Wild Sun

by Ehsan Ahmad

  Shortly afterward, the chef disappeared and the Viceroy arrived. One of the attendants hung up his cloak for him while another poured more drinks. At Talazeer’s invitation, the four of them sat down. Neither the Count nor Danysaan appeared keen to face the Viceroy, so Vellerik was forced to sit opposite him.

  Mennander sipped his drink with mannered precision. “Excellent. Red Keccbar—a fine choice, Talazeer.”

  No one corrected him. Vellerik was more interested in the fact Mennander used the Count’s name instead of his title. He doubted Talazeer would make an issue of that either.

  “I hope you feel refreshed, sir,” said the Count, after an adjustment to his uniform.

  “Indeed, I do. The ship seems to be run very smoothly. I’m sure I’ll be similarly impressed by the tour of the installations tomorrow. Captain Vellerik, I understand your trip will be a little less comfort-able than ours?”

  “A little, sir.”

  “Must be quite enjoyable, zipping about in those shells?”

  “Some might say I’m a bit old for it, sir.” Only now did Vellerik consider the fact he had a few years even on the Viceroy.

  “Not at all. I know General Eddekal is sorry to be losing you.”

  Vellerik gave an appreciative nod.

  The two attendants returned, carrying plates with the first course. Mennander spoke as the four men picked up their cutlery. “To be honest, I’m afraid you may well find yourself recalled before long.”

  “Sir?”

  “As I was telling the Count earlier, there have been some worrying developments in the ninth quadrant: an escalation in the conflict with the Red Regent. It’s just as well that operations like this one are providing the Fleet with the resources they need. But if the situation worsens, every branch of the armed forces will be affected.”

  “An escalation, sir?”

  Mennander glanced at Talazeer. “I did not disclose the full details earlier, but I know this will not leave the room. Eight ships—a double patrol—were ambushed close to the Great Nebula. Four were destroyed, two crippled.”

  “Cruisers, sir?” asked Vellerik.

  Mennander chewed his food before answering. “All but one.”

  Vellerik lowered his fork. Cruisers were the second most powerful designation in the fleet, each with a crew of almost four hundred. The Vitaari hadn’t sustained losses like this for a generation.

  “Enemy losses?”

  “Twelve, but the ships are comparatively small. Apparently, the attack showed considerable tactical progression in comparison to earlier strikes.”

  Danysaan weighed in. “There are no notable systems in that area. Do we know the motivation for the attack?”

  Mennander had clearly heard the administrator but ate for some time before answering. “That is a point causing considerable speculation. Some—myself included—believe it is retaliation for our actions on Yera III.”

  Vellerik was unaware there was still an imperial presence on Yera III. The primitive planet had been colonized decades earlier. Other than the fact it hosted a usefully positioned supply depot, the whole system was a forgotten backwater. It was also situated a long way from the Great Nebula. In fact, it wasn’t that far from Nexus Eighty, where he would soon meet his connecting flight.

  Noting the confused looks, the Viceroy continued. “Recently, we have become aware of… infiltrators on some of our less well protected territories. We don’t know a great deal yet, but there is some evidence they are part of the Regent’s efforts against us. These agents equip the locals with armaments and encourage them to conduct guerilla operations.”

  “Drag in our men and material so we’ve less to face their conventional forces,” observed Vellerik.

  “Precisely,” said Mennander. He seemed more interested in his wine than continuing his explanation.

  Vellerik forced himself to wait. “You mentioned ‘our actions,’ sir?”

  “Yes, well, a group of these guerillas somehow got inside the depot on Yera III and did a lot of damage. No fatalities, but an explosion took out most of the fuel, which meant Prince Telerrion found himself stranded—his ship was due to re-supply there. Anyway, he missed the birth of his first child—you know how long they’ve been trying. So on his way back, he took charge of the reprisals himself.”

  Vellerik put down the forkful of food and leaned back in his chair.

  “Quite imaginative, really,” said Mennander. “They used one of the black ghosts.”

  “I didn’t know there were any left,” said Talazeer.

  Administrator Danysaan frowned. “What are they?”

  Vellerik answered. “They were found in some kind of temple in the mountains of the Ossarr home world. They can manipulate the minds of others; at first only their own kind, but our scientists eventually got them to the stage where they could affect most other humanoids.”

  Mennander seemed to have quite an appetite for a small man. He ate a large chunk of bread before continuing. “In any case, our forces on Yera III purposefully let the captured rebels escape. The ghost then took control of them and sent them first to eliminate their leaders, then their allies, then their families. Over two hundred.”

  “And then themselves, I imagine,” said Vellerik.

