Wild Sun

by Ehsan Ahmad

  Sonus had only seen this vessel a few times before, usually when the Administrator himself or some other dignitary was visiting. It was sleeker and smaller than the bulkier freighters that brought in supplies and collected the minerals. The shuttle hovered, executed a turn, then descended, white plumes shooting out from under its four short wings. Sonus wondered if the pilots were Lovirr. The diminutive easterners had been the first tribe to surrender to the Vitaari and were sufficiently intelligent and dexterous to control the ships. Sonus knew from occasional discussions with them that they also possessed little knowledge about the internal workings of the craft. Kadessis had explained to him that the Vitaari directorate that ran the Corvos operation were always looking to cut costs but considered only the Lovirr both trustworthy and unthreatening enough to be given such responsibility. Unlike the other tribes, they had little history of resistance.

  The shuttle’s landing struts splayed outward as it touched down. The access ramp descended a minute later, and the first figure to reach the ground was a soldier, clad not in the usual green but in blue. Sonus had also seen these men only a handful of times; they belonged to something called the Colonial Guard.

  Vellerik approached the governor, faintly embarrassed by the jangle of his decoration bar (Talazeer had insisted he wear it). They shook forearms, then turned as the Count marched down the ramp, his Drellen bodyguard two paces behind him. Boots gleaming, uniform shining, Talazeer fixed the governor with an earnest stare and waited for the bow before offering his hand.

  “Good day, Governor.”

  “Excellency, my staff and I welcome you to our installation.”

  Talazeer breathed in deeply. “Ah, fine air up here.” He turned around slowly, taking in the tower, the barracks, and the mine before glancing up at the snow-capped peak of the mountain. “How high is it?”

  The governor’s eyes widened. “Er…”

  One of his men volunteered the answer. “Eleven-thousand two-hundred meters, Excellency. The temperature up there is minus sixty-five at this time of year, and the winds can reach three hundred kilometers an hour.”

  “Is that so? I might take a look later.”

  Danysaan, Kerreslaa, and Vellerik’s men stopped a respectful distance behind the Count.

  “I must commend you and your staff on recent yields, Governor,” said Talazeer, patting down some strands of hair that had blown out of place.

  “Thank you, Excellency.”

  “You will continue to improve, of course.”

  “We will try our hardest, sir, though there are limited…”

  The expression on the Count’s face dissuaded the governor from continuing.

  “Er, what would you like to see first, sir?”

  Talazeer was now looking at the workers. “Them. After I’ve inspected your guards.”

  The chief officer stepped forward, a bulky individual with his hair cut short. Vellerik wasn’t sure if he’d ever spoken to the man. He didn’t deal much with the guards, nor did he particularly respect them; they were generally drawn from inferior regiments and received commensurate training and pay. No ambitious soldier would be satisfied with such a posting.

  “Troop Sergeant Kalitarr. He has worked here for many years.”

  “Sergeant.”

  “Excellency,” said Kalitarr with a low bow. “Please allow me to introduce my men.”

  Knowing he was expected to follow, Vellerik fell in behind Talazeer and found himself walking along next to the bodyguard. The Drellen’s black cloak covered his entire body except for the green, hairless head. Vellerik examined the scaly skin.

  “What pretty colors,” hissed Marl, peering at his decorations.

  “What are you mourning?” asked Vellerik, nodding at his cloak. “Your people? Or your personality?”

  The Drellen’s only reply was a guttural grunt. He had barely spoken to Vellerik, but when he did, it was usually some form of insult. Vellerik wondered why—was it because he had fought for the force that had defeated Marl’s people or simply because Talazeer treated Vellerik with more respect than anyone else, the Drellen included? Abruptly realizing he couldn’t care less, Vellerik listened in as Talazeer questioned Chief Kalitarr.

  “Any trouble?”

  “No, Excellency. We haven’t had any major problems for years.”

  “Minor problems?”

  “No, sir.”

  “That is why there are so few of you here.”

  “Yes, sir. Some of our men were re-distributed to other installations where there are more… significant security issues.”

  Talazeer waved Administrator Danysaan over and lowered his voice. “There are other mines where we have more troops than we need. I know we are bound by law to maintain the Colonial Guard detachment, but every one of these soldiers is costing the Directorate. That money could be better used to improve yield.”

  Danysaan considered his reply carefully. “Troop numbers have been significantly reduced year on year, sir. It was felt that security might be compromised if we cut them even further.”

  Talazeer looked at the troops, then turned back to the governor. “You have, what, forty soldiers?”

  “Forty-four, sir.”

  “Vellerik, that’s more than enough, isn’t it?”

  “Possibly, sir. Governor, how many operational combat shells here?”

  “Six.”

  Vellerik shrugged. “They’re an older design—only the assault cannon and the grenade module—but even three or four would be enough to deal with a revolt, even in significant numbers.”

  The governor held up his hands. “There is no possibility of revolt. But we also need the guards to monitor different crews. On some days we have workers in ten different sections, several kilometers apart. It is not practical to use the shells underground. The guards are often very thinly spread.”

