by Tristan Vick
“Oh, ho! I see,” he laughed in his jovial fashion. He went back to typing, almost as if he’d forgotten she was there.
After a minute, Azra’il Nun raised her fist to her mouth and cleared her voice, reminding him that she was still there.
“Ello, dear. What can I do you for?” he asked.
“What?” she asked, confused. “I have asked you for the codes.”
“What codes, dearie?”
“The drone kill codes,” she replied, her voice strained as she fought the urge to bite his head off.
“Oh, ho! I don’t have those,” he announced.
“What do you mean you don’t have the codes?”
“Above my pay grade, I’m afraid.”
“I’m dealing with a halfwit!” she cried out, throwing her hands into the air in defeat. Clearly this conversation was going nowhere.
Azra’il’s persuasion affected everyone but the utmost simple minded. For some reason, the stunted and brain damaged didn’t respond to her powers. And whatever was wrong with Mr. Phipp’s head was jamming her mojo in a major way. She was so aggravated by him that all she wanted to do was to bash her head into a nearest bulkhead. Repeatedly.
Tired of getting nowhere with the nitwit, Azra’il ran a thumb across her throat, signaling for the comms officer to cut the link. The screen went black and the stars reappeared on the viewscreen.
“All ships, this is Azra’il Nun, High Commander of the Nyctan-Nephilim fleet. Fire everything we have at that idiot and his ship. Mines or no...that’s an order.”
The thirty ships decloaked and all vessels began launching their missiles and firing their plasma cannons. Even so, every missile was prematurely detonated by a smart-mine and every plasma blast was absorbed by the Chiron’s impossibly powerful shields. Short of a ship-to-ship collision, there wasn’t any way to take down the Chiron.
A giant laser blast flashed and then three frigates went up in a ball of fiery gas and debris, igniting in a glorious series of explosions.
“Where the Helios did that blast come from?” Azra’il demanded to know.
“It seems as though it came from the moon, mistress.”
“Thessalonica?” she asked, her jaw half agape with astonishment. Had they developed a super-weapon? And if so, how had they built it right under their noses?
Another blast took the ship out that sat directly across from hers. She watched it go up in flames.
“Move us away from that moon,” she shouted.
The armada slowly pulled back away from Thessalonica and Dagon Prime. As they did, a second armada of two dozen ships jumped into the system. It consisted of a wide variety of vessels, some more heavily armed than others. But the only ship that concerned Azra’il Nun was the shiny silver one that sat in the middle of the fleet.
“Mistress,” a voice shouted out above the alarms. “It’s the Dagon Imperial Armada.”
Azra’il was down to twenty-five ships, so by her reckoning, it was as close to a fair fight as there ever was going to be. But knowing that Jegra had a talent for the unpredictable, she was worried this would give her the leverage she desperately wanted.
“Everyone, stay vigilant. The Mother of Dagon has returned to protect her children. And she’s angry.”
36
Glistening beads of sweat dappled Onelle’s luxuriant chest as she fanned herself with an Arkadian folding fan made of a fine lavender silk. As a few of the beads dribbled down her sternum and into the valley of her cleavage, she tossed her verdant locks of hair over her shoulder and gave her form-fitting iridescent pearl cocktail dress a tug, allowing a rush of air inside that briefly cooled her lustrous skin.
Senator Targon, along with the servant girl, Aida, sat across from her on the roof of her sinking yacht in the middle of the Varuna Ocean, looking forlorn as the hot mid-day sun beat down upon them. They’d crash-landed but, luckily enough, set down in the ocean and had come out of it all in one piece.
Everything had gone awry immediately after they’d entered orbit above Arkadia. The airlock seal to the escape pod ruptured, tearing the pod away from the Miura and causing an explosion that took out the aft starboard thrusters and half the rear bulkhead with it. Not only that, but the mishap had rendered her landing skiffs non-functional. Unable to set down lightly anywhere, the ship rerouted to crash land in the Varuna sea.
