’re a good man,” replied Z’Cann as she led him into a dark alleyway.
In her time aboard the Starjammer there had been no need for the Skrull woman to use the natural ability of her people, that of shape shifting. Each Skrull possessed the innate ability to alter their molecular structure, making themselves look like anything within reason. Raza watched in restrained awe as his comrade grew to match his height and her green skin turned a dull shade of metallic grey. Within less than a minute she had transformed into an identical copy of their armored human guide, the man Astra had called Fallout.
“Put your hands behind your back,” she said in Fallout’s voice, “and make it look like I’ve captured you.”
The cyborg did as she asked and the pair made their way through the trading station, back towards Astra’s meeting room. The two Kree guards outside paid them little notice as they stepped through the sliding doors. Astra’s room was empty.
“Where are they?” asked Raza.
“There’s a small room coming off this one, I can sense them,” replied Z’Cann. “On no!”
Without an explanation she started running for a door on the far side of the room.
Astra’s Transport Room
There was a lot of things Astra would rather be doing than teleporting to some wasteland planet with Tesk-Nor and his religious cronies, but twenty thousand credits was worth the bother. Business was business after all.
Her assistant and bodyguard, Fallout, stood at her side wide a small datapad, reciting all her duties for the rest of the day.
“…and your business associates will be awaiting your return from this trip, to discuss your next shipment of MGH from Earth.”
MGH was a mutant growth hormone, a drug which allowed the user to temporarily gain superhuman powers for a time. She would have to find a new supplier since that useless Owlsley had failed to show up at any of the designated meeting places.
“All of Tesk-Nor’s people are gathered, Mistress,” stated Fallout.
“Thank you, Sebastian.” Clapping her hands together like a kindergarten teacher, she ushered fro her clients to gather around. “OK people, and I use the term loosely, I shall be generating a portal to my own private pocket dimension and, from there, I’ll open another portal to this planet of yours. Understand? Just step through the white hole,”
Without any effort, the mutant created a doorway to her own personal dimension, from where she could open another doorway to anywhere in the universe. Linking arms with her lover Magnus, the pair stepped through the portal, leaving Tesk-Nor and his Brethren to follow awkwardly after them.
Meanwhile, Fallout was stunned when an exact duplicate of himself came charging into the room. He was too stunned to stop the doppelganger before they too leapt through the white portal. Luckily he gathered his wits in time for the next intruder, the cyborg from the Starjammers. Clenching his fists to open his gauntlets, the armored mutant sent a blast of deadly green radiation at his foe. Unfortunately the blast merely struck the pirate on his mechanical arm and, since his powers only affected biological tissue, it had no effect.
With only a mere glance in Fallout’s direction, the Starjammer leapt into the portal after the fake Fallout duplicate, which by now he had figured out to be the Skrull woman. The armored man wasn’t concerned though; with Magnus by her side it would be very difficult to attack Astra, and the woman had a few surprises set up in her little pocket dimension.
Astra’s Pocket Dimension.
They were inside living white light. People were always stunned by the sheer ‘whiteness’ of her pocket dimension. To be honest, Astra had learned years ago how to alter the appearance of her little world and had found bright white to be the most off-putting for her clients. That was good, though, as she didn’t want Tesk-Nor and his Vanguard to become too comfortable.
The cultists gawked in unrestrained awe at the various alien equipment the crime lord had scattered around her private dimension: Kymellian energy buffers, Glyxian cloning equipment, racks of weapons from all over the galaxy, and even a Shi’ar scout vessel. But their awe turned to suspicion when two figures stumbled through the portal behind them.
Every cultist immediately drew a wicked looking three pronged dagger and eyed the newcomers warily.
“What trickery is this, Astra?” hissed Tesk-Nor.
“Nothing to be concerned about,” she replied, before looking to Fallout and the cyborg. “What are you doing here, Fallout? Have the Starjammers changed their minds about my offer?”
The pair looked at each other before Fallout replied, “Uhh…yes, Astra, the Starjammers have agreed to serve you.”
“Oh, I see,” the woman casually pressed a button on her left gauntlet, activating a energy barrier around the pair. “What do you take me for, a fool? You’re that Skrull witch who was with the Starjammers! Fallout never calls me by my name to my face. Idiots! What are you even doing here?”
“Please, Astra, you can’t let Tesk-Nor release Dragoon! He was banished for a reason,” said Z’Cann, shifting into her natural form.
Astra laughed out loud. “Do you actually believe in their Dragoon nonsense? He’s just a fairy tale these religious nuts worship because they have nothing else in their lives.”
“I am not paying you to besmirch the name of our god, il’Dragoononadas, Astra. Hold your tongue,” snapped Tesk-Nor.
