by Ehsan Ahmad
The Vitaari was tapping a finger against the side of his rifle, staring up at the clear blue sky.
Though he had already been through numerous ideas, Sonus considered his limited alternatives again. Kadessis—who would probably check in on him soon—usually kept his data-pad in a sleeve attached to his belt. Sonus supposed he could ask to use it, but he was yet to come up with a convincing explanation.
The drone he had been working on beeped. He looked down and saw a message appear on the screen. Now repaired, the robot was asking for work.
A moment later, Sonus walked out of the yard.
The Vitaari watched him approach, face glistening in the wintry sunlight, dark eyes implacable. Sonus had recognized him from his finger-tapping habit. He didn’t know his name but recalled he was not one of the most aggressive guards, not by a long way.
Sonus ran a hand through his newly trimmed hair, having visited Orani the previous evening. He then clasped both hands together and bowed low. “Excuse me, sir.”
The guard clicked his translator on. “What is it?”
“I’ve been repairing the cleaning drones, and now I have to program them. I was instructed to ensure they are able to do a final sweep of the compound just before the visitors arrive.” Sonus felt it sensible not to specifically mention the Viceroy. “I believe they’re coming sometime in the morning—do you know exactly when?”
“08:00, I think.”
An hour after dawn.
“Ah.”
“Mine Five first, then here.”
“I see. Thank you. It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it, sir? Very clear. Sometimes I wonder if your gods can see you here—so far from home.”
The guard frowned, then pointed at the yard. “You should get back to it.”
Sonus bowed once more, then hurried away. His hope was that the guard would remember the strange comment, not what had gone before.
As he entered the yard, numbers filled his mind. He had quite a few calculations to make.
Cerrin’s day passed with grinding, suffocating slowness. Where previously she had been scared the escape plan would be discovered, now she was terrified. The path to freedom was open, and yet she and the others found themselves working like any other day. They had not yet agreed when they would go, but Cerrin was determined to leave no later than the following night.
By the evening—when she visited Sadi’s compartment under the pretense of examining the knee the Palanian had twisted earlier—she reiterated her intention.
As they were surrounded by people preparing for bed, Sadi whispered her reply. “We’re not ready.”
“But you have the flares.”
Yarni had pilfered four from a supply depot within the mine. They were usually used by the Vitaari for marking drilling areas but—according to Sadi—they were the easiest method of igniting fuel. Whoever set them off would be at great risk but, if correctly situated, the resulting blasts could cause considerable damage.
“That’s not all we need,” added Sadi. “What about these weapons you promised us?”
Unless the Vitaari were very slow to react, the escapees would probably have to defend the tunnel or the others while they crossed the river. Cerrin’s idea was to turn a collection of wooden stakes she’d found behind Block B into spears. She had sharpened one of the trowels to do so but hadn’t had time to fashion them. In truth, they would be next to useless when facing the Vitaari—with or without the shells—but Cerrin reckoned she and the others would all feel better with a weapon in their hands.
“I’ll get to work on them tonight. Kannalin said he’ll help me. But we go tomorrow.”
“Cerrin, we haven’t even established who’s doing what.”
“That’s easy enough. We—”
Sadi looked up. The broad figure of Trantis was blocking out most of the light.
“What’s going on?” he said loudly.
“Knee,” answered Sadi.
The big Palanian knelt in front of her and pretended to examine it. “Another message from our friends,” he said quietly. “This man at Mine Three will attack at dawn in three days’ time. They want us to start an hour before.”
“Why?” asked Cerrin.
“Because he may be able to help us and we may be able to help him.”
Cerrin shook her head. “An hour of darkness isn’t long enough. Why take the risk? We don’t need his help.”
“How do you know?” replied Sadi.
“One hour?” said Cerrin. She couldn’t believe their “friends” would suggest such a thing.
Trantis did a better job than the women of keeping his voice down. “The Lovirr think striking together aids us both. If he’s inside one of their fighting machines and he gets here in time, he could make the difference.”
“And if we start earlier, we could all be in the forest by then.”
Trantis fixed his eyes on Cerrin. “The Lovirr want us to help him. If he gets to us, he will have killed this important Vitaari. No offense, Cerrin, but there are many like us. This man is special. We need to keep him alive.”
“If he’s so special, he can look after himself. We have another ninety-three to think about.”
Sadi turned to her. “We should wait. We should do as they ask. Act together. As one.”
As she looked at them, Cerrin reminded herself that the tunnel would not exist without the enterprising Palanians. She still didn’t believe this man was worth altering their plans for, but she owed them loyalty. The thought of waiting even longer horrified her, but now was not the time to argue.
“It’s decided, then. Let’s just make sure we’re ready.”
Sonus had drunk three large mugs of water but could not rid himself of the headache. It probably didn’t help that he was reading the data-pad under a blanket or that he seemed to have encountered a potentially intractable problem.