Serendipitously, nobody had sustained any serious injuries. But the ship was wrecked and was taking on water. So, now, they sat on the belly of the upturned vessel and waited to be rescued.
“I thought you were supposed to be the prefect of this bloody miserable paradise,” grumbled Senator Targon, taking a handkerchief out of his back pocket and dabbing his face dry. “How long does it take a rescue boat to arrive around these parts? On Dagon Prime we’d already be teleported back to the mainland by now.”
The sun beat down on his deep blue skin and reminded him of the harshness of a world with a tropical climate, as this one. It wasn’t to his liking. It beats landing on some barren ice world or a desert moon, he supposed.
“That’s no way to show your thanks,” Aida hissed as she scowled at the senator’s clearly miserable state. “Mistress Agnar saved both of us, got us out of a deathtrap, and brought us safely to her planet. The least you could do is have a little class and show Mistress Agnar the proper amount of gratitude.”
The senator took a deep breath then let it out in one long drawn out huff. Turning back to Onelle, his eyes softer now, he apologized. “I beg your pardon, Mistress Onelle. The sun is hot and I’m prone to heat stroke. But that’s no excuse for my excessive griping. I do appreciate all your help.”
Onelle nodded in acceptance of the apology. She knew that a man as proud as Targon would never think to apologize for something so trivial, as it would make him appear weak, unless he absolutely meant it. After a few more minutes of the three of them basking in the impossibly bright sun, they heard the distant roar of turbines approaching from the southwest.
“It’s about time,” Onelle said, rising to her feet and placing her flattened palm to her brow to blot out the sun as she peered across the sparkling surface of the ocean.
In the distance, two slender hydrofoil rescue boats skimmed the water, kicking up jet sprays behind them as they made their way to the crash site and the distress beacon that Onelle had activated.
When the boats finally pulled up alongside the sinking vessel, the copula’s hatch to the first one opened and a man in a white uniform with gold cuffs and a black rimmed captain’s hat stepped out onto the deck of the vessel. He tossed a rope to Senator Targon who reeled it in and held it taught so that Onelle could climb aboard. As she did so, three sailors climbed out of the second craft and hopped aboard the sinking vessel. One of them took the rope from the senator while a second helped him leap over to the first ship.
When Aidora tried to follow, the third man raised his hand, stopping her, and apologized. “Sorry, miss. You’ll have to join us on the second ship,” he informed her.
Aidora was a little surprised at first. She’d heard that other species were prejudiced against Nyctans, but she’d never experienced it herself. But, then again, she’d never been off world for anything more than an ambassadorial mission aboard a diplomatic cruiser.
“It’s alright,” Onelle said, waving Aidora aboard the first boat. “She’s my new girl.”
“Apologies, ma’am, I had no idea,” the sailor said and he turned and hoisted Aidora up onto the deck of Onelle’s boat.
“What was that about?” Aidora whispered, leaning in to address Onelle.
“Unregistered servants are not permitted to ride with their official guardians. However, since I am the owner of eighty percent of the resorts on this world, my word is law.”
“Thanks for vouching for me.”
“When we get back to Varuna resort, I’ll see to it you’re properly registered as my personal girl. My last one was a dear friend and trusted advisor; even after I gave her her freedom, sh
e stayed with me.”
“I’ll try my best to honor her legacy,” Aidora said.
“I wouldn’t expect anything less,” Onelle said and then she climbed down the copula hatch and into the sleek boat.
Aidora found her seat and then looked out the view portal at the white spacecraft half-submerged. As the second boat pulled away, it launched something into the water. It took a couple seconds before Aidora realized that it was a torpedo.
The torpedo struck the spacecraft and detonated. Pieces of the ship shot into the sky while others broke apart under water. Aidora was just thinking it was terrible to pollute such pristine blue ocean like that when a fleet of maintenance drones flew overhead. The drones, which were painted a drab gray with yellow stripes, had orange and green flashing lights that alerted everyone to the fact that they were busy working. Roughly half a dozen of them dropped nets into the ocean and began combing the surface for debris while another dozen dove into the water and activated their amphibious mode to dive down and collect pieces of the craft that had already sunk to the bottom.
