Flame Wind

by Tim Niederriter

  “I will not be quiet,” he said. “If I’m to die for my cause I will make sure I’m heard first.”

  Yajain took a step past DiBaram, still glaring at Mosam with a taste of something bitter on her tongue.

  “You’re so self-absorbed! You’re willing to kill for your cause so you should be prepared to die for it too.”

  Dara glanced at her.

  “Yajain, please. I need to hear.”

  Mosam met Yajain’s glare with one of equal ferocity. So much for Nuinn features always appearing peaceful. His fists clenched.

  “Life has many corridors. You can’t make everyone follow your definition of peace.”

  “Doctor Coe,” Dara said, “you and Yajain need to work this out some other time. This tyrant is trying to speak.”

  “Fascinating,” said DiBaram. “But you’d better take a seat. Transit is about to begin.”

  Ignoring, DiBaram, Yajain whirled to face Dara and the caged tyrant.

  “What. How can you tell?”

  “It spoke Dilinian Trade,” Dara said. “It told me the fleet shouldn’t transit.”

  Mosam rounded on the tyrant, fists still clenched.

  “Speak up then. We know your voice isn’t small.”

  The tyrant growled low and pushed itself upon his stumpy front legs. His hind legs remained stretched on the floor behind. The tyrant’s eyes fixed on Yajain, yellow and staring. A pink tongue thicker than Yajain’s arm slithered from his lipless jaws. But the tyrant did not speak.

  “I wasn’t hearing things,” Dara said. “He speaks our language already.”

  “I believe you,” said Yajain, her anger at both Mosam and Dara suspended. “They had to have some way of commanding the humans affected by their pollen. Otherwise, they’d never get a whole bridge crew under their control.”

  DiBaram raised his eyebrows at the tyrant.

  “Though beast needs to be kept alive for study, I don’t like thinking he has been listening to us all this time.”

  The tyrant’s blunt, toothy face quivered with apparent rage. Spittle flew from the alien’s mouth.

  Yajain stared at the pale, bluish skin by the tyrant’s eyes where the ear holes and nostrils were situated. So much information entered the tyrant through those two spots they had to be sensitive.

  “How much time do we have before transit?” she asked.

  “A few minutes at most,” DiBaram said. “You should have a seat, doctor.”

  Yajain glanced at him.

  “Everyone who isn’t needed should. But we need to know why it started talking now.”

  “The tyrant could be trying to mislead us,” DiBaram said.

  Dara threw up her hands.

  “Or he could be trying to warn us. The only way to tell is to get him to explain.”

  “I think we can make him talk,” Yajain said.

  “How?” DiBaram asked.

  “Tyrants have closely tied senses of sight, smell, and hearing.” Yajain turned to Dara. “If we make him smell another tyrant’s pollen he could be disoriented enough to think he’s being questioned by other tyrants.”

  “It’ll never work,” Mosam said. “Even if we had the pollen, this tyrant’s been here too long. He’d have to be hallucinating to believe he’s anything but a prisoner.”

  “Right, Yajain said. “For that kind of lucid hallucination, he’d have to be in a fluid vision.”

  “The fluids. Of course.” Mosam snapped his fingers.

  “That might actually work,” said Dara. “We just need to dose him with enough to send him into delirium.”

  “Dose him later,” DiBaram said. “Transit is in less than a minute so we’d all better prepare for acceleration.”

  He was right. DiKandar hall shifted as it circled Bakhan Hub. We’re so close. And what if he is trying to warn us?

  Yajain frowned but pushed that thought away. He could speak to us at any time if that was true. She glanced at the tyrant, and the tyrant’s yellow eyes glared at her.

  She let DiBaram lead her back to a chair in the center of the room and sat with Dara positioned on one side and Mosam on the other. DiKandar Hall accelerated down the Bakhan Corridor with the rest of the fleet. The tyrant’s eyes bulged. He pressed himself into the floor of his cell and howled.

  The force of acceleration pinned Yajain’s limbs to her chair for most of an hour during the initial unregulated phase of transit. As compensators evened out with thrust, she managed to find the pad she’d left on the chair and begin to take down observations of the tyrant’s reaction.

