First Contact Fallout

exchanging fire with the gunship.
The Era’tran pulled another two infantry to him and sliced them apart as he tried to use his Ikrid to reach the Zen’zat in the gunship and the crew of the Kardopa…only to realize that the transport had no Zen’zat in it. Their minds were all accessible, though one was much stronger than the others.
What is the nature of this combat? he demanded of the Zen’zat in the gunship as the transport physically bumped it away from its perch firing down on the remaining infantry.
You are in danger. They are here to kill you.
Mario’topa? he asked, recognizing the mind. What is going on?
What…you remember me?
Why would I not? the Era’tran said as he pulled in another of the enemy infantry and decapitated him with one clean claw slice, diminishing the drain on his bioshields a bit more. Answer me. I need to know who to strike.
The Zen’zat are loyal. The others are invaders. You are on Holloi, and we have been invaded by the Zak’de’ron. These are their servants. Run while we cover you.
An anger he had never known before billowed over in him. The thought of Holloi being invaded was insulting and infuriating, but to be told it was the Zak’de’ron doing it…that generated a level of ire beyond words.
The Era’tran grasped one of the infantry so hard he didn’t even need to pull, merely wrenching his head around so that his armor popped a moment before his spine did…then his head flew off into the brush as his body dropped, making it impossible for his armor to heal him, though he doubted it had that technology given how feeble it was.
A Jumat orb wrinkled the light over his head, and his bioshields dropped a moment as he released it upwards into the Kardopa. It slammed into them, not jolting the large ship but eating away at its own shields there, and to his credit Mario’topa targeted that precise location and gutted one of the transport’s weapon batteries during the momentary shield disruption.
Why should I run from this filth? he demanded.
You have your psionics back? Mario’topa asked in disbelief.
What has happened to me? he asked, but he didn’t get an answer, for the holds of the transport suddenly opened and hundreds of more infantry dropped down into the trees along with one larger individual that he recognized as a Pak’lem, one of the more formidable Zak’de’ron slaves.
They are here to kill you and you have no armor. Run!
Are there more than this coming?
No, but…
Then we stand here, he said, trying to use his Ikrid on the surrounding troops but failing. As he expected, the Pak’lem was using its Va’do, which created a jamming field in a radius around his body. And as the Era’tran reached out with his Lachka once again he found it slipping and then gone as the Pak’lem caught up to the nearby troops and shielded them with its Da’nu that created a Pefbar blackout, and what he couldn’t feel with Pefbar he couldn’t touch with Lachka.
That meant his telepathy and telekinesis were no longer available to him, and for other Era’tran that would have been problematic without armor, but he had more psionics than most.
He moved to the left and hacked away with his claws at a thick tree trunk, then pushed it over to form a barrier on his left flank with the wounded Era’tran behind him. It was thicker than most of their infantry was tall, and as they moved in from that side they had to jump up on top of it…which he was waiting for. If they had Pefbar, then they would be as blind as he was in the presence of the Pak’lem, so they didn’t see his tail whipping around in a circle as they climbed up on top.
Two managed to dive out of the way, but three more didn’t and got hit so hard they went flying out into the jungle with one disappearing from view. The other two smashed into trees and fell in a hard thump to the ground.
This was definitely Holloi. He remembered its gravity well, which was part of the reason his body felt so exhausted, but that could not account for all of it.
“Who are you?” a voice asked aloud through the jungle just as the infantry stopped firing, but didn’t stop moving as they grouped and circled around keeping a wide berth. The aerial battle overhead did not let up, and it seemed as if the Pak’lem did not care about that at all as he emerged through the trees into the smokey clearing around the now holely tent.
As the question was asked the infantry continued to move, which the Era’tran could not allow. He jumped to the left and got outside the Pak’lem’s jamming range, then picked up two of the infantry and pulled them to him again…only to have them drop out of his grasp as the jamming field washed over the infantry on command. The Pak’lem must have been able to direct it where he wanted rather than just using a radius. The Zak’de’ron had apparently gone beyond the psionics kit they’d given to the Zen’zat, which was no real surprise.
“Keep your distance,” the Pak’lem told his troops, who obeyed and spread out into a bowl-shaped formation without trying to slip past the Era’tran again. “Let us have a moment to talk.”
“You serve the Zak’de’ron?”
“As do all true V’kit’no’sat.”
The Era’tran’s face frowned. “You are not V’kit’no’sat.”
“A matter of point of view, at the moment, and irrelevant. The question is, who are you? I was told all the Hakja had been destroyed. How are you still alive?”
That was an insult beyond insults, but he didn’t know if it was true. None of this made sense, but battle was here and he knew better than to let the