“Oh relax, Tesk-Nor, you’re too uptight. You’re never going to recruit new followers that way,” said Magnus smugly.
“Enough of this idle banter, worms! Take us to the holy planet now!” The cultist was clearly growing impatient.
“Oh fine,” said Astra. “I’ll deal with these two when we get back.”
With a casual wave of her hand she created another portal, this one to the planet she believed Tesk-Nor had been searching for.
Naladas, Milky Way Galaxy, Quadrant 4710
The planet was a dust ball, and that was putting it nicely. The thin atmosphere maintained a smattering of ugly little shrubs and bizarre looking crustaceans but that was it. The planet was barren.
“And so the world was razed by the forces of the Destroyer in punishment for stealing away their god, but still the white devils would not reveal the location of the God-made-flesh.” Tesk-Nor and his minions were lost in religious zeal as Astra and Magnus lead them to the location of an ancient base. “The High Lord’s followers wept for their lost god and scattered to the winds, but those still loyal to the Destroyer formed the Vanguard.”
“Let hope this is over and done with soon,” muttered Astra. “I can take much more of this fanatical babble.”
“Relax, my love, and think of the credits,” Magnus replied. “Though I must admit, it reminds me of the fanatical nonsense my father’s Acolytes used to prattle on with.”
A massive structure loomed before them. Astra’s sources stated it was once the heart of the planet’s military. The structure before them, a giant set of iron doors, was the entrance to a large underground facility. With relative ease, Magnus ripped the doors from their corroded bearings and hurled them away. Astra couldn’t help but smirk; her lover was showing off, displaying his awe inspiring powers to the cultists.
“Well gentlemen, this is it,” she gestured inside the building.
The group marched into the darkened recesses of the abandoned facility, the cultists wary of an attack but Astra knew that with Magnus around there was no need to be worried about automated weapons systems, wild beasts or anything else. Several members of the Vanguard produced small light globe to light the way. It was easy to figure out where to go; they simply followed the trail of bones. Obviously the Naladasians never had a chance to clean up the corpses before Dragoon’s followers showed up looking for him.
Along dusty, bone ridden halls they went, following the two thousand year old path of destruction. Astra had to admit it was eerie, but she’d seen her share of bones before. The skeletons lead the group to a large hexagonal room.
“The room of the Chaos Bringer’s banishment,” said Tesk-Nor solemnly. “It wasn’t for a millennia that the Vanguard learned what happened to our great lord and, by then, we had lost all records of this despicable little planet.”
“You’d think you would keep track of something as important as that,” muttered Astra.
If Tesk-Nor heard her he chose to ignore it as the Vanguard moved around the room with a purpose. One robed acolyte began typing away at a dusty looking console, which surprisingly still worked; there must be reserve power generators somewhere in the facility. The remaining cultists, except for Tesk-Nor, stood around a large, circular platform on the far side of the room.
Chanting filled the room as their leader produced something from a small leather bag: a gauntlet clutching a pink crystal. For a brief second Astra and Magnus, who were watching the scene with scepticism, caught a glimpse of a mummified hand within the gauntlet.
“The Fist of Dragoon,” shouted Tesk-Nor triumphantly, his reptilian eyes wide with fanatic zeal. “With this we shall return the Destroyer to his rightful place in the world. He shall crush the non-believers beneath his mighty heel!”
He held the mummified hand out towards the circular platform and everyone present was immediately blinded by a cylinder of harsh yellow light. The chanting grew louder, almost ecstatic, as a massive figure formed within the center of the light. A deafening roar overwhelmed the chanting as the light faded away.
All present could not help but feel the sheer power emanating from the massive figure that now stood in the center of the room. Static electricity crackled all around him as he clutched his formerly severed hand.
Every Vanguard member dropped to their knees, tears flowing freely from their snake-like eyes, as Tesk-Nor praised the return of their god.
“All rejoice, Lord Dragoon has returned!”
To Be Continued...
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People screamed in terror as he strode forward casually and only a brave few found the courage to fire their weapons at him, but the energy was harmlessly dispersed as it struck his jagged armour. Onwards he strode, many running away in terror, others backing away more slowly, continually firing upon him uselessly. He laughed at their pathetic efforts to halt him.
The people of the galaxy knew him by many names: Dragoon the Destroyer, the Chaos-Bringer, the God-Made-Flesh, and so forth. He liked the last one the most, as it was the closest one to the truth.
This planet, like many before it, had stood against him and his mighty army and, just like those before it, he had come to crush the resistance personally. While his forces brought devastation to the rest of the planet, the Chaos Bringer had come to the heart of its military, a gigantic underground base filled with hundreds of soldiers.
With a casual wave of his hand he sent a wave of energy arcing out before him, decimating the opposition, but more quickly rushed in to take their places. It was clear they wanted to prevent him from reaching something.