  The alien’s howl cut off a few seconds into transit, but Yajain noted it on her pad anyway, along with the way he’d flattened himself to the floor afterward. Her eyes flicked from the pad to the tyrant and found his sides expanding with an intake of breath. Yajain glanced at Dara, but her friend simply looked pensive, staring down at the pad sitting on her navel.

  She returned her eyes to the tyrant, fingers poised over her pad to take notes as soon as she saw another clue of what it was doing. The tyrant went on inhaling, swelling the gas sacs running down both sides of the alien’s long body just beneath the skin. Yajain frowned. When they’d dissected the other tyrant she hadn’t been able to figure out what those sacs were for, in part because they’d burst at some point perhaps cycles prior to death. The tyrant in the cage before Yajain possessed functional air bladders.

  “It’s like that giant spider back in Abdra Cluster.” Yajain’s breath quickened. “Dara, tyrants don’t need lifts to fly.”

  Dara’s eyes moved to Yajain, then flew to the tyrant puffing himself up. Her eyes lit with excitement.

  “This explains why they’re built so light!”

  “They must use some kind of gas cushions to support themselves.” Yajain smiled. “Natural ingenuity.”

  “If it is natural,” said Dara. “Who knows how much of this is engineered? None of the other tyrants had functional gas sacs.”

  “Those others looked different too,” Yajain said. “They could be divergent lines, just like humans.”

  “Divergent lines,” Mosam said softly from her other side, “could mean different cultures too.”

  DiKandar Hall’s humming transit engines nearly drowned out his voice. Yajain fell back into her seat, and her eyes drifted to Mosam. He seemed completely stoic much of the time, but when he spoke he seemed always to speak to her. Was he really focused on her so much?

  Am I imagining it?

  Yajain stared at the tyrant.

  “They seem to be native to pillar life. Why would their lines diverge?”

  Dara gave her head a small shake.

  “Who knows? It seems they did.”

  “Where’s your famous drive for inquiry, Doctor Merrant?” asked DiBaram.

  “Pinned to my chair.” Dara grimaced and looked down at herself. “Like the meal in my stomach.”

  Yajain suppressed the urge to giggle for her friend’s sake. Dara was so unflappable during tumbler pickups Yajain often forgot she did not transit well.

  Mosam grunted.

  “So this tyrant can float on additional supports. What is that to us?”

  “You said it yourself.” Yajain returned her stare to the tyrant. “Different lines can mean different cultures. But different cultures inevitably means different tyrant factions.”

  “Right,” Dara said. “And that means we as humans might not have to fight an entire species.”

  “That is good news,” said DiBaram. “But species or alliance nation, our fleet could still be too small to engage the tyrants head on.”

  Dara sighed.

  “I’m a biologist, not a military analyst.”

  Yajain focused on the small breaths the tyrant made as its tentacles moved up and down the transparent wall facing her.

  “It all depends how many tyrants are actually in the area.”

  “And how fast they can get reinforcements,” DiBaram said. “Once
we’re in Kerida it should be easier to gauge the situation. Then we—”

  A loud beep from above stopped the Ditari Lord’s voice.

  Helle DiKandar’s voice replaced his a moment later.

  “All crew,” she said, “a storm has blocked the corridor. Brace for turbulence and deceleration.”

  “By the reef,” Mosam said under his breath. “They knew we were coming.”

  “From so far away?” Dara asked. “Besides, they don’t control the storms, do they?”

  Yajain glanced at her friend, ready to say it wouldn’t surprise her at this point if the tyrants could control storms. She met Dara’s eyes, but Dara raised her hand unsteadily and pointed at the tyrant in the cell.

  The voice that spoke did not come from Yajain but filled the room, deep and melodic and thickly accented.

  “Pontiff Morrott would have us believe he controls far more than that, human.” The tyrant sank to the floor of his cell, tentacles stretching up the window. “Listen to your little redoca. This ship is doomed.”

  DiBaram said, “So you really can talk, tyrant. That’s going to make things a lot easier.”