  “When the ghost let them go? Yes, probably.”

  For a while, no one spoke.

  Vellerik knew he would not eat anything else. Telerrion had always had a nasty streak, but this was beyond viciousness.

  “That was stupid. A commensurate response would have sent a strong enough message. Now every man on that planet will want our blood. The Red Regent will have allies flocking to her.”

  “Captain.” Talazeer’s warning came through gritted teeth.

  Danysaan’s wine glass stopped halfway to his mouth.

  The Viceroy sat up straight and stared across the table. “I do hope I didn’t just hear you insult a member of one of the twelve clans.”

  Vellerik knew he had no choice but to act immediately. He could hardly believe the words had come out of his mouth. “Please forgive me, all of you, a poor choice of words. I meant merely that—”

  “I think you have said enough,” snapped the Viceroy. He took a deep breath in through his nose and rubbed his hands together. “Captain, I am tempted to say that I will not have you aboard my ship. That your presence might offend me. But I think it is best you leave this place—and end your term of service.”

  The words struck Vellerik like a blow. Though he already dis-liked the Viceroy almost as much as the Count, he had gone too far. Whatever his private thoughts, he had dishonored himself and his uniform by criticizing the prince. He would just have to hope Mennander didn’t report him; he could face charges, even after retirement.

  “Will you excuse me?”

  Talazeer gestured at the door without looking at him.

  Despite his shame, Vellerik couldn’t bring himself to apologize to Talazeer. He stood up and walked around the table to the Viceroy. “I am truly sorry, sir. Rest assured I will fulfill my duties to the best of my ability until they are complete.”

  He was relieved to see the Viceroy offer a nod.

  The wait for the door to open seemed endless.

  28

  Sonus had done most of his work before darkness fell. On the floor next to the spare parts container was his pack. Within it were a flashlight, a flask of water, the data-pad, and the weapon—including spare power cells and ammunition. During the past few days, he had taken every opportunity to practice reloading: if the first cell didn’t ignite, he would have to load another one instantly.

  At the bottom of the pack was one other item. His mother had given him her copy of Our Maker’s Teachings on his eighteenth birthday. Though this was a family tradition, she had known by then her son would never believe as she did. Sonus rarely opened it, but the book was his most treasured possession—because it had been hers and because it was a gift from her.

>   Once out of his sleeping clothes, he put on as many layers as he could under his overalls. He knew from the manual he would be exposed to cold while flying at speed and his clothes would offer none of the insulation of the advanced Vitaari uniforms. Though he would be protected by the armored hull of the shell, the machines did not waste much power on making the pilot comfortable.

  He had been through every procedure many times. In theory, he knew how to activate the shell, how to fly it, how to arm and use the weapons, and how to land.

  In theory.

  Sonus knew reality would be far more complicated and unpredictable, but he drew comfort from the fact he had made every preparation possible.

  He made his bed, then picked up the pack and put on his gloves. He would need them to negotiate the walkway but would have to take them off later to operate both the weapon and the vehicle. He looked around at his home of so many years but did not indulge himself with regret. He had resolved to put all emotion aside from this point onward. Unless he needed it.

  He reached into a pocket and took out his com-cell. The time was 05:20, about an hour and a half before dawn. He had estimated the Viceroy’s ship might arrive at Mine Five around 07:30.

  As he walked quietly through the caverns, he told himself not to think that far ahead, nor about what he might eventually find at Mine Fourteen should he reach it. For now, all that mattered was getting inside the armory undetected.

  By the time he neared the walkway, he had spied several pairs of eyes watching him from the darkness. Outside, the wind was light but the snow thick; heavy flakes had settled at the mouth of the entrance. Sonus thought this a good thing, for now at least: it would help him move unseen across the compound. But if it persisted, it might add to his difficulties later on.

  Orani was on duty alone.

  “Not again,” she said when she saw him. “You’re getting forgetful, Sonus.”

  “It’s not that. A special job.”

  “Ah.” She tapped the seat next to her. “The old boy was yawning so I sent him to bed.”

  Sonus nodded.

  “Sit me with a while,” said Orani.

  “Sorry, I can’t.” He walked on but paused after a couple of steps. “Orani, I… I… would just like to say thank you. You have always been very kind to me.”

  Several inches of snow lay on the ground. One side of the tower had turned white, including the windows close to the top. Two containers of ore were currently on the conveyor, rumbling slowly across the rear of the compound toward the warehouse. There would be at least one engineer on duty there. The powerful lights beside the mine illuminated the flurries falling across the face of the mountain. Two small figures—guards—could be seen just inside the entrance, looking out.

