Read Online Alien Shores (A Fenris Novel, Book 2) by Vaughn Heppner - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Vaughn Heppner
Ads: Link
I am unimpressed and do not fear your paltry spells. Your sky vehicle crashed. You are weak and therefore easy prey.”
“We’re not demons,” Cyrus said. “Can’t you accept the evidence of your own eyes?”
“He mocks you,” the woman shouted.
Stone Fist raised his spear. “I give you your last warning, demon-spawn. Run from us while you can.”
Skar unclipped his gun and handed it to Cyrus. Then the soldier drew his small-handled axe and strode toward Stone Fist.
“What deception is this?” Stone Fist shouted. “You dare to challenge the Berserkers on their own land?”
“I am a man,” Skar said. “And I will defeat you in fair combat. Then you will see we are men like you.”
Several of the warriors backed away, and they looked uneasy. One of them spoke quietly to Stone Fist.
“Stay here,” Cyrus called to Skar. “It’s better to talk this out.”
The soldier shook his head and continued stalking toward the primitives.
Stone Fist bellowed and shook his spear. Then he beckoned his fellow warriors. With a roar, the Berserkers charged Skar. They towered over the shorter soldier; their shoulders were broader and their muscles seemed denser. Cyrus didn’t see how Skar had a chance.
Skar didn’t back off, though. Instead, he broke into a sprint, charging them.
Cyrus took in the situation. On one side was a Kresh-trained soldier with his axe, with gene-warped strength and speed. Despite that, he’d seen Argon toss soldiers like boys. The Berserkers looked powerful, and each side had equivalent weapons. Was Skar five times better than the primitives? Cyrus didn’t want to bet on it, and he needed the soldier.
Cyrus’s chest tightened. He didn’t want to do this. But the needs of Earth, of humanity, demanded he take action. Lifting the soldier’s gun, gripping it with both hands, Cyrus fired. He’d expected it to act like the other heat guns he’d seen before on High Station 3. Instead, Skar’s pistol held exploding pellets. The first shot went wide, and blew a puff of dirt near the primitives. Two of the Berserkers noticed, and they looked surprised. It didn’t slow them down any, though, and that’s what counted.
Cyrus adjusted and fired again. This time, the leader’s chest exploded, and the force knocked the Berserker to the ground. Without waiting, Cyrus retargeted. He caused the next native’s head to explode with gory results.
That did it. The last three skidded to a halt. Cyrus shot again, killing the third native, blowing him onto the dirt. The last two Berserkers pivoted and sprinted like mad to get away, although they held onto their weapons.
Cyrus hesitated. He knew he should kill. They would tell their clan what had happened. Later, other clan members might hunt them, using their primitively honed skills. He’d have to kill a woman in cold blood, though. The hesitation lasted long enough that the last two sprinted out of easy range. Cyrus wasn’t sure he could hit them even if he did fire, and he didn’t want to waste precious ammo.
Lowering the gun, Cyrus moved in his uneasy gait to a watching Skar. The soldier finally slid the axe into its belt holder.
“I could have defeated them,” Skar said, stonily.
“Defeat all five?” Cyrus asked.
“I am trained. They are primitives.”
“Underestimating your foe is a bad idea.”
“Given your action,” Skar said, “you should have killed the last two.”
“Yeah, I suppose.” Cyrus handed the soldier the gun. He felt soiled, and he wished he hadn’t murdered them. Just gunning them down—
“We’ve got to ditch our clothes,” Cyrus said. “We’ll wear their leathers so we can blend in.”
“Neither of us have their reddish skin,” Skar said. “I am clearly a Vomag, and you look exactly like what you are, an out-system human. We will fool no one.”
“We wouldn’t fool a Vomag, perhaps,” Cyrus said. “But we might fool a Kresh.”
“That is even less likely,” Skar said.
“Do you have a
“We’re not demons,” Cyrus said. “Can’t you accept the evidence of your own eyes?”
“He mocks you,” the woman shouted.
Stone Fist raised his spear. “I give you your last warning, demon-spawn. Run from us while you can.”
Skar unclipped his gun and handed it to Cyrus. Then the soldier drew his small-handled axe and strode toward Stone Fist.
“What deception is this?” Stone Fist shouted. “You dare to challenge the Berserkers on their own land?”
“I am a man,” Skar said. “And I will defeat you in fair combat. Then you will see we are men like you.”
Several of the warriors backed away, and they looked uneasy. One of them spoke quietly to Stone Fist.
“Stay here,” Cyrus called to Skar. “It’s better to talk this out.”
The soldier shook his head and continued stalking toward the primitives.
Stone Fist bellowed and shook his spear. Then he beckoned his fellow warriors. With a roar, the Berserkers charged Skar. They towered over the shorter soldier; their shoulders were broader and their muscles seemed denser. Cyrus didn’t see how Skar had a chance.
Skar didn’t back off, though. Instead, he broke into a sprint, charging them.
Cyrus took in the situation. On one side was a Kresh-trained soldier with his axe, with gene-warped strength and speed. Despite that, he’d seen Argon toss soldiers like boys. The Berserkers looked powerful, and each side had equivalent weapons. Was Skar five times better than the primitives? Cyrus didn’t want to bet on it, and he needed the soldier.
Cyrus’s chest tightened. He didn’t want to do this. But the needs of Earth, of humanity, demanded he take action. Lifting the soldier’s gun, gripping it with both hands, Cyrus fired. He’d expected it to act like the other heat guns he’d seen before on High Station 3. Instead, Skar’s pistol held exploding pellets. The first shot went wide, and blew a puff of dirt near the primitives. Two of the Berserkers noticed, and they looked surprised. It didn’t slow them down any, though, and that’s what counted.
Cyrus adjusted and fired again. This time, the leader’s chest exploded, and the force knocked the Berserker to the ground. Without waiting, Cyrus retargeted. He caused the next native’s head to explode with gory results.
That did it. The last three skidded to a halt. Cyrus shot again, killing the third native, blowing him onto the dirt. The last two Berserkers pivoted and sprinted like mad to get away, although they held onto their weapons.
Cyrus hesitated. He knew he should kill. They would tell their clan what had happened. Later, other clan members might hunt them, using their primitively honed skills. He’d have to kill a woman in cold blood, though. The hesitation lasted long enough that the last two sprinted out of easy range. Cyrus wasn’t sure he could hit them even if he did fire, and he didn’t want to waste precious ammo.
Lowering the gun, Cyrus moved in his uneasy gait to a watching Skar. The soldier finally slid the axe into its belt holder.
“I could have defeated them,” Skar said, stonily.
“Defeat all five?” Cyrus asked.
“I am trained. They are primitives.”
“Underestimating your foe is a bad idea.”
“Given your action,” Skar said, “you should have killed the last two.”
“Yeah, I suppose.” Cyrus handed the soldier the gun. He felt soiled, and he wished he hadn’t murdered them. Just gunning them down—
“We’ve got to ditch our clothes,” Cyrus said. “We’ll wear their leathers so we can blend in.”
“Neither of us have their reddish skin,” Skar said. “I am clearly a Vomag, and you look exactly like what you are, an out-system human. We will fool no one.”
“We wouldn’t fool a Vomag, perhaps,” Cyrus said. “But we might fool a Kresh.”
“That is even less likely,” Skar said.
“Do you have a
Similar Books