Mine Five was one hundred sixty kilometers to the south of Mine Three, situated beyond a line of sand dunes known to Palanians as Skakka’s Bight. Assuming he somehow survived the attack on the Viceroy, he would then have to reach Mine Fourteen, which was another ninety-five kilometers to the northwest. This was possible if he travelled at the optimum speed and did not make drastic maneuvers. But he planned to travel south from Three at maximum speed, and maneuvering was inevitable. He could add extra fuel modules but was not prepared to sacrifice any of the key armaments and equipment. He’d been unable to find out anything about the Viceroy’s ship and its capabilities, but it seemed obvious such a craft would have defensive systems. Sonus reckoned his best hope was to rely on surprise.
It took him another half an hour before he found a solution. A single fuel tank could be stored in the locker mounted on the back of the shell. It would have to be attached manually, but he reckoned it might just be enough to get him to Three.
Sonus left the data-pad under the blanket and gazed up at the darkened cavern. It seemed almost ridiculous to be looking so far ahead. Even what he had to accomplish here at Fourteen seemed more of an optimistic vision than a feasible plan. He had tried to put the very first stage of that plan firmly to the back of his mind, but soon the moment would arrive when he had to kill.
He looked across at the container and thought of holding the weapon in his hands, aiming at the armory guard. To his mother—a believer to her dying day—taking a life was an affront to the Maker. Sonus could never know how more than a decade spent in the grip of the Vitaari might have changed her mind, but she had been a woman of conviction. Perhaps she would have held firm, believed the Maker would eventually somehow free his chosen people. Or perhaps she would have said it didn’t matter, they were all better off in the Kingdom anyway.
Sonus wiped his aching eyes and turned off the data-pad. Once it was well hidden, he drank more water, then returned to bed. As usual, he wrapped himself up well and kept his arms under the blankets to get warm. There was a familiar comfort to these moments, and he knew from talking to
others that many thought this the best part of the day. The body could rest and the mind too—free from the noise and dirt of the mines, the cruel whims of the guards. He recalled what Qari used to say: every night a part of her truly thought she might wake up and find it had all been a dream, that she might find herself back in her family home, in the time before the Vitaari.
Sonus gazed up at one particular patch of the cavern. Even in darkness, he could always make out the streak of pale green. Though he knew it was in fact caused by deposits of a rare mineral, he’d always found the splash of color encouraging. It seemed to suggest that the unexpected was always possible.
Before he finally succumbed to sleep, he forced himself back to a place he did not want to go: the abandoned shaft where Qari and Karas had thrown themselves to their deaths. He forced himself to remember how suddenly they were gone; every hope and dream of the future snuffed out in an instant. He thought of how it could have been, imagined the three of them together. He thought of the baby as a boy; that’s what Qari had wanted.
Sonus cried. But he also felt that fire in his gut, that anger. He would need his rage. He would depend on it.
27
Vellerik watched the Tarikan ease closer to the Galtaryax. The shuttle was a converted exploration ship that allowed Governor Mennander to visit both space-bound and surface installations. A third the size of the Galtaryax, it was a lot newer and equipped with a state-of-the-art communications array mounted below the cockpit. The high fin above the ship’s body displayed one of the biggest imperial insignias Vellerik had ever seen. He felt certain the Viceroy and the Count would get on well.
“Tarikan?” said Triantaa, whose recovery was continuing well. Like Vellerik, he was in full ceremonial garb. “General, wasn’t he?”
“Indeed,” said Vellerik. “Sotthan campaign, I believe—thirty-third century.”
“To your places.” The order came from Count Talazeer himself, who had grown increasingly insufferable as the visit neared. Vellerik and Triantaa joined him, Administrator Danysaan, and Deputy Rasikaar in front of the accessway.
The imperial anthem began: the full orchestral version, of which Vellerik was not fond. He preferred the original style, which was usually performed by only five players with classical instruments. It had always struck him as rather understated and noble. The new incarnation seemed bloated by grandeur, utterly devoid of subtlety.
The accessway locks thumped into place. Vellerik looked around; Marl was still nowhere to be seen and it occurred to him perhaps Talazeer was wary of alarming the Viceroy. The accessway doors eased apart. First to appear were two bodyguards, both in the black of the Imperial Guard. Judging by their decoration bars, the pair were veterans. Like Vellerik, they carried only holstered sidearms.
As the pair separated, Viceroy Mennander strode forward. He was a small man, with white streaks in his hair, which Vellerik guessed might be artificial. He wore the gray robes of a civilian administrator covered by a long scarlet cloak. Holding it together was a large metallic clasp, again showing the imperial standard, the golden circle surrounded by twelve stars.
Talazeer greeted him politely, and they shook hands. “Viceroy, may I welcome you aboard the Galtaryax and to the imperial territory of Corvos.”
“Count Talazeer, it is a pleasure to see you again.”
“How was the trip?”
“Uneventful, though yesterday we received some troubling news.”
Vellerik couldn’t see Talazeer’s face, but the Viceroy had clearly noted the Count’s alarm.
“Nothing to do with yourself or this operation, rest assured. We will discuss it later.”
Talazeer looked relieved as he turned around. “Viceroy, allow me to introduce my staff.”