“Impressive, isn’t it?” a voice asked.
Aidora looked across the aisle to see Senator Targon smiling at her. She shrank under his heavy gaze and shifted nervously in her seat.
“The Nyctans are a proud race. Almost as proud as we Dagons. I’m sure you’ll be missing your culture and people soon enough. Just let me know when you grow homesick, my dear, and I’ll personally book your transport back home.”
She blinked at him with her large black eyes. “Yes,” she answered in a demure voice. “I’d appreciate that.”
His smile, which he wore as a mask, quickly faded and his old eyes hardened and filled with disdain. Always the consummate politician, however, he brought the smile back out and used his diplomatic voice. “It’s true, our people don’t like one another, but as long as Onelle Te’Legra Agnar vouches for you, I’ll ignore our little differences for the time being. But should you so much as step outside your lane, I’ll have you arrested and shipped off to the gladiatorial fights. Am I being clear, my luv?”
The way he said it was anything but loving. Be that as it may, she didn’t want to stir up any trouble and kept her feelings of indignation to herself. She nodded quietly and then turned to look back out the window and gazed out at the beautiful teal ocean streaking by her, the white wake of the boats spreading outward behind them.
Over the side of the boat, down in the water, some colorful fish were leaping into the air alongside the hydrofoils. She watched them for a short while with keen amusement, but even as she tried to focus on the fish, she could still feel senator Targon’s eyes lingering on her.
It took everything she had just to suppress the skin-crawling shudder that threatened to ripple down her spine when, at last, he got up and left. Once he was out of earshot, she exhaled heavily.
“Forget that asshole,” a young man’s voice said. When she looked up there was a sailor making himself a cup of tea in the galley just behind the half-parted, gray curtains.
“You heard all that?” Aidora asked, blushing from the embarrassment of it.
The Bre’lal man turned to her and smiled. “I heard enough to know that the senator is just a big old windbag.”
Aidora smothered a snigger and then smiled at the young man. He offered her the piping hot cup of tea that he had just made.
“Hot tea, on a day like this?” she asked him, giving him a peculiar, cockeyed glance.
He shrugged. “You looked like you could use a hot drink.”
She took it from him and gave him an appreciative nod. “Thank you,” she whispered. After taking a sip and discovering it was still too hot for her, she cradled it in her hands while she looked up at him, a subdued smile forming on her dainty lips. “Why are you being so nice to me?”
“This is Arkadia. We’re nice to everyone here, as long as they pay their tab and keep our one law.”
“You have only one law on this world?” she laughed. Her large eyes blinked curiously.
He smiled at her. “Just don’t harm anybody and you’ll be fine. Everything else,” he added, leaning in to whisper into her ear, “is fair game.” After slowly pulling away, he nodded down at her cup of tea and said, “Enjoy the tea.”
“Aidora?” Onelle’s voice rang again like an annoying call that just wouldn’t stop ringing and Aidora’s smile faded from her face.
“Yes, Mistress Onelle,” she said, rising out of her seat and passing under the curtain to go and see what was needed of her.
“Why didn’t you answer me when I called you the first time? When I call you, I expect a prompt reply,” Onelle informed her rather harshly.
“Yes, mistress,” Aidora said apologetically. “Forgive me.”
“Never mind that,” Onelle said, shaking her head and quickly correcting her mood before she let it derail her train of thought. “It’s not important.”
“Yes, mistress,” she replied, continuing on to Onelle’s seat.
Onelle tilted her head, gesturing for the girl to sit down across form her. “We’re almost to Varuna City. Once we’re there, I’m going to leave you for a few hours while I get things in order. Will you be able to manage on your own?”
“I shall try, Mistress Onelle,” she answered.
