Shall We Begin Page 2

  “You can do it, Lyra,” the feathered recruit from Nova Prime chirped her encouragement.

  “Focus and hold that focus,” Sergeant Claymore said, walking over to the Neeve. In a not unfriendly voice, he continued. “Don’t look at me; concentrate on the task at hand. See it in your mind, channeling your Will, and create what you see.”

  The Neeve nodded, clenching his jaw as a translucent circular shield formed in his right hand and began to become more opaque. A huge smile spread across his face and wonder filled his lavender eyes. “Thank—thank you, Sergeant Claymore.”

  “Don’t thank me, recruit.” Sergeant Claymore moved down the line. “You did this yourself. It’s always been inside of you. That goes for all of you, whatever you’ve gone through, whoever you’ve lost, however many times you’ve been beaten down by the universe and gotten back up; it’s all forged your will into something unbreakable. Pull from that zeal within now.”

  Craaaaaack

  A ripple caused the walls and ceiling to shift. The ground beneath their feet in the warehouse rumbled, then rocked and swayed as if it were in pain. A sound like a monstrous high-powered machine filled the air. Recruits looked to Sergeant Claymore for direction like baby animals searching their parent for answers.

  “Is this part of the training?” the Gleason with the edge in her eye asked as she fought to stay upright against the shaking ground. “What’s going on, Sergeant Claymore?”

  What is going on? Sergeant Claymore wondered. There was no way he was going to say this out loud. He was in charge. These recruits needed structure and command. It’s on you to figure this out. Get it done.

  “You’re on a need-to-know basis, Recruit Arowin.” Sergeant Claymore extended his long arms on either side of his body to keep his balance. “And you don’t need to know.”

  Arowin’s feathered head snapped up, surprised he knew her name.

  Sergeant Claymore knew all of his recruits’ names. He chose to call them recruits during training to bring unity from across the universe of galaxies filled with different languages, creatures, and cultures to reinforce their identity as recruits in a Corps as opposed to individuals. He used her name now because she was the one he was going to leave in charge.

  Just like that, the ground stopped shaking. The din of rendered metal from an unknown heavy machine, however, continued to penetrate the walls of the warehouse.

  “Recruit Arowin,” Sergeant Claymore said with no room in his voice for hesitation or question. “You are in charge while I step outside. You and the rest of the recruits are to remain put until I return.”

  “Sergeant Claymore,” Arowin began with a concerned tone. “What’s going on out ther—”

  “If I don’t return, you are to lock yourself in the warehouse using this control panel.” Sergeant Claymore walked to the entrance of the warehouse, where a small square mechanism sat in the wall. “You’ll use the communication device also in the wall to signal for aid and do so until aid arrives.”

  Despite the Valkyrie not having responded, Sergeant Claymore knew without a shadow of a doubt they would return to aid as soon as they understood what was happening. When Sergeant Claymore failed to check in, they would try to reach him over the comms. If they couldn’t, they would come; and if they couldn’t, another Arilion ship would. Or the Knights themselves. This left no room for doubt or thoughts of abandonment in the resolute sergeant and seasoned Knight.

  Knights never left a man behind. It was something written in the DNA of their Will, something unquestionable, unwavering to the extent it was beyond reason. They fought and died for one another without a second thought. This was true from the most senior Knight to the youngest recruit standing in front of him now.

  Sergeant Claymore opened the massive steel door to the warehouse and trod outside to where the suns were already set leaving an expansive canvas of indigo and emerald clouded sky smattered with stars in distant systems. He closed the warehouse door behind him with a thud, turning to scan the terrain. The scene before him becoming clear, he clenched his jaw and set his fists.

  Chapter 3

  Just past the rippling wave of a sand dune to his right, a foreign alloy cylinder rose into the air. The sound radiating through the cooling air from the obscure device reminded Sergeant Claymore of a ship’s engine as it warmed up and prepared for liftoff.