“Relinquish your weapons and I might spare some of you!” he boomed.
He was an intimidating figure, seven feet tall and encased in wicked looking armor. Worst of all was the sheer indifference he displayed at opposition he met, his manner broadcasting that nothing could hurt him. Death laughed them in the face.
Suddenly the soldiers stopped, panic showed on many ivory faces as they realized they were backed up against a large metal door. “Whatever you do, don’t let him through that door!” shouted what looked to be the lead soldier.
The hulking figure strode forward and, with a wicked smile, he sent bolts of black lightning firing off in every direction. Screams of terror and agony only made his smiler wider as he knocked down the door with a single punch. More soldiers filled the hexagonal room; he ignored their annoying attacks as his fiery white eyes searched for what was so important about this place. And there it was, on the far side of the room, a small shard of pink crystal suspending by glowing yellow light.
Could it be? he thought. A shard of the M’Kraan crystal?
With a thunderous roar of triumph he charged across the room, crushing soldiers beneath his feet. He reached out and clutched the crystal in his gauntleted hand and was immediately bathed in harsh yellow light. Try as he might he could not move a muscle…he had been tricked, trapped like an animal. Outside the cylinder of light, stunned soldiers watched as their enemy was engulfed in yellow light and disappeared.
“D…did it work?” asked one young soldier, his pink eyes wide with shock.
“Yes boy,” said and older man. “Dragoon is gone at last, banished from the time stream.”
All that remained of the great Destroyer was his severed hand, still clutching the fake shard of M’Kraan crystal.
Present day, Milky Way Galaxy, Quadrant 4704
There was darkness all around, like every night, and he was all alone, like most nights. Not completely alone, as he had the weaselly little Shi’ar to keep him company, but alone enough. The balding doctor looked down his spectacled nose at his bound ‘patient’.
“Ah, Mr Longknife, I do hope you’re comfortable,” said the scientist in what was supposed to be a warm and friendly manner. “I must remember to send my thanks to Emperor D’Ken for sending you my way. Now I’ve been told your species has a high threshold for pain, correct?” He smiled, like he was chatting with an old friend rather than a prisoner. “Not talking I see? Oh well, I guess I’ll just have to find out for myself.”
The patient did not flinch as the doctor sliced open the skin of his shoulder with a scalpel, nor did he cry out in pain when muscle and sinew were hacked away, such was the way of his people. For hours the torture continued, bone was sawed off, arteries soldered, all without the benefit of any anaesthesia, and still he said nothing. Only when he felt the cold, metal monstrosity that would be his new arm did he start to scream.
Raza woke up in his bed, covered in cold sweat, as he did every night after the dream. Sometimes the nightmares were different, he often remembered his village being razed by Shi’ar soldiers or his screaming son being dragged away. But more often than not he remembered how he had been forced to become the hideous cyborg he was today.
Splashing some cold water on his face he examined the mechanical part of his face in the mirror sadly. He used to be such a handsome man. The cybernetics aided him greatly in battle, there could be no denying it, but everyday he wished he could be whole once more.
The Bridge of the Starjammer
“Blech! What do you call thiss sstuff again, Corssair?” asked Ch’od as he eyed a spoonful of orange substance.
“Baked beans and they’re fine, quit whining. The only food we have left are the long-life supplies we got on our last trip to Earth,” replied the Captain Christopher Summers, AKA Corsair.
As the big, green alien reluctantly ate his baked beans (which looked suspiciously like Nixxian Squidbat eggs) he couldn’t help but marvel at the Starjammer’s knack for surviving against all odds. In just two days they had escaped from a Shi’ar battleship, engaged in a dogfight with a Brood armada, and caused a massive battle between the Phalanx and the Brood.
A fleeting image of a techno-organic Acanti flitted through the Saurian’s mind. Broolanx? he thought, or maybe Phalood? This little mental joke brought a smile to his scaly face before the present situation wiped it back off again. It had been three weeks since that climactic battle and the Starjammer was still without a functioning hyper drive. They were going at a relative snail’s pace through what had so far been uninhabited space, supplies were running low and that’s why they were forced to live off baked beans, canned tuna and these salty, dry biscuits known as crackers.
“No wonder you don’t want to go home, if all your food iss like thisss.”
“Shhh, I’m trying to hail this ship,” hushed the Captain.
Corsair was smiling on the inside though. Ch’od was a breath of fresh air in situations like this, always upbeat and optimistic, unlike Hepzibah who had been moody ever since they had entered the Milky Way Galaxy. He knew she was angry over the fact that he had risked all their lives to save the people that she hates most of all, the Shi’ar, but every time he tried to talk to her about she ignored him.
