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THE GRIFFIN SERIES: GENESIS
By G. Benjamin Alexander iUniverse LLC
Copyright © 2013 G. Benjamin Alexander
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4917-1163-7
CHAPTER 1
It was March 2, 3457; five years after the Federation of Planets had reorganized to form the Unified Galactic State following the defeat of the Neptunian threat. General Saigon Alexander, a hero in his own right sat in his chamber aboard the ESS Sphinx, reflecting on what had been a tumultuous career that had seen him go through boot camp and single-handedly defeat the Neptunian leader and an army of 15,000 Neptunian foot soldiers. The decorated champion of the Galactic Police got very little sleep, partly due to chronic insomnia, which had plagued his family for generations, but also due to a feeling of unrest. He and his crew were flying out in search of the most notorious criminal in the galaxy, a Mercurian by the name of Tsu'lakti. Over the span of eleven years, Tsu'lakti had orchestrated attacks on the hotel on Olympus Mons in which dignitaries from several planets were staying, destroyed a Gliesian moon, and ordered the mass slaughter and cleansing of the entire Beta-Cancrean system. When Unified Galactic State President O'rrrrah, the Libraean, saw the danger such a criminal posed to galactic safety, he sent the Galactic Police's best team to find him and bring him to justice.
Saigon wasn't restless because of a fear of inadequacy. He knew his crew, composed of friends from his youth, was up for the challenge. They had all achieved incredible rank for their ages and their battle résumés were far more impressive than those of their peers. Rather, something didn't sit right with him and he couldn't quite put his finger on what it was. Realizing that he was accomplishing nothing all alone with his thoughts, Saigon exited his chamber and headed to the war room, where his crew awaited him. "General," began Giovanna Milan, the Sphinx's Navigator, "I think we have intel on the whereabouts of Tsu'lakti. He appears to be in hiding on SWEEPS-04."
"Good job, Vice Admiral," He started to thank her, "keep a safe distance from the planet."
She smiled, revealing two perfect rows of white teeth. She admired Saigon, she always had, but due to their professional relationship, she never thought to tell him. They had been friends since they were six and now, nearly twenty years later, they were still inseparable. She placed the craft in a test pattern just far enough from the planet to remain unseen in the clear skies of the SWEEPS night. She stood up and stretched her toned legs, which poked out from under blue fatigue Capri pants. Her long black hair rested in a ponytail atop her head. Her golden-hued, olive skin glowed in the light of the war room. Her wheat-colored almond-shaped eyes squinted shut as she looked away from her screen. Her abs were visible, unconcealed by the belly shirt she wore to show off her curvaceous figure. Light from the ship's interior glinted off the badge she placed on her shirt. She turned. "Take a picture, Sergeant, it'll last longer."
"Yeah but I'm enjoying the view," replied their friend Zoser Rice, the weapons specialist. He had been the mastermind behind the thermal melee weapons the Galactic Police had become accustomed to using, yet instead of having business savvy, his passion was for the battle field, on which he was a fierce warrior. "Madame Vice Admiral, forgive me for being blunt but your body does look incredible in that outfit."
"Focus on the task at hand," Giovanna said.
"Ma'am, yes, ma'am," Zoser said in a slightly perverted tone as he turned away to help equip Saigon and the rest of their compatriots.
"We do this by the book," Saigon said in his deep, somewhat raspy voice that pointed out his seasoned hardness, even at the tender age of 25. He had enlisted just under eight years ago and after a six week boot camp, joined the Galactic Police. His commitment inspired his friends, causing many of them to enlist and join his crew, especially after his triumph over the Neptunians on the water-covered planet. Beside him as they prepared to embark stood his Lieutenant, Admiral Konan Muldrow. Konan was a hot head, but he was in many ways one of Saigon's closest friends. The two would never admit it to anyone, not even each other, but they secretly needed each other to balance them out. Saigon acted as a voice of reason whenever Konan became too quick to rush into battle, which often saved all of their lives due to Konan's incessant recklessness. When Saigon took too long or was thinking too hard, Konan often quickly made the decision for him, which saved their lives because when pulled into battle, Saigon was unmatched. On Saigon's other side stood Sergeant Groucho Horne. He stood second-tallest behind Zoser and he fell into his role entirely by accident. He had signed up and enlisted just so he could enjoy the benefits that Galactic Police officers had, but fell in love with the idea of serving the very republic he held dear and stayed on. He was adept in repairing ships, and this skill was often used after a brash and near-fatal rush-in perpetrated by Konan. Far off, in the corner, sat Corporal J'Quon Rah'Khalil, known throughout the galaxy as "JJ". He was the oldest by far of the crew and acted as a big brother to everyone aboard. He had saved Saigon from what would surely have been a life of crime and put him on the right track, a feat for which Saigon was eternally grateful. His thick braids covered his shiny copper head and he looked on with a look of indifference with a hint of despair.