  It was obvious something out of the ordinary was going on. Instead of taking chances, Sergeant Claymore strengthened his own armored suit around his hefty frame. His armor was made of ultraviolet armor spread over his body from reinforced heavy combat boots to a layered chest plate, shoulder protection, and a helmet worn by warriors from his home planet. The helmet was made up of one large domed section, a wide visor, and a mouthpiece that protruded to give his face the appearance that his lower jaw was longer than it actually was. In the line of legendary Judgeon warriors, a strong, jutting jaw meant power.

  Sergeant Claymore lifted into the air to get a better view of what was going on past the rise of the dune. The dense blanket of stars shone bright on this side of the planet and gave more than enough light to see. Aiding in the illumination were bright spotlights used by whoever or whatever was on the other side of the dune.

  High into the cool night air, Sergeant Claymore was able to get a look at exactly what was happening. A group of eight metallic workers were drilling into the planet’s core. The cylinder Sergeant Claymore had seen was actually a drill that was burrowing deep through the sand.

  Four bright lamps formed a circle around the worksite as well as a small drop ship. As Sergeant Claymore took in the force below him, so too did the metallic workers, stopping to study him in return.

  They didn’t appear to be armed, but Sergeant Claymore had been wrong before. He knew to be alert, be diplomatic, and also be prepared to kill everybody he met. Despite scanning the area for more, he only counted the eight in front of him.

  The beings below moved in calculated and deliberate movements, almost mechanized. No eye contact or pause in connecting with one another as each seemed to have a prime directive. He was sure now they were robots, not any kind of humanoid species in armor. Although he didn’t recognize their ship or structures of their bodies, he wasn’t surprised. The universe was a big place.

  “Valkyrie this is Sergeant Claymore, come in.” The sergeant tried to raise his ship one more time. Still nothing.

  Sergeant Claymore’s eyes traveled to the small, unknown craft on the other side of the drill, which still whirled as it drove deeper into the planet. There was a wide antenna on the drop ship.

  If I were doing something I wasn’t supposed to be doing, I’d kill any transmission to and from the area I was working in as well, Sergeant Claymore thought to himself. Well, it’s on you, Arilion Knight. Let’s go see what these tin cans are up to.

  Sergeant Claymore floated over the dune and came to rest on top of a sandy hill. If things went to hell, he wanted the high ground. He was outnumbered, but that had never stopped him before.

  From this vantage point, he was already in striking range were he to choose to construct a long-range weapon. The robots in front of him wasted no time to allow the Knight the first move. They dropped what they were doing and moved as one to intercept the sergeant.

  The robots were constructed like skeletons, with lustrous casting creating everything from their thin arms and legs to their bulkier bodies with a series of aligned plates. A slender neck supported a bulbous, skull-like head with eyes shining bright like rubies in the night.

  They were each nearly two meters tall. Besides an emblem on the right side of their chest, a pyramid inside a circle, there were no distinguishing marks to tell one from the next. Sergeant Claymore had never seen the symbol before. He was sure of it.

  Sergeant Claymore wiggled the fingers in his right gauntlet with anticipation. Years of practice had given him the ability to create a construct within a second and bear it on his target the next. He wasn’t afraid of a fight as long as it
didn’t put his recruits in harm’s way. As long as they did what they were told and stayed in the warehouse, they would be fine.

  The warehouse also doubled as a bunker. If anyone were going to get inside the shelter, it would take days of demolition work.

  “State your business,” a robotic voice demanded as the line of eight robots stopped five meters in front of the sergeant. “Repeat, state your business or you will be removed from the premises.”

  They were close enough now Sergeant Claymore could open up with a heavy blaster and annihilate all of them before they would be able to form any semblance of attack.

  “My name is Drill Sergeant Ivok Claymore of the Arilion Knights,” Sergeant Claymore said, already feeling the rush of adrenaline hit his veins. He had been in enough conflicts to know that this conversation was only going to end one way. “This section of the planet Creeon is supposed to be uninhabited and used by the Arilion Knights for training. You are trespassing and you will remove yourselves or I will remove what is left of you.”