Once they were free of their duties, Lieutenant Triantaa declared he would test out his stamina with a trip to the cargo bay. Vellerik decided to accompany him, and they were not surprised to find it empty. All the troop—the three selected to accompany Vellerik the following day and the others—had been given time off. According to Triantaa, the majority were holed up in Perttiel’s quarters watching the latest clip from home featuring a famous actress.
Vellerik had decided the lieutenant was fit enough to participate: he would travel inside the Tarikan and coordinate the escort.
“I’ll feel better with you there,” he said as they sat down on a cargo container close to the combat shells. “Then I can concentrate on flying.”
It had been agreed that the shells would leave the ship to form the escort as they approached every mine and return when they were a safe distance away.
Vellerik shook his head. “All this effort. And for what? So the Count can put on a show.”
“Sir, I know you said the biggest threat came from flying into each other, but I have identified another.” Triantaa’s expression was grave. “Flocks of birds.”
“Are you serious?”
“Yes, sir. Kerreslaa told me ships in the northern zone have had the odd problem, and apparently it’s a migratory season. Once I’ve patched into the Tarikan’s array, I’ll see anything that can cause us trouble.”
“Very well.”
The cargo bay was utterly silent. The combat shells had been left close to the main doors. They would be transferred to the Tarikan later on.
“Maybe they’ll name a ship after you one day, sir.”
Vellerik laughed out loud at that, even though he knew the young lieutenant was being genuine. “I certainly hope not.”
“You wouldn’t consider it an honor, sir?”
Vellerik took a long breath. Count Talazeer had agreed he could depart aboard the Tarikan. In two days, he’d leave Corvos behind. In five days, he’d reach Nexus Eighty. In eleven days, he’d pass the Core Boundary. In twenty days, he’d be reunited with Seevarta.
“Devan.” Vellerik put his hand on Triantaa’s shoulder. He had not used his given name before. “I simply do not care anymore. I am an old man, and I should have listened to myself sooner. I fear I have grown weak.”
“That is the last word I would ever use to describe you, sir.”
Vellerik smiled. “You’re a good officer. You’ll do well. When I was your age, I couldn’t even imagine a time when I would leave. I just did what I needed to: listened, learned, moved up. Nothing else mattered. To make captain, I knew I had to complete every order, go above and beyond. Then when I got there, I realized there was nowhere else to go—not without becoming a glorified administrator. Do you know I am one of the longest serving captains of all time? Not something to be very proud of.”
“I don’t agree, sir.”
Vellerik could see no reason to censor himself now, even with his subordinate. “I’ll tell you something else. I have no idea how many beings I have killed. Not just by the odd one or two, or even five or ten. It could be two hundred, it could be four hundred. I have no idea. I must admit, sometimes the thought of it shames me.”
Triantaa stared down at the floor. “Our enemies, sir. The Domain spreads civilization, advancement. This may sound stupid, but… well… it’s not our fault we are superior.”
“You sound like me. Forty years ago.” Vellerik ran a knuckle down his face. “I don’t think anyone will ever stop us—any people, any race. It is simply in us to do this. Fight. Conquer.” He turned to the younger man. “Just promise me this, Devan—you’ll only kill when you have to.”
He could not avoid the dinner. It was to be held in a small room specially adapted for the purpose. He arrived as late as possible and found Talazeer and Danysaan anxiously awaiting the Viceroy. Once again Marl was nowhere to be seen. Vellerik continued to speculate: perhaps Talazeer feared talk of the attack on the native girl had somehow reached Mennander, perhaps he thought it best to keep the Drellen out of the way so the subject was never mentioned.
While Talazeer interrogated the ship’s chef and the serving staff, Vellerik took a glass of wine and stood with Danysaan on the far si
de of a large rectangular table. He nodded at the hangings on the walls: ersatz versions of tapestries showing ancient emperors and classic imperial scenes.
“I didn’t even know we had those.”
“Neither did I. Rasikaar dug them out of storage.”
“Enjoying yourself so far?”
Danysaan made sure he was facing away from the Count when he rolled his eyes and answered, “I envy you, Erasmer.”
“How much longer will you have to stay?”
“I’ve already applied for re-assignment. As Rasikaar is more than happy to do the Count’s bidding, I am surplus to requirements.”
“I still find it hard to believe his methods really made much difference.”
“Increased work hours had an impact,” confided Danysaan. “But we’ve had more illness and missed days as a result—as I predicted.”
Vellerik kept his voice down. “So the figures are false?”
“No. What the Count has brought to this operation can be summed up in one word.”
Fortunately, Talazeer was still deep in discussion with the staff.
Vellerik nodded. “Fear.”
“Precisely. From myself down to the lowliest guard and the workers themselves—nobody dares gives less than their best. It all adds up over time.” Danysaan smirked. “Didn’t manage to have quite the same effect on you, did he?”
Vellerik took a hefty swig of wine. “What is this?”
“Red Eldar. Strong.”
“Good. Spoken to the Viceroy?”
“A little.”
“And?”
“As I have noted on previous occasions, his reputation for direct speaking is well deserved. My advice—watch your step.”