  The tyrant growled a sound that could have been a curse. DiBaram climbed along the wall past Yajain and approached the tyrant’s cell. Dara pushed herself to her feet, braced against the transit chair.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  DiBaram glanced at her.

  “I’m going to make this thing spill its guts, one way or another.”

  “He’s helpless. You can’t plan to torture him!” Dara took an unsteady step toward DiBaram, one hand still holding onto the arm of the chair to steady her against the rough deceleration of the ship.

  “Helpless? Hardly. I am a Hunter of the Barami Clan, I’ll do as I see fit.”

  Dara stared at him. Yajain lurched out of her chair, handling the deceleration awkwardly. She clapped a hand to Dara’s shoulder.

  “You can’t get the cell open while we’re in transit, Lord DiBaram. The tyrant can move more easily than us during deceleration.”

  “Damn it.” DiBaram ceased his movement toward the cell. “You’re right, doctor. But we need to get answers. How did this Pontiff know we were on our way?”

  The tyrant’s eyes fixed on DiBaram.

  “You’re aggression should serve you well soon. A fleet most likely rides this storm.”

  “Why are you telling us this?” Yajain asked.

  The alien’s eyes rolled and refocused on her face. “You spared me, human. And I care nothing for Morrott’s war.”

  Yajain felt her brows bend together. Her grip on Dara’s shoulder tightened.

  “Keep talking. Tell me about Morrott.”

  “If you survive, I will tell you.”

  The ship rocked with an impact. The sounds of tearing metal and buckling struts resounded. The engines cut completely for a moment. Dara stumbled. Both she and Yajain slid to the cold floor. The knee of Yajain’s uniform tore all the way through to the heat layer. Her shoulder on the same side shot with pain from the impact.

  DiBaram only kept himself from falling with a pushed back with both arms on activated arc lifts. DiKandar hall slowed to cruising speed as he kicked off to land beside the other hunters. Yajain looked back at the three Ditari as they put on masks and then vanished into flickers of thin air with their camouflage activated.

  Dara pushed herself from the floor and Yajain rolled onto her back to sit up. Mosam leapt from his chair and whirled to face the place the hunters had vanished.

  “Lord DiBaram, allow me to go with you.”

  “You are unarmed, Doctor Coe,” said DiBaram’s voice, seemingly from empty air.

  “You can change that,” Mosam said.

  DiBaram laughed and stepped forward, reappearing for a moment to hand the hilt of a vare blade to Mosam.

  “I like your spirit, Doctor of Harvest.”

  Yajain was on her feet. She stormed toward Mosam as the hunter vanished once again. The two MPs reached for their pistols and trained them on Mosam. He smiled at them.

  “People, we have no need for this. The enemy is out there.”

  “Put down the sword,” said one of the MPs.

  “You’re certainly a killjoy,” said DiBaram. In an instant both of the MPs fell to their knees, clutching where they’d just be slugged by invisible fists.

  Mosam nodded to them.

  “Until later,” he said, and started for the door.

  Yajain got in his path.

  “Mosam, stop.”

  His face darkened.

  “I’m going to protect this ship, Yajain.”

  “You’re going to stay here.” She glared up at him. “If they break through to this room we lose our best source on the tyrants.”

  “She has a point,” DiBaram said.

  Another impact shook the ship, this one softer and not accompanied by the sounds of damage.

  “That was a boarding pod,” the tyrant said. “They’re already here.”

  “How many?” Mosam asked.

  “Most likely they are all human slaves. At least twenty in each pod.”

  Yajain glared at the tyrant.

  “If you’re going to talk, talk to me.”

  The tyrant made a loud, guttural bark, almost incompatible with the concept of laughter but the tone was clearly derisive. Yajain’s eyes narrowed. Her hand fell to the sheathed vare blade at her waist.

  “I’m the reason you’re not dead right now, tyrant.”

  The alien’s face contorted, eye nostrils flaring.

  “By that small knife…yes. And you are right, Morrott wants to kill me. If you will let this one fight.” He pointed a tentacle toward Mosam. “Let me defend myself.”

  Yajain grimaced and turned from the tyrant to lock eyes with Mosam.