  The drill still hummed in the background. The robots stood silent for a moment. If Sergeant Claymore were to venture a guess, they were either silently confirming amongst themselves or reporting to whoever had sent them.

  “We will not leave until the drilling of the planet’s resources are complete.” One robot that looked just like the other seven took a step forward. He was in the middle of the line, directly in front of Sergeant Claymore. His right hand came up and transitioned from a metallic hand to a wide blaster. The act took a split second of clicking and whirling.

  If as on cue, the ground they were on buckled and shook again. A deep groan came from under their feet.

  “These resources you’re digging for, I very much doubt it’s good for the planet or the inhabitants on the other side.” Sergeant Claymore constructed his own deep purple blaster. It was a weapon he had modified himself made from an Eviscerator Rocket Launcher Model U7P90. The weapon was sleek and powerful, capable of sending incendiary rocket rounds every second at his target. He lovingly named it “Lori.” “Last chance. Pack up and go or reap the whirlwind.”

  At his words, the remaining seven robots took a step forward, all of them pointing a blaster-ended arm at Sergeant Claymore.

  “Our employer’s directive was specific.” The robot who spoke first did so again. “We must remain until we have cracked the planet’s core and attained the necessary resources. You are outnumbered. You cannot defeat all of us. Leave or die.”

  “That’s where we’re going to find ourselves at a bit of an impasse - a little conflict of interest, if you will. It’s my directive to keep these people and this planet safe. All the people and every planet. See? So maybe I can’t defeat all of you, but I can definitely kill at least one of you.” Sergeant Claymore pointed his weapon at the robot who had been speaking. “You! You die first, nuthead!”

  In any fight, Sergeant Claymore preferred to have the first punch. If punches had to be traded, then why not? He squeezed the trigger on his weapon, rewarded by the familiar sound of a round exiting the chamber.

  THUMP! THUMP! THUMP! THUMP!

  Purple rockets screamed toward the line of robots as Sergeant Claymore walked backward, creating more room between himself and his targets. As the rockets exploded, bright heat washed over his body. He could feel the warmth despite the armor he had constructed.

  Explosions hurled the sand into the air as the rockets detonated on their targets. Smoke and flame lit up the scene around them as multiple robots were struck dead center.

  Sergeant Claymore expected a volley of return fire. There was none.

  A moment later, he relaxed his finger on the trigger and waited for the smoke and dust to settle. What he saw made him take a tighter hold on Lori. The robots who still stood in line staring back with blank expressions through ruby eyes weren’t even scratched. They walked through the smoke and burning sand, some of them still on fire from the superheated rounds. If any of them were damaged, they showed no sign of it.

  “Eliminate the target,” the lead robot said, opening fire with his blaster. All eight robots targeted Sergeant Claymore, firing their blasts with a bright blue beam of energy forward, sounding like someone saying the letter “z” over and over again.

  Zzz! Zzz! Zzz! Zzz!

  The space in between the robots and Sergeant Claymore lit up like a light show as the two sides traded fire. The shots that hit Sergeant Claymore weren’t life threatening, but neither were they pleasant. The energy beams struck and splashed against his constructed armor with the force of someone hitting him with a foam-padded training stick. The enemy fire came so often and so fierce it was difficult for him to aim a shot of his own.

  “Is that all you got, you sacks of screws!?!” Sergeant Claymore raged as the warrior spirit took over. He brought a second Lori into his opposite arm and opened fire with both weapons. “Come on! Let’s go!”

  THUMP! THUMP! THUMP! THUMP!

  Zzz! Zzz! Zzz!

  Chaos erupted over the dune-turned-battlefield as rockets and laser blasts screamed past one another in a starburst of light and sand. Among the heated blasts, bits of sand turned into glass shards in the air. In such a small space, smoke and sand were blown into the sky as if the planet itself were heaving it into the air.

  Sergeant Claymore traded blows with the robots, but it was soon clear neither side was doing as much damage as would be required for a kill shot. At the most, the blue blasters firing on the sergeant would leave bruises and cause him to lose his footing.