“Hail received, Captain,” said the computerized voice of Waldo, the ship’s A.I. “Opening two way video communication.”
A squat, ugly look alien with maroon skin, a pig nose and bulging black eyes appeared on the screen at the front of the bridge.
“This is Captain Chiminin, Gonk vessel 589351. Which one of you is in charge?” Only Ch’od and Corsair were on the bridge at the time.
Corsair began to speak but was interrupted.
“Oh, and if you’re pirates, I should rightly inform you we are heavily armed and know how to defend ourselves,” said the rude captain.
“Relax, Captain, we’re not pirates,” replied Corsair. “I am Captain Chris Summers and this is my maintenance officer Ch’od. Our hyper drive is damaged so we’ve been forced to travel at sub light speed for three weeks. If you have the parts we need to fix it, or even some food supplies to trade, we would greatly appreciate it.”
Chiminin pondered this for a while with many heavily emphasized hmm’s before saying, “Sorry, Captain Sumner, but we have nothing to spare. Luckily for you though, there is a trading station on a large asteroid just several parsecs from here; sending the co-ordinates to you now. You’ll get everything you need there. Be careful however; though my industrious people do the trading there, we all know a crime syndicate really runs the show. A female by the name of Astra’s in charge and kinda looks like you. Rumour is she can teleport wherever she wants in the galaxy. Nonsense if you ask me hmm. Well, good day, Sumner.”
Without waiting for a reply the alien captain ended the communication link. Chris couldn’t help but grind his teeth at the ugly little captain’s indifference to their plight and the way he called him ‘Sumner’, but at least he gave them directions to somewhere to get repairs and supplies. Before now they had been flying blind in uncharted space.
Eagerly, he activated the ship’s intercom and said, “This is Corsair. Just letting everybody know we’ll be arriving at a trading post in just a few short hours. No more canned baked beans.”
He could have sworn he heard a collective ‘hurray’ from down below.
The rest of the crew joined them on the bridge over the next few hours travel, all eager to be off the ship even for just a few minutes. With a smile Corsair took look at each member of the Starjammers, his family: Ch’od, the gentle green giant with his furry white ‘pet’ Cr+eee resting upon his massive shoulder; Raza, the noble warrior; Hepzibah, Corsair’s hot tempered lover; and their newest member, Z’Cann, the telepath who had lost her own team to the vile Brood. Other than Z’Cann, the rest of the Starjammers had been together for nearly twenty years and they really were a family.
Trading Station
The asteroid on which the trading station rested was really more of a small moon, albeit shaped like a potato rather than spherical. It was also the only asteroid in a system of seven barren planets. The station itself was rather expansive, covering over half the giant rock and was a very busy looking place, with many unidentifiable ships coming and going.
A voice crackled over the intercom. “This is landing control, Gonk station 112, state your name and business,”
“This is Captain Christopher Summers of the Starjammer; we merely wish to purchase some supplies and parts to repair out ship.”
“Very well, you shall dock in landing bay seven.Our tractor beam shall guide you in. Don’t steal anything or kill anyone during your stay.”
“Charming fellow,” muttered Ch’od.
Within a few short minutes the ship had been guided down onto a large landing platform on the surface of the asteroid. It appeared as if a special dome-like force field held all the air inside while allowing ships to pass through easily.
“Waldo, lock the ship to all but us, ok?” said Corsair.
“Yes Daddy…error 616,” Waldo’s circuits had been fried during the fight with the Brood and, while Ch’od had managed to repair him, his core processing unit had been slightly damaged, causing occasional random, but harmless, outbursts. Harmless so far…
As the quintet descended the ramp to the landing platform they found someone was waiting for them. The man was of similar height and shape to Raza or Corsair but no-one could tell what he really looked like due to the fact he was covered head to toe in some kind of armor.
This guy a cheap Iron Man knock off or what? thought Corsair.
He was right, the man (or maybe woman) wore a suit superficially similar to Tony Stark’s, though this one was a dull, lead grey and slightly rusted in some areas. The eyes were indistinguishable through a dull black visor and over his mouth was something that looked a lot like a gas mask.
“Are you guys the Starjammers?” his voice was slightly distorted through the gas mask, but he was definitely male and the accent sounded slightly familiar to Chris.
“I suppose it depends on who wants to know,” replied Corsair.
It seemed as if the armoured man had only just noticed Corsair, which was understandable considering Ch’od’s massive frame and Raza’s cybernetics.
“Are you human?” he asked. Corsair nodded. “Wow what are the chances, I’m human too, not that you could tell,” he tapped his armoured chest. “Where are you from mate?”
“Well…the U.S. originally.”
“Good stuff. I’m an Aussie myself,” said the man proudly, “little place called Rockhampton, doubt you’ve heard of it. Beef capital of Australia, mind you.”