"Something wrong, JJ?" inquired Saigon, leery of his friend's countenance, which bore an all-too-familiar look that was often a harbinger of bad things to come.
JJ shook his head "It's nothing, sir, just getting a bad feeling is all."
"Well alright, you stay here and keep Giovanna and Chinemelu company, you've earned some rest. That's an order, soldier."
"Sir, yes, sir".
Chinemelu Onyeji, the on-craft medic, strapped a miniature first aid kit onto each man before they left. His partially sunken features and large flowing scrubs hid an Adonis-like physique with the heart of a lion. While he was a relative stranger to combat, he was still known to bring the pain when necessary. The men suited up for ship-to-planet travel and set out. As they entered the SWEEPS atmosphere, Saigon felt an immediate wave of dread wash over him. SWEEPS-04 was desolate and was a home to dozens of races, including a vast Mercurian population. Mercurians were notorious for their open refusal to extradite one of their own, no matter what. Through the visor of his Ship-to-Planet suit, known as an STP, he saw his friends' faces as they began their descent to the coordinates of Tsu'lakti's hideout.
"General, I've got a visual on the building," reported Zoser.
"Roger that. Sergeant Horne, send a probe so we know we're not on a wild goose chase," ordered Saigon.
"Sir, yes, sir," replied Groucho as they all switched their STP suits to hover. He released a small silver ball that floated lightly like snow into an open crack in the ceiling and used its panoramic camera to scan its surroundings. Sure enough, inside was Tsu'lakti surrounded by an army of Mercurians. The notorious villain was distinguishable only through his immense size and the seven-inch wound in his chest that he sustained from a Galactic Police foot soldier's tomahawk a year ago. The soldier in question lost his life, but he remained in Tsu'lakti's head.
"Commander," he motioned to the Mercurian guard directly at his side, "I sense a plot to destroy me. Tell those of your men not on duty to join those that are."
"Yes, master," the guard replied in an identical, wheezy Mercurian accent. As he walked away, Tsu'lakti rose and limped to his chamber, an enclosed section of the hideout that had only one way in or out. When he shut the door and sat down, Saigon gave the signal and he, Zoser, Groucho, and Konan descended, each taking a wall of the perimeter. "When I say mask, I want each of you to plant your wall charges and meet me on the north side of the building," he ordered. "Ready ... mask!"
They each planted their tiny explosives in holes within the building's mortar and moved to meet their leader. Saigon pressed the detonator and one by one, east, west, south, and north, the charges exploded, taking out the first wave of guards and startling the others, who couldn't figure out which way to face to combat the oncoming threat.
"We take Tsu'lakti alive! Otherwise, let's show what we can do," shouted Saigon, unsheathing his tomahawk and activating the thermal power within it that made it a much deadlier weapon. The four men looked at each other and a strange, infectious twinkle came first to Konan's eyes. When Saigon showed it too, they charged in to do battle with the enemy.
CHAPTER 2
Always first into battle, Konan maneuvered through falling debris and bodies and deliberately engaged groups in the melee, often drawing three or four guards to himself. His twin tomahawks gave off a dazzling green hue as they released super-heated chlorine into the cuts of those he attacked. One hapless guard tried to sneak behind him, charging in silently through all the chaos. As if instinctually, Konan turned and severed the top of his head and the bottom of his shins. As the guard lay dying, screaming in pain, Konan smiled and roared as he whirled his tomahawks high above his head and brought them down on the guard's back, killing him. The guards tried to fight him off at a safe distance using spears they had stolen and duplicated from the Galactic Police years ago, but the unquenchable thirst for blood that had characterized Konan's lifestyle kept him going. He mercilessly carved each letter of his name into a different soldier, telegraphing his slices so perfectly that the bodies fell and spelled out his name in silver Mercurian blood. Konan started to cheer at the sight of the carnage he had caused, cockily turning his back on the battle to admire what he had already done. He was quickly brought back to earth when a gigantic war hammer came crashing into his helmet, fracturing his skull and sending him careening. For most other officers, that would be enough and resignation would be met with thunderous applause and adoration. For Konan, however, the blow to the head only served to give him a furious new clarity. He stood, blood filling his eyes and a constant ringing in his ears from the surefire concussion he had undoubtedly received. He removed his helmet, tasted the blood that ran down his face, and smiled a sick, twisted smile. He picked up his twin tomahawks, which he had named "Justice" and "Vengeance", and flew at his assailant. The Mercurian was well prepared to fight Konan. He had a counter to every move and his hammer never stopped swinging so even while he was on the defensive, he still had a chance at some offense. He kept Konan on his toes with a few glancing blows and laughed as the human struggled to keep up with his pace. In his arrogance, he tried to end Konan's life with a wild swing. Konan ducked and came through with both tomahawks into the chest, screaming as he raked down through the stomach and out through the groin. The guard's blood spattered everywhere and he gurgled a curse word at Konan with his last breath. Konan smiled and shook his head before returning to battle.