  The Count inhaled through his nose and pointed at Danysaan. “Look into it—I will not tolerate waste. Speaking of which, let’s see these workers; I want them back working within the hour.”

  As the Count and his party strode up past the dormant conveyor toward the mine, Sonus could feel the fear spreading through the workers. Fear was something they’d all had to learn to live with, but this was something new. Something unpredictable. Sonus clenched his fists, but he couldn’t stop his fingers shaking. Around him, others twitched and shuffled, unsure whether it was best to look forward or down. One particularly broad pair of shoulders in the line ahead of him remained upright and still.

  Tanus sniffed loudly. Sonus had been so preoccupied by Karas and Qari’s problems that he’d scarcely given the man a thought. He hoped everyone else had refused to help him, too. Surely he wouldn’t try anything here? Now? Sonus berated himself for joining this line without checking Tanus’s position, but he was relieved to see Karas and Qari were on the other side of the path. Karas was as close as he could be without touching her. Qari was holding her arms over her stomach.

  The Count looked very young and was dressed in immaculate clothing. Sonus had discovered that morning that his was a very senior rank. This Talazeer came from an important family and was more powerful than anyone on the surface or on the Galtaryax. Sonus had only heard about the great ship that watched over his planet; he had never seen it.

  As Talazeer approached, his attention—and that of all the workers and most of the guards—shifted to the creature behind the Count. Sonus would never forget his first sight of a Vitaari (the giant soldier had kicked his way through the door of the house where he was hiding), but this was similarly remarkable. Though almost as tall as the Vitaari, the creature was incredibly lean and had skin like something that might be found in a swamp. The globular yellow eyes were constantly moving, seeming to take in everything.

  Talazeer exchanged a few comments with the guards, then approached the workers in the front line, looming over them with the rest of the Vitaari behind him. Sonus now realized he recognized the officer;
he could not remember his name, only that he held the rank of troop captain and commanded the Colonial Guard unit on the Galtaryax. He looked very old and very bored, watching the visitor with his hands behind his back, mouth turned down.

  Sonus strained to hear what was being said; there was a slight wind blowing across the platform. The Count concluded his discussion with one of the workers, then walked on, with only the strange creature, the governor, and the captain staying with him. Talazeer reached the end of the line, then headed up past the other side of the assembled workers. Sonus felt dread dry his throat as the visitor approached Karas and Qari.

  But the Count didn’t stop. He continued on, then turned between two lines. The workers close by all moved forward or back to give him space. The Vitaari was looking down at each man and woman as he passed.

  Vellerik had asked Talazeer not to get unnecessarily close to the natives, but the young noble ignored him, insisting that he wanted to look the workers in the eye; show himself, make sure they understood who was in charge. Vellerik had instructed all the governors to have the workers searched before their arrival, but there was always the chance one of them would try something.

  He looked over Marl’s shoulder as Talazeer stopped and peered down at a young boy standing with his parents. “And what’s your name?”

  Vellerik noted the father was trembling more than the mother.

  “Madas, sir.”

  “Do you work hard, Madas?”

  The lad seemed used to the delay and harsh voice of the translator. Vellerik supposed he had heard it all his life.

  “Yes, sir. I always do what I’m told.”

  “Good boy. Do you know who I am?”

  “No, sir.”

  “My name is Talazeer,” said the Count loudly. “But that’s not important. What’s important is that you keep working and you do what you’re told. Understand?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Talazeer bent over and ruffled his hair, his silvery hand covering the lad’s entire head. Vellerik was relieved when the Count straightened up and moved on, but he took only a single step before stopping again. “Tell me, Madas. What happens to people who don’t work hard and do as they’re told?”

  Madas thought for a moment. “They get hurt.”

  “Sir.”

  “They get hurt, sir. They get the rod. Or they get torn.”

  “You know about tearing, Madas?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Unlike the jolt-rods, Vellerik had heard of tearing before he arrived. Like most officers in the modern Colonial Guard, he viewed the practice as barbaric and ignoble, though it had been widely used in the past as a method of terrorizing enemies. He had been dismayed to learn that the guards had carried out several tearings under Danysaan’s predecessor. Surely, the Count wouldn’t countenance such an extreme sanction?

  “I’m sure that won’t happen to anyone here.” Talazeer’s tone did not match his words.

  Vellerik looked at the few locals watching their new overlord. Try as they might, some of them couldn’t hide their fury. Vellerik dropped his hand onto his sidearm, flicked the strap off the holster. Why didn’t Talazeer understand how needless this all was? The mine functioned well—why get involved?

  The Count moved off. The boy’s eyes widened as he transferred his attention to Marl, who moved between the lines like some spectral shadow.

  Sonus saw now that the visitor was indeed young, younger than most of the guards, younger even than Kadessis. There was some-thing unnervingly flawless about his features; he seemed almost unreal. He was about to walk past Tanus.

  Please. Please don’t. Don’t do anything.

  The big man’s head was level with the Count’s chest. Sonus watched his right hand; the fingers were moving. They had all been searched before joining the line. Could he have made a weapon of his own?