“Good.” Onelle reached into the v-cut opening of her dress, jostled her cleavage for a bit, and then plucked out a white plastic card. “This is a versatile card for servants. Since slaves aren’t allowed to be chipped, in case they secure enough funds to run off, all servants are given one of these limited debit cards. There are some credits charged on here for you to buy clothes, food, and other amenities. Also, it will serve as your room key for a suite at the Varuna Luxury Beach Resort. That will be your living arrangement until I can find you some proper accommodations.”
“Thank you, mistress,” she said, taking the versatile key from Onelle and examining it with wide-eyed curiosity. “It’s more than I require.”
Onelle nodded and then waved the girl off. “Dismissed,” she said, glancing back only once to see if Aidora had made it back to her seat all right. She had.
The young sailor, who had returned to his post, raised his eyebrows at Aidora as she smiled at him.
“You may want to be seated now,” he said to her. “We’ll be docking shortly.”
“I'd like to dock with you,” she whispered aloud.
“What was that?” he asked, genuinely feeling he’d missed something important.
She blushed. “Um...nothing. It was...nothing.”
He nodded and smiled back at her and she did as asked and took her seat. Looking out the window, she could see a large island looming on the horizon. It had about two dozen seaside resorts, lovely white beaches that wrapped around the entire island, and jutting above the treetops of the tropical foliage was a giant amphitheater which was made to look like the billowing sails of ancient marine vessels.
It is glorious, she thought. That’s when she realized it was the gladiatorial arena and a thrill of excitement ran up her spine. She’d never been to a live event before, and, if Mistress Onelle wouldn’t be needing her for a few hours, she wanted nothing more than to steal away and watch her first ever gladiatorial match.
37
Heavily seasoned biltong wafted on the breeze as vendors went up and down the stadium aisles selling their spiced meats.
Nyctans didn’t eat meat, so the pungent smell of well-cooked spicy flesh took some getting used to, but after the vendor had passed by and the scent dissipated on the air, Aidora thought it smelled rather nice. Almost sweet, but with the distinct smell of charred edges and burned fat.
Being new to the arena, she wasn’t accustomed to finding her seat and looked in all the wrong places. She was still looking when, finally, the match began. Eventually, she discovered her seat, a front row aisle seat that overlooked the arena from about two stories up. Apparently Onelle’s card bought excellent seats; got you right up close to the action.
She doubled checked her ticket, just to be sure she wasn’t mistaken, and then cleared her throat. “Excuse me, sirs, but I think one of you may be sitting in my seat.”
They ignored her and laughed loudly at seemingly nothing when she cleared her throat and began again. “I beg your pardon, but I think that maybe you’ve taken my seat by mistake. It’s E-34,” she informed the teenager in her seat, reading the number off the ticket and holding it up for him to see.
He looked up and shot her an annoyed glance and then said in a condescending fashion, “So? What are you going to do about it, snow-sow?”
His group of friends began laughing; they all turned away and began chatting amongst themselves.
Aidora reached out her finger and tapped the young Dagon man on his shoulder. “Please, sir, it’s my first time. I just want to enjoy the show.”
“You want to enjoy the show, do you?” The young man stood up and got right up in her face.
His friends all stood up with him and tightened in around her, not giving her any room to breathe or to escape, if she needed. Suddenly, she felt trapped and the fear welled up inside her.
“Maybe I’ll just go find a new seat,” she said, diverting her gaze. “Sorry to have troubled you.”
As she turned to leave, the young man’s voice called out to her. “Wait. It’s your first time at an arena show, yeah?”
She nodded shyly.
He looked around at his friends, a malicious grin spreading across his lips. Offering her the original seat, he apologized. “I’m so sorry. If only I had known it was your first time. Please, by all means, enjoy the show.”
She looked up at him to see if he was being sincere; she couldn’t tell by the look on his face. But scanning his friend’s faces, which were all smiles, she was convinced of their sincerity.