“How’d you get all the way our here then?”
The armored man held one hand up, indicating a need for silence, while he placed his other hand up to where his ear would be under the helmet.
“She’s getting impatient, we better get moving,” he said.
“Wherre are we going, tin man?” growled Hepzibah.
“Oh yeah, sorry. Astra wants to see all of you. You don’t want to say no to her, but it shouldn’t take too long, sweetheart.” He glanced at Hepzibah’s scowling visage and took a step back. “Right this way…”
As the man led them down a long steel corridor the group noticed dozens of alien’s like Captain Chinimin. Corsair realized he’d seen people like this before, on the shattered space station, but those aliens had been taken over by Brood embryos. These ones were just rude.
“Are you getting anything from this guy?” Corsair whispered to Z’Cann.
“No, Captain. His suit must be blocking my telepathy somehow.”
“Ssso what’ss with the ssuit? Is there radiation we should know about?” Ch’od asked their guide, who laughed out loud.
“In a way, big fella, in a way, but don’t worry…it’s more to keep the radiation in…” he let his cryptic comment trail off as he led them through a pair of sliding doors, guarded by two armored Kree.
Compared to the rest of the sparsely decorated station, this room was a palace. Beautiful tapestries hung on the walls next to gleaming suits of armor and other various works of art. Exotic plants of every color imaginable were growing in pots placed all around the room, reminding corsair of a Sultan’s palace. On the far side of the room, in what could best be described as a throne, was the woman called Astra.
She was an attractive woman, who looked to be in her thirties, with short black hair and a face that would be pretty if it didn’t look so arrogant. Two scantily clad Kree males stood on both sides of her, feeding her various delicacies. After roughly two minutes of standing there waiting for Astra to notice them, the armored man cleared his through loudly.
“I know you’re there, Fallout, are you really stupid enough to think I didn’t notice you enter?” asked Astra coldly. She then proceeded to make them wait another minute before finally sending her two attendants away.
“Thank you, Fallout, you may go.” The armored man gave an awkward bow and left the room. With a shrewd look in her eyes, the woman looked each member of the Starjammers up and down, taking their measure. “Your reputation precedes you, Starjammers. I simply had to meet the famous pirates, the ‘scourge of the Shi’ar Empire’.”
“Are you a human?” asked Corsair.
Their host’s eyes widened in anger at Christopher’s blunt question. “I am more than human, I am Homo Superior. And hasn’t anyone told you handlebar moustaches went out after the seventies?”
Corsair simply smiled and stroked his moustache. “Really? My wife always told me I looked like Burt Reynolds.” Though none apart from Corsair understood the joke, all present smiled slightly as Astra shuddered visibly, except for Hepzibah, who scowled at the mention of Christopher’s late wife.
“Why are we here, Astra?” Another blunt question from Corsair.
“I thought that would be obvious, Corsair…”
“Please, call me Captain Summers.”
“Summers?” The mutant woman seemed to lose her concentration for a moment, before continuing on. “I would like to offer you and your crew a place in my…organization. I could use people of your skill and reputation.”
Hepzibah practically licked her lips as she pondered the benefits of working for Astra: money, power and, best of all, excitement and danger. All the others, though, looked disgusted by Astra’s offer.
“Sorry Astra, but we’re not petty criminals. We only did what we had to fight a corrupt regime,” said Corsair calmly.
“Semantics!” screamed the crime lord. “You delude yourselves in order to justify the things you’ve done. You’ve lied, stolen and killed…you’re no better than me, Summers!”
Gone was the aloof arrogance of before…the mutant’s true colors were showing; she was used to getting what she wanted. In other words, she was a spoilt bitch. Her tirade continued for another few minutes before a man entered the room, immediately calming her. He was young, somewhere in his mid twenties, with long silver hair and a well muscled build. He strode up to Astra’s side and kissed her fingers.
“Are these people bothering you, my dear?” he asked. Corsair couldn’t shake the feeling that he knew this man.
“Ah, Magnus, they don’t want to work for me,” she pouted.
“Shall I kill them for you, my love?”
Corsair had his pistol drawn instantly while Raza held both his sabres in a defensive position. Before either of them could react, all their weapons were hurled across the room by some invisible force. Raza also realized that he was unable to move his bionic arm.
It was a stand off and the silver haired man held all the cards. The man, Magnus, was clearly a mutant with some kind of telepathic or magnetic ability. He looked down upon the Starjammers like they were something he had scaped off his boot.
“Not now, Magnus, we have a guest,” smiled Astra smugly.