  But the fingers stopped moving and Tanus remained still as the Count passed him. Then came the strange creature, and Sonus looked down at the ground, fearful of meeting his gaze. He only looked up when the captain and the governor had passed. Sonus let out a breath, then heard his name.

  The Count and the other three had stopped close to the wall. The governor was talking in Vitaari, pointing along the line straight at Sonus. Talazeer listened, then followed him over.

  The governor spoke first. “I was just telling His Excellency about your technical knowledge.”

  Sonus clasped his hands together in front of him and said nothing.

  “You understand our machines,” said the Count. “Is that correct?”

  “I… do what I can, sir.”

  “He’s Palanian, Excellency,” said the governor. “The most advanced of the lot, though they had barely begun industrialization. Sonus here was some kind of engineer.”

  “An intelligent man, then,” said Talazeer. “Amongst your own at least. I wonder what you must think of us.”

  Sonus had no idea how to answer that. As it turned out, he never had to.

  Vellerik was behind Marl, who of course had followed the Count. He saw the bald man turn and raise his hand. And he saw the tiny blade sticking out of his fist.

  Vellerik’s hand was already on his gun and pulling it out of the holster when the Drellen moved. His sword—a narrow blade with a square tip—scythed downward, severing the man’s arm below the elbow. As the arm—and the knife—dropped to the ground, the man somehow stayed on his feet, watching the strange red blood geyser from the stump. Marl moved between him and the Count, still with only a single gloved hand and the sword poking out of the cloak.

  Vellerik had his finger on the trigger. He looked around in every direction, checking there were no more threats. By the time he looked back, Talazeer had seen enough to understand what had transpired.

  His assailant was now sitting on his backside, mouth hanging open, eyes wide. Lying on the ground beside him was his severed arm.

  Vellerik’s men and the guards raised their rifles and converged on the scene, knocking the workers out of the way.

  “Hold there,” snapped Vellerik. “Everyone, stay exactly where you are.”

  The governor was staring down at the butchered limb, his mouth also open. The Count’s method of recovering his composure was to smooth down the front of his uniform, then run a hand through his hair.

  The mutilated man tried to get up, but he was losing color as fast as he was losing blood. He couldn’t make his legs work.

  “What’s your name?” asked Talazeer.

  Surprisingly, he could speak. “Tanus.”

  Marl put the blade close to the native’s face. There wasn’t a drop of blood or tissue upon the dark metal.

  “Sir,” said Vellerik. “Let’s take him away. Move you out of this crowd.”

  “When I’m ready, if you don’t mind, Captain,” said the Count. “Marl, bring him.”

  Talazeer walked past Vellerik and back to the low wall. The Drellen reached down, gripped Tanus’s good hand and dragged him away.

  Sonus locked eyes with Tanus for a moment, and only then did he realize how strong the man was. There was no fear there.

  One of the guards yelled orders. “Down! All of you, down. Flat. Hands where we can see them.”

  Sonus dropped down on his front and stretched his arms out. As a soldier’s boot narrowly missed his thumb, he looked toward the wall.

  “Why?” asked Talazeer.

  Tanus was on his knees, held up by Marl. Vellerik reckoned he would be dead in minutes if he wasn’t helped. He doubted this would last that long.

  “Speak,” shouted Talazeer.

  Marl put the blade against the man’s throat.

  “Are there more like you here?” demanded the Count.

  Tanus forced a lopsided smile. “These? They’re weak. They’re dead already.”

  “I suppose I should admire your bravery,” said Talazeer.

  Tanus looked up at him and spoke a short phrase. In Vitaari.r />
  Vellerik imagined he must have heard it from the guards. A vicious insult that questioned the honor and integrity of a Vitaari and his family. For the guards, it might have been used in jest; to a man of the Count’s class, it was an affront to his entire being.

  Talazeer touched his mouth, then spoke quietly to Marl, so quietly that Vellerik didn’t catch a word.

  Another flashing sweep of the blade sliced off one of Tanus’s ears. Assailed by agony, he collapsed onto his side, whimpering like an animal. Most of the workers turned their heads away. Madas’s mother had covered his eyes with her hands.

  Talazeer casually placed a foot on a nearby rock and watched Marl line up the other ear.

  Vellerik walked between them—reminded himself that these people’s hearts were on the left—and put a bullet into Tanus. He lasted only seconds.

  Marl gave him a sideways glance, then wiped the end of his blade on the dead man’s overalls.

  “I think the point’s been made.” Vellerik holstered his gun.

  “Well, you’ve certainly made yours, Captain.” Talazeer turned around. “Governor, I suggest we put these people back to work immediately. Then you can show me the rest of the installation.”

  The governor took a long breath, then began issuing orders to the guards.

  Sonus looked at Tanus, at his mutilated body and his open, still defiant eyes. He supposed some of the others might admire him. But he didn’t. Tanus had died for nothing and made things worse for the rest of them. Sonus clenched his fists in the dirt. In truth, there had never been much hope that he would be able to help Karas and Qari. Now there was even less.