Groucho's craftiness and wit were always his primary weapon. His kills often looked like accidental suicides and the circumstances he manipulated to make them happen were almost comical. As two guards rushed in with spears to impale him, he jumped at the last second and they killed each other. He bent backwards to avoid the wild swing of a guard which ended up decapitating another. "Well that's no way to get ahead in life," he joked before he did a split and delivered three quick chops to the guard's gut, killing him. He rose in time to be chased by a group of guards towards what was left of the south wall. Groucho ran up the little wall that was left and laughed as the guards impaled themselves on the debris, writhing and squirming to their deaths. He actually hated fighting, preferring to watch and crack jokes on the sideline with other onlookers. When he was in boot camp, he had earned the nickname "Color" for his never-ending commentary of everything going on around him.
Zoser took no joy in using the weapons into which he placed his heart and soul, rather, he felt that his genius was being put almost to waste by the Galactic Police. He towered over the Mercurians as they rushed towards him, only to have their heads lopped off one by one. A grimace became permanently etched in Zoser's face as he coldly withstood wave after wave of foes, slicing off limbs and heads, severing bodies and faces. This is not what he had envisioned. He never wanted to enlist. He had only done so as a means to display his ability to design weapons. Justice was not what interested him as much as profit. He had been banking on becoming the primary weapons provider for the Galactic Police, or "GP," as he called them, and retiring a rich man. It wasn't until Saigon filled his head with ideas of service and passion and a penchant for action that Zoser, begrudgingly, stepped into his role. His promotion to Sergeant was a small miracle to him, as he felt he hardly showed the necessary tools to move past boot camp. He often used to say either GP was going soft, really needed new members, or he just got lucky. Everyone knew he was great in battle, but nobody could really get through to him the joys of serving UGS interests when his own monetary goals were not being met.
Saigon had been a soldier since Day One. His father, Cerbro, was a decorated retired Galactic Police Field Marshall. He had been one of the main people fighting to keep the peace at the onset of the Federation of Planets, which stood for years as the precursor to the Unified Galactic State. A product of Earth, Saigon grew up on a Galactic Police outpost in Alabama. He and his friends, the very ones beside whom he now fought, would travel often to other cities on their planet. If danger ever loomed, Saigon the fearless leader was usually quick to get himself and his friends out of the jam by any means. By Konan's account, Saigon had gotten soft with his rank and no longer possessed the hunger to turn each battlefield into a work of art. Being the only one that really saw Saigon in battle as he rose through the ranks, Konan always gave account of Saigon's ruthlessness and insatiable appetite for destruction. The brash lieutenant of the ship would always tell the story of Saigon's bloody conquest of Beta Pictoris b.
In that particular episode, Saigon, eager to prove himself to be capable of leading and being a senior officer, flew a solo mission down to the planet, armed only with his father's tomahawk. As soon as his ship's cockpit opened, out jumped Saigon, wildly swinging away, maliciously eradicating the entire population of the planet. Women and children fell at Saigon's feet as the Pictorian military threw wave after wave of innocent civilians in his way to slow him down and give them time to come up with a way to kill him. After he had withstood all of the civilians, Saigon leapt from soldier to soldier, making death and blood rain down as if the clouds themselves had been stabbed. One soldier got a good slash across Saigon's face, leaving the scar that still littered his ruggedly handsome visage. Blinded with fury at the soldier's audacious swing, Saigon lost it and flew into a rage that decimated the Pictorian forces, leaving no survivors. By the time he arrived at the castle of the Pictorian King, Hyziex the Wise, he was covered with and drunk off of Pictorian blood. He had feasted on the corpses of the slaughtered. Hyziex sent wave after wave of his royal guard in a futile effort to at least slow down his attacker. Saigon, unflinching, ripped through the guards and forced Hyziex to watch as he killed his wife and twelve children, before killing Hyziex himself. This was the Saigon that Konan held dear, the Saigon that Konan befriended, not the version that seemingly had an aversion to setting diplomacy aside in favor of the kill first, ask later mentality they once shared.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from THE GRIFFIN SERIES: GENESIS by G. Benjamin Alexander. Copyright © 2013 G. Benjamin Alexander. Excerpted by permission of iUniverse LLC.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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