Glancing over his shoulder, Corsair realized a cloaked figure had stepped through the sliding doors. Most of his (he assumed it was a male) body was hidden beneath heavy, blood-red robes and only a shadow of his snakelike face was visible beneath his hood. The look on this man’s face, the sheer contempt for all around him, made it impossible for Corsair to imagine him ever doing something like blowing out the candle on a birthday cake, enjoying a nice glass of wine or even brushing his teeth. It was disconcerting to say the least. It looked as if Z’Cann felt the same, as her golden eyes were wide with fear.
“Ah, Tesk-Nor, do come in,” said Astra, playing the inviting host once again. “Let me just toss out the rubbish...”
With a nod to Magnus, a large piece of the metal floor rose up on one end, sending the quintet rolling out the door in a rather embarrassing fashion. Their weapons slid out after them and the doors slammed shut with an audible thunk!
“I’ll teach that huffy little glatch not to mess with me!” hissed Hepzibah, but the two Kree guards blocked her path.
“Forget it, Hepz, lets go buy you something nice,” said Corsair, dusting himself off. This seemed to cheer up the Mephistoid slightly and she managed to push her anger aside for the moment.
“Corsair, I sensed something horrible in there that you need to know.” Z’Cann looked downright scared.
Astra’s Throne Room
“That idiot Summers doesn’t know what he’s missing out on, not working for you,” crooned Magnus in Astra’s ear. She smiled at him appreciatively. When her first clone of Magneto, Joseph, had failed in his mission to humiliate and destroy the Master of Magnetism, the teleporter had promptly created a new clone. This time, though, she’d employed a Pintarian telepath to create false memories. The alien had charged an arm and a leg but it was worth it, her clone thought he was actually the son of Magneto, and that his father had tormented him his entire life. This proved as both a blessing and a curse, as with these new memories he had become his own unique person, rather than a pale imitation, and Astra had quickly fallen in love with him.
With this new love she disregarded her need for petty revenge against Magneto and focused on strengthening her criminal organisation. Taking over ships and space stations was child’s play with a man who could manipulate metal. They didn’t have the perfect relationship though: Astra was greedy and arrogant while Magnus was constantly trying to prove to himself he was better than his ‘father’.
“Please, come closer, Tesk-Nor,” she called to her guest, playing the perfect host. “Would you like something to drink? Kree wine is so hard to come buy these days.”
Magnus floated a metal goblet full of pink Kree wine to their cloaked guest; he stared at it suspiciously before waving the thing away. To Astra, Tesk-Nor was a vile little man, one of the worst kind of people: a religious fanatic. The alien and his cult, the Vanguard of Dragoon, had hired her to help search for a planet where their so called long lost god had disappeared. She couldn’t help but feel that with worshippers like Tesk-Nor she would disappear too.
“You said you had information for me?” The cultist had a voice like nails on a chalkboard.
“Oh, better than that, my friend; I’ve found the location of your planet,” replied Astra smugly.
Tesk-Nor’s eyed widened in surprise. “So soon? Our Order has searched for two millennia.”
“Yes, but I don’t think you have the necessary people skills to really get the information you required. Plus, it’s a big galaxy.” She quite enjoyed taunting her employers when she had something they needed. “What’s more, I can take you to this planet almost instantly. No doubt you have heard of my abilities? Good. Well it will cost you an extra twenty thousand credits.”
The cultist narrowed his eyes at the added charge but did not argue. “It is a deal. I shall gather my brethren.”
The Market
“So let me get this straight…Astra’s been hired by some fanatic to find a missing god?” asked Corsair incredulously.
“I know it sounds mad, Astra doesn’t even believe it, but when that cloaked man came into the room I could just sense it was completely and utterly true. His whole order is dedicated to finding this god of theirs.” Z’Cann was growing frustrated
“But there’sss no ssuch thing as godss,” stated Ch’od.
“Well, there are certainly a lot of figures out there people might mistake as gods: Galactus Thanos, the Beyonder, Thor, Hercules…” said Raza
“Exactly. This powerful figure, Dragoon, was somehow banished from the time stream. If they found out where, it’s possible they could bring him back,” said Z’Cann.
“Look, Z’Cann, this guy sounds like a fanatic to me, and just because he believes this to be true doesn’t mean it is. We’re here to get the Starjammer repaired and that’s it. We can’t go sticking our noses into criminal and cult business or we’re liable to make some enemies,” replied Corsair.
“But…”
“I know you feel you have to make up for the death of your teammates, but this isn’t the way,” said Corsair. “Why don’t you go with Raza to buy the supplies? That should take your mind off things.”
Before the Skrull woman could reply, Corsair lead Hepzibah and Ch’od away into the hustle and bustle of the trading station. Raza tried to place a comforting hand on her shoulder but the cold metal of his cybernetics made her pull away. She didn’t see the hurt look in his good eye.