  On the other side, his own rockets would push back the robots as they advanced but did nothing to actually damage their metallic frames. Their adaptable plates withstood the blasts and avoided rending.

  What are they made out of? Sergeant Claymore grunted as he came up with an alternate plan. Lori isn’t doing any lasting damage. We’re going to have to get up close and personal.

  Sergeant Claymore propelled himself into the sky, harnessing his Will into giving his legs an extra boost of power. He sailed high with elongated arms outstretched to an arc that would bring him down right on top of the line of robots. In a swift move, he transitioned from his heavy blasters to a two-handed war axe. If his rockets didn’t pack enough of a wallop to damage, perhaps he would be able to dent or cut into their frames. The power of his Will would add strength to every swing.

  Sergeant Claymore came down like an angry charcoal fur-covered comet fallen from the heavens. He landed on one unlucky robot, crushing it as he did so. All six hundred pounds of his meaty hide and armor landed on the robot’s slender frame, causing it to crumple in on itself. Whether or not it was out of the fight for good would remain to be seen. At the moment, Sergeant Claymore had larger robots to fry.

  He looked up to proceed with his next target to attack in time to see his field of vision blotted out by a hundred tiny reflections of himself falling on him. They descended on him at once.

  Chapter 4

  Just as Sergeant Claymore had chosen to use a heavy two-handed axe, so too the robots disregarded their handheld blasters. Instead of the projectile weapon, they each transitioned their right arms into long batons that crackled with blue energy at the tips. The fighters were lockstep on their next phase of combat.

  The robot Sergeant Claymore landed on was also picking itself off the sand. Despite his failure at destroying the robot, he had been able to injure it. The robot’s right knee sparked as it hobbled forward, joining its counterparts in the attack.

  You can injure them. Sergeant Claymore bared his teeth. You can take them out. They’re not invincible.

  Sergeant Claymore swung his axe in heavy arcs that struck the robots with enough force to send tremors through his thick biceps. The head of his axe was more like a long meat cleaver. He rotated the blade end toward his enemies as he sent blow after blow into the hardware plates making up their arms, legs, and torsos.

  In return, they struck out with sixteen sizzling electric batons, sending sharp tremors
into his body wherever their weapons landed.

  “Raaagh!” Sergeant Claymore roared into the night. His whole body was on fire from the electricity running through his frame.

  Robust, extra-long arms hammered his axe into one of the robots, causing sparks and sending it sprawling backwards. With his next swing, his blade sank deep into the torso of another robot but his metal foe remained content to stay impaled by the blade and use the close quarters opportunity to send his baton into the sergeant’s chest.

  Sergeant Claymore’s nerves covering his entire body tingled with fire. The pungent odor of his own burning fur filled his nostrils. Once again, it was clear this strategy was not going to work. The robots were relentless, their coding set to keep going no matter what the cost.

  Sergeant Claymore might as well have been a robot. His Will was forged into a weapon in itself. The purple vambraces on his forearms reminded him of this as he fell to his knees under the constant onslaught of the robots and their batons.

  One chance blow caught him across his right temple. Despite the fact that he was wearing his helmet, the jolt was enough to send him to the ground. His vision blurred and his ears rang.

  When he looked up, he knew he must have a concussion. He was seeing things. A purple-scaled and finned creature was splashing on one of the robots in the air while something like a giant layered pastry enveloped another robot.

  All around him, the strangest constructs he had ever seen were being used to push, pull, or distract the robots from the fallen sergeant.

  “Hurry, come on. Let’s get you up and out of here,” Arowin said, appearing beside the sergeant and grabbing his right arm. “I don’t know how long we can keep this up.”

  Sergeant Claymore didn’t ask any questions as he was lifted to his feet by the surprisingly strong Arowin and helped to the relative safety a few meters to the rear of the fight.

  As he found his own footing, he took a look around to understand what was happening. Arowin and the rest of the Arilion recruits had disobeyed his orders to remain in the warehouse and had instead charged the robots.