He was standing in the open, letting the aliens see him as the frigid wind bit into him. The midday sun was just an orange sherbet smear in a latte sky. Why was he doing this again? He didn't want to die. He really didn't. And they were all so damn big, superhero-on-steroids big, and each one had been practicing his take-no-prisoners scowl.
The General was as big as Ândóç, much older but still powerful, and wrapped in jet battle armor. A sword that Ivanhoe would have killed to have hung from his waist. Its grip, pommel, and cross-guard were jet inlaid with silver.
Saónà and the others exhausted their lasers roasting the other two in hellfire, until the ashes of antique Nàsúwårna flesh floated above the dying flames like burning leaves on a frigid October eve.
He didn’t know what it was or who it was? He tried to understand. Joy. In spite of his pain, it felt like joy, like exaltation. He was a mote floating within the mind of God, and He was singing.
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A science-fiction adventure series: Captain Sterling and his team had been sent to investigate the ruins of a city on Dlàšú IV, a desert world a hundred plus light-years from Earth. The planet circled a sickly K type star that was barely keeping the planet habitable before the explosion that vaporized a mountain and hurled the debris into the atmosphere.
The decision to investigate the explosion first had led them to the Tïšè, a humanoid alien race and slaves to the Nrààk, who ruled not only the planet but a thousand worlds in the Galaxy. The Nrààk had demanded their surrender and were perfectly willing to wipe them out if they didn't get it.
He only wanted to get back to his ship, and get off this world before his whole team got fried. It was just too bad that these particular Nrààk needed his ship just as desperately he did.