“Please, Raza, this could be bad. Isn’t it at least worth investigating?”
“I think the captain is right, friend; you couldn’t prevent the death of your team so you feel the need to make up for it.” The cyborg tried to look sympathetic.
“And you don’t feel like a failure for not saving your son or your race?” she asked.
“Who told you…”
“My room’s right next door to yours, remember? I can’t help but sense them. How long have you been having those nightmares, twenty years? I’m sorry about what happened to your people but now we have the chance to prevent something else bad from happening.”
Raza was torn. On one hand there was his duty to his captain, and on the other hand was his honor code that dictated he had to protect the innocent. He decided a little investigation wouldn’t hurt, and he did feel the urge for a little excitement after being stuck in space for three weeks.
“Ok, we’ll investigate, but if we find out anything we go straight to the Captain, ok?”
“Thank you, Raza, you’re a good man,” replied Z’Cann as she led him into a dark alleyway.
In her time aboard the Starjammer there had been no need for the Skrull woman to use the natural ability of her people, that of shape shifting. Each Skrull possessed the innate ability to alter their molecular structure, making themselves look like anything within reason. Raza watched in restrained awe as his comrade grew to match his height and her green skin turned a dull shade of metallic grey. Within less than a minute she had transformed into an identical copy of their armored human guide, the man Astra had called Fallout.
“Put your hands behind your back,” she said in Fallout’s voice, “and make it look like I’ve captured you.”
The cyborg did as she asked and the pair made their way through the trading station, back towards Astra’s meeting room. The two Kree guards outside paid them little notice as they stepped through the sliding doors. Astra’s room was empty.
“Where are they?” asked Raza.
“There’s a small room coming off this one, I can sense them,” replied Z’Cann. “On no!”
Without an explanation she started running for a door on the far side of the room.
Astra’s Transport Room
There was a lot of things Astra would rather be doing than teleporting to some wasteland planet with Tesk-Nor and his religious cronies, but twenty thousand credits was worth the bother. Business was business after all.
Her assistant and bodyguard, Fallout, stood at her side wide a small datapad, reciting all her duties for the rest of the day.
“…and your business associates will be awaiting your return from this trip, to discuss your next shipment of MGH from Earth.”
MGH was a mutant growth hormone, a drug which allowed the user to temporarily gain superhuman powers for a time. She would have to find a new supplier since that useless Owlsley had failed to show up at any of the designated meeting places.
“All of Tesk-Nor’s people are gathered, Mistress,” stated Fallout.
“Thank you, Sebastian.” Clapping her hands together like a kindergarten teacher, she ushered fro her clients to gather around. “OK people, and I use the term loosely, I shall be generating a portal to my own private pocket dimension and, from there, I’ll open another portal to this planet of yours. Understand? Just step through the white hole,”
Without any effort, the mutant created a doorway to her own personal dimension, from where she could open another doorway to anywhere in the universe. Linking arms with her lover Magnus, the pair stepped through the portal, leaving Tesk-Nor and his Brethren to follow awkwardly after them.
Meanwhile, Fallout was stunned when an exact duplicate of himself came charging into the room. He was too stunned to stop the doppelganger before they too leapt through the white portal. Luckily he gathered his wits in time for the next intruder, the cyborg from the Starjammers. Clenching his fists to open his gauntlets, the armored mutant sent a blast of deadly green radiation at his foe. Unfortunately the blast merely struck the pirate on his mechanical arm and, since his powers only affected biological tissue, it had no effect.
With only a mere glance in Fallout’s direction, the Starjammer leapt into the portal after the fake Fallout duplicate, which by now he had figured out to be the Skrull woman. The armored man wasn’t concerned though; with Magnus by her side it would be very difficult to attack Astra, and the woman had a few surprises set up in her little pocket dimension.
Astra’s Pocket Dimension.
They were inside living white light. People were always stunned by the sheer ‘whiteness’ of her pocket dimension. To be honest, Astra had learned years ago how to alter the appearance of her little world and had found bright white to be the most off-putting for her clients. That was good, though, as she didn’t want Tesk-Nor and his Vanguard to become too comfortable.
The cultists gawked in unrestrained awe at the various alien equipment the crime lord had scattered around her private dimension: Kymellian energy buffers, Glyxian cloning equipment, racks of weapons from all over the galaxy, and even a Shi’ar scout vessel. But their awe turned to suspicion when two figures stumbled through the portal behind them.
Every cultist immediately drew a wicked looking three pronged dagger and eyed the newcomers warily.
“What trickery is this, Astra?” hissed Tesk-Nor.
“Nothing to be concerned about,” she replied, before looking to Fallout and the cyborg. “What are you doing here, Fallout? Have the Starjammers changed their minds about my offer?”
