The Enemy of an Enemy by Vincent Trigili - HTML preview

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Prologue

 

I had to make it back to the ship before they returned. Most of my men were already dead. Those still alive were doing all they could to hold off the aliens who were defeating us, giving me time to get a message out.

When we first arrived, we were sure this would be a boring mission. This expectation was shattered almost immediately after we landed and began to deploy. Aliens poured out of the colony, waving swords and carrying shields. I do not know what those shields were made of but our blasters could not penetrate them. As they rushed our position we were forced into hand-to-hand combat with them. They proved to be clumsy and we were able to hold our own for a short while.

Behind the initial rush of sword-wielding aliens came others. These wielded thin energy weapons which they fired with deadly accuracy and power. The addition of these reinforcements was just too much for our squad. We were completely outnumbered and outgunned.

I slammed aside the airlock door as I rushed to the communication officer’s station. I really needed his skill and speed on this equipment now, but he was ripped to pieces before my eyes by one of the aliens who somehow did it without ever touching him. I had to banish that thought and get a message out before others fell victim to this trap.

“Greetings,” came a voice from the darkness. “I am glad you survived. We need you to do something for us.”

I tried hard to ignore the chills running down my back from that voice. “Never!” I called as I spun and opened fire with my blasters. Then he walked out of the darkness. He appeared to be an old man, impossibly old, yet somehow still strong and vibrant. He stood before me without a spacesuit, even though the gaping holes in our spaceship had vented the entire atmosphere leaving us essentially in a hard vacuum.

I must have fired a dozen times from each of my hand blasters, at nearly point-blank range. I could not possibly have missed, yet somehow he was able to ignore my shots. It was as if he was immune to them.

“No. You will now comply,” he said.

I felt my will slipping from my control; I tried hard to stop as I saw myself dropping my guns and reaching for the communications controls. I listened in horror as I sent a message, one obviously intended to lay a trap. I fought with all I could to break free of whatever was controlling my body, but I was utterly powerless.

“Thank you for your help; the trap is baited,” he said as I felt my life slip away from me.