He had the rebels cornered. His quarry had given him good chase, but the end was closing in. The rebel forces had continued their assault on the Voltarian Empire for years. A handful had even managed to weasel their way into the capital city on Voltar and had destroyed a section of the city's marketing district. But markets and shops could be rebuilt. The Voltarian general, kin to the Empress of Voltar herself, had pursued the fleeing rebel forces across half the star system to a desolate little moon where they'd made their base. He stepped out of the craft he'd commandeered, the stony ground crunching beneath his boots. In one hand, he carried his laser pistol, the setting changed from stun to kill. There would be no escaping this time.
Stepping forward, the general followed the trail of scorched ground and deep gouges to where the rebels' escape starcraft had wrecked, hull torn and burnt by laser fire. The nose of the craft was crumpled and ruined, but the hatch was opened, and he could see faint tracks in the gravelly earth leading away from the craft towards the opening to one of the many quarries that pitted the moon's surface.
As he came closer, the back of his neck prickled with an awareness honed over years of military service in the Empire. The awareness of being watched. His blade-keen reflexes saved him, ducking as a laser blast sailed over his head, a chunk of stone exploding where his head had been not a second before. He fell into a crouch and ducked down behind a tall spur of rock, carefully peering around the edge of the stone. Another shot lobbed towards him, and he jerked back, the shot taking a deep gouge out of the edge of the rock. It had come from a separate angle, and he knew there were two of the rebels.
"Stop hiding, you bloody coward. Come out and fight, like the Voltarian soldier you are!" shouted one of the traitors.
"Coward? This coming from the ones who so bravely attacked the marketplace than ran to a deserted moon with tail between their legs?" the general shot back.
Gravel crunched a few metres away as they shifted position, trying to get a decent shot, he supposed.
"Run, rebels, run all you want. But you shall never defeat the forces of Voltar," he called from behind his cover, waiting for the moment to strike.
Just as he had hoped, the rebels exposed themselves, launching a volley of laser fire in his direction, crying out, "Death to Voltar and death to the Voltarians!"
The general ducked out from cover, firing back as they hastily scattered. He ducked behind cover once more to reload. "I sense fear in you," he taunted.
"You sense nothing!" countered one of the rebels.
The sound of laser fire filled the air as they ducked and dodged, exchanging shots but neither vanquishing the other. The general carefully peered around the edge of his temporary cover and raised his weapon once more –
"Has anyone seen my purse?"
Nick Cutter stuck his head out from behind the bookcase to glare at his sister. "Nicolette, we are totally doing battle on the field of honour," he said as Ambrose darted out from behind the sofa to hide behind his mother's legs. The living room of his (somewhat) tidy house had been reduced to a battlefield. The sofa had been stripped of its cushions, with chairs from the dining room and a few commandeered quilts from the linen cupboard forming a fort under the kitchen table – the rebel base. Two tipped-over chairs and a tangle of sheets and strings of Christmas lights adorned the piano – the Voltarian capital.
Nicolette placed both hands on her hips, arching one eyebrow at him. His sister was dressed to impress in a gown the colour of the evening sky, her long hair, the same pale gold as his own, pulled back with a beaded scarf of a similar shade. She was going out for dinner for the first time since her divorce, which left him in charge of his 7-year-old niece and nephew for the evening. "How old are you?" she demanded.
"Old enough to afford top-of-the-line laser tag gear," he replied, straightening up a little more.
"Ha!" cried Amber as she popped up from beneath the coffee table – tipped on its side next to his armchair, rebel spacecraft – and fired her laser gun at Nick.
The laser tag vest flashed and then its blue lights went dark. "Oh! I'm dead! See what you did, Nicolette? Now Voltar will never rule the multiverse," the professor sighed as he pushed his goggles back on his head, hair standing up in peculiar angles.
Amber and Ambrose both let out victory cries as they leapt at him, wearing their own laser tag gear in green. "We have vanquished the Voltarian general! Victory for the rebel forces!"
Nicolette gave him one of her patented looks. "My purse?"
Nick rolled his eyes. "Check the starbase."
Shaking her head at him, she picked her way across the "field of honour" to the blanket fort constructed in the cupboard beneath the stairs. Pulling out the small black bag, she straightened up to look at her brother and children. "Now, let's not forget the rules, shall we? Bedtime at 8, no sweets after 7.30, no gory films, yes?" Nicolette narrowed her blue eyes at Nick and pointed her bag in his direction. "I'm serious, Nicky."
"Yes, Mum," the trio said in unison, the younger set of twins giggling as they could see their uncle had one hand behind his back, fingers crossed.
She gave them all one last narrow-eyed look before heading out the door. Nick waited until the sound of her car faded before turning around to look at the two rebels. "Well, traitors to the Voltarian Empire, what torture method would be best suited for your punishment? Pizza and ice cream or the Star Trek marathon on the film channel tonight?" he asked, making an exaggerated contemplative face as he mock-puzzled over it even as the twins giggled. "I think I shall really torture you and do both," he cried, then ducked down and grabbed them both, carring Amber under one arm and Ambrose under the other, squealing and kicking. Dumping them both in the pillow fort beside the piano, he handed them the remote. "Here. Find the channel, and I'll order in."