The pair looked at each other before Fallout replied, “Uhh…yes, Astra, the Starjammers have agreed to serve you.”
“Oh, I see,” the woman casually pressed a button on her left gauntlet, activating a energy barrier around the pair. “What do you take me for, a fool? You’re that Skrull witch who was with the Starjammers! Fallout never calls me by my name to my face. Idiots! What are you even doing here?”
“Please, Astra, you can’t let Tesk-Nor release Dragoon! He was banished for a reason,” said Z’Cann, shifting into her natural form.
Astra laughed out loud. “Do you actually believe in their Dragoon nonsense? He’s just a fairy tale these religious nuts worship because they have nothing else in their lives.”
“I am not paying you to besmirch the name of our god, il’Dragoononadas, Astra. Hold your tongue,” snapped Tesk-Nor.
“Oh relax, Tesk-Nor, you’re too uptight. You’re never going to recruit new followers that way,” said Magnus smugly.
“Enough of this idle banter, worms! Take us to the holy planet now!” The cultist was clearly growing impatient.
“Oh fine,” said Astra. “I’ll deal with these two when we get back.”
With a casual wave of her hand she created another portal, this one to the planet she believed Tesk-Nor had been searching for.
Naladas, Milky Way Galaxy, Quadrant 4710
The planet was a dust ball, and that was putting it nicely. The thin atmosphere maintained a smattering of ugly little shrubs and bizarre looking crustaceans but that was it. The planet was barren.
“And so the world was razed by the forces of the Destroyer in punishment for stealing away their god, but still the white devils would not reveal the location of the God-made-flesh.” Tesk-Nor and his minions were lost in religious zeal as Astra and Magnus lead them to the location of an ancient base. “The High Lord’s followers wept for their lost god and scattered to the winds, but those still loyal to the Destroyer formed the Vanguard.”
“Let hope this is over and done with soon,” muttered Astra. “I can take much more of this fanatical babble.”
“Relax, my love, and think of the credits,” Magnus replied. “Though I must admit, it reminds me of the fanatical nonsense my father’s Acolytes used to prattle on with.”
A massive structure loomed before them. Astra’s sources stated it was once the heart of the planet’s military. The structure before them, a giant set of iron doors, was the entrance to a large underground facility. With relative ease, Magnus ripped the doors from their corroded bearings and hurled them away. Astra couldn’t help but smirk; her lover was showing off, displaying his awe inspiring powers to the cultists.
“Well gentlemen, this is it,” she gestured inside the building.
The group marched into the darkened recesses of the abandoned facility, the cultists wary of an attack but Astra knew that with Magnus around there was no need to be worried about automated weapons systems, wild beasts or anything else. Several members of the Vanguard produced small light globe to light the way. It was easy to figure out where to go; they simply followed the trail of bones. Obviously the Naladasians never had a chance to clean up the corpses before Dragoon’s followers showed up looking for him.
Along dusty, bone ridden halls they went, following the two thousand year old path of destruction. Astra had to admit it was eerie, but she’d seen her share of bones before. The skeletons lead the group to a large hexagonal room.
“The room of the Chaos Bringer’s banishment,” said Tesk-Nor solemnly. “It wasn’t for a millennia that the Vanguard learned what happened to our great lord and, by then, we had lost all records of this despicable little planet.”
“You’d think you would keep track of something as important as that,” muttered Astra.
If Tesk-Nor heard her he chose to ignore it as the Vanguard moved around the room with a purpose. One robed acolyte began typing away at a dusty looking console, which surprisingly still worked; there must be reserve power generators somewhere in the facility. The remaining cultists, except for Tesk-Nor, stood around a large, circular platform on the far side of the room.
Chanting filled the room as their leader produced something from a small leather bag: a gauntlet clutching a pink crystal. For a brief second Astra and Magnus, who were watching the scene with scepticism, caught a glimpse of a mummified hand within the gauntlet.
“The Fist of Dragoon,” shouted Tesk-Nor triumphantly, his reptilian eyes wide with fanatic zeal. “With this we shall return the Destroyer to his rightful place in the world. He shall crush the non-believers beneath his mighty heel!”
He held the mummified hand out towards the circular platform and everyone present was immediately blinded by a cylinder of harsh yellow light. The chanting grew louder, almost ecstatic, as a massive figure formed within the center of the light. A deafening roar overwhelmed the chanting as the light faded away.
All present could not help but feel the sheer power emanating from the massive figure that now stood in the center of the room. Static electricity crackled all around him as he clutched his formerly severed hand.
Every Vanguard member dropped to their knees, tears flowing freely from their snake-like eyes, as Tesk-Nor praised the return of their god.
“All rejoice, Lord Dragoon has returned!”
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To Be Continued...
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