  “You’re different,” she said. “But both of you are liars.”

  His face pinched.

  “Don’t say that, Yajain.”

  She pushed past him.

  “Lord DiBaram, can you protect the corridor outside this room?”

  “As long as the ship holds together. Our great halls are not easily destroyed. Even DiSarna Hall survived the fighting at Toltuashi Verge, though most of its crew did not.”

  Despite the opulence of the hall, Yajain knew the history. She had watched both fleets arrive from the distance and seen them limp away.

  “Good,” she said. “We’re all counting on that.”

  “We’re moving out to the corridor,” DiBaram said.

  “Good hunting,” said Mosam.

  “Good guarding.” DiBaram’s voice moved out the doorway and he laughed.

  Mosam turned to Yajain.

  “You have my word, I’ll do what I can to protect you, Doctor Merrant, and your new pet.”

  The tyrant hissed with disapproval.

  Yajain nodded to Mosam.

  “Appreciated.” She turned to Dara. “Are you alright?”

  “I’m fine.” Dara steadied herself on the wall and wrinkled her nose. “Thanks for asking.”

  A loud crunch reverberated through the ship. Screams of beam and coil weapons became audible in the distance. Dara limped over to Yajain and Mosam.

  “You two have short swords and lifts. What else do we have?”

  “I don’t have lifts at the moment,” Mosam said. “Turns out Pansar doesn’t trust me that much.”

  “Fine,” said Dara. “But lifts or not…” She spied the MPs who were still picking themselves up off the floor.

  “Sorry about the hunters, boys,” said Mosam.

  The younger MP glared at him but said nothing. The other one, graying and older, turned to Dara.

  “We’ll watch the door,” he said.

  The ship banked, sending Yajain and Mosam stumbling while Dara braced herself on the wall. He grabbed Yajain’s arm as they both recovered. Her eyes met his green ones. The ship leveled out. She pulled away
from him.

  “We need a plan in case they get past the hunters outside.”

  Dara looked from one end of the room to another. She frowned.

  “There has to be another way in here. The door won’t fit a tyrant.”

  “You’re right,” Yajain said. “Could they have gotten him in through the rear of the cell?”

  The three of them turned toward the cell.

  “Indeed,” the tyrant said. “They put in here through a door as wide as the wall behind me.”

  “But its definitely sealed now,” said Mosam. “There’s no way to get him out.”

  “That means there won’t be any way for us to get out either,” Yajain said.

  The sounds of fighting came closer. Shots flurried, thundered, seared. There has to be more than twenty of them.

  She forced herself to stop thinking of the carnage on both sides and the slaved attackers dying without will. Yajain folded her arms and shivered despite her uniform’s heat veins.

  “What else can we do?”

  “We can wait,” Dara said.

  Mosam nodded.

  “And we can pray.”

  DiKandar Hall shook with the impact of another boarding pod. The smell of weapon burns drifted in the air despite the filters. Yajain stopped pacing and glanced at Dara, who stood by the wall, face taut with tension. Mosam stood on the other side of the doorway. The tip of his vare blade pointed toward the floor but his eyes watched Yajain.

  “You think they’ll make it in here?” he asked.

  “Don’t worry, Coe.” The old MP turned to Yajain. “We’ll stop them if they get this far.”

  Mosam scoffed.

  “If they make it in here it will be because they’ve beaten heavily armed Ditari hunters.”

  Yajain clenched her fingers on the hilt of her vare blade.

  “Will your sword stop them?”

  “Maybe not, but I’m not under any illusions.”

  She glared at the door, trying to avoid looking at Mosam.

  “Shouldn’t you be praying?”

  “Prayer is a mental activity.”

  “Would you two stop bickering?” Dara said. “You’re not helping anything.”

  Yajain walked over to her friend.

  “Fine,” she said. “But—”

  A blast echoed down the hall and shook the bulkhead by the door. Someone screamed outside. The door slid open and two hunters in flickering half disabled camouflage staggered inside. Lord DiBaram’s right arm was fused to his side by a coil burn, and the other hunter supported him to keep him moving.