  The closest building was the generator station, which was protected by a high wire fence. Keeping low and staying in the shadows, Sonus scuttled toward it. Hearing the low hum of machinery within and his boots cutting through the slush, he then skirted the rear of the station. Halting at the far corner, he removed the pack and squatted down.

  He waited there for several minutes to see if the guard was patrolling, but the only movement came from the falling snow, which was already settling on his pack. He was about to move forward to locate the guard when the Vitaari appeared dead ahead, walking around the far corner of the armory, no more than forty feet away. Sonus retreated. All his clothing was dark, and he had painted anything with a metallic surface that could betray him. He kept his head down but watched the guard.

  By the time the Vitaari reached the near corner, Sonus had to clench his fists to stop himself shivering. As the guard turned back toward the compound, Sonus was surprised to hear he was singing to himself.

  Keep moving. Come around again.

  Hoping he hadn’t missed his opportunity, Sonus removed his gloves and opened the pack.

  Cerrin knew there would be no time later. She said the prayer of honor to her mother and father.

  Yarni—who was lying beside her—shifted under the blankets. Cerrin could not believe the girl could sleep. She thought of the others: Sadi, Trantis and Erras, Kannalin and his cousin Jespa. All there in Block A, lying awake, waiting. She already felt exhausted but told herself her body had rested; she was ready.

  The first step would be the tap on her foot; Kannalin telling her Sadi had given the signal. Then he, Cerrin, and Jespa would go outside to the tunnel entrance. While Jespa guarded it, Cerrin and Kannalin would take the ten makeshift spears they had made and return to the block. And then…

  Cerrin didn’t even try to make any predictions. She shut her eyes and closed her mind to all distractions.

  Ikala, god of battle. I face the hardest battle of my life. My enemies are strong, but my will is stronger. Harden my heart, strengthen my body, guide my hand. In return, I pledge myself to the warrior, the rage, the bloodlust, the conqueror.

  Ikala, god of battle, see me, hear me, help me.

  Sonus sat hunched over in the snow, freezing fingers clasping the weapon.

  Head still bowed to obscure his face, he watched the guard walk toward him once more. The black silhouette seemed immense, as did the rifle hanging in front of his chest. He was wearing a hood, which would at least limit his hearing.

  Sonus was confident he could get behind him. What he could not be confident of was the power cells. There was no chance he would have time for more than two shots. On his right hand, one finger was on the trigger. The other three were gripping a spare cell. He had practiced reloading so much that blisters had formed. He could do it without thinking or looking.

  Bizarrely, the guard was still singing. He kicked up snow like a youngster as he turned the corner.

  Sonus stood. He had to move quickly: though the Vitaari was walking slowly, his stride length would quickly take him toward the front of the armory—and the light. Sonus reminded himself not to let the barrel drop. Fingers tight on the weapon, he followed the guard. At a range of no more than six feet, he raised the barrel, aimed at the back of the head, and depressed the trigger.

  Misfire. A noisy misfire. A low popping sound he hadn’t heard before. Sonus grabbed the bolt and drew it back.

  As the guard turned, he flicked the power cell out and replaced it. He shoved the bolt back in and raised the barrel once more.

  The Vitaari didn’t seem to understand he was in danger. He saw Sonus standing there, but all he did was speak in his own language.

  The blast illuminated him. Shrapnel tore into his upper chest and face. One piece of metal blew a fist-sized hole in his jaw. The huge figure rocked back for a moment, then toppled into the snow. He hit with such force that his rifle flew into the side of the building, landing several feet away.

  Sonus just stood there, paralyzed. The noise had probably been no worse than any of the detonations, but he felt sure someone would have heard.

  Forcing his limbs to work, he ran past the guard to the front of the armory. He looked up at the tower and across the compound. There were no Vitaari visible. He made himself count to twenty to ensure no one was coming, then retraced his steps.

  The guard had disappeared. At first Sonus thought he had simply lost his night vision, but there was no sign of him.

  Gripped by panic, he backed against the wall. His foot caught something. As his eyes began to adjust to the dark once more, he realized it was the rifle. Why hadn’t the guard taken it?

  Sonus exchanged his weapon for the Vitaari’s and was surprised how light it was. He had studied them over the years and knew they were activated by a square firing stud beneath a protective cover. He flipped the cover up and walked along the side of the armory. He also knew the rifles had a built-in flashlight. He activated it, then reduced the power to minimum. After several yards more, he realized he could see something upon the snow. Something very dark—black, in fact. Vitaari blood.

  He found the guard face down, still crawling. His breath was coming in halting gasps. When S
onus stopped beside him, he began to moan. The guard rolled over, eyes glinting. He raised one of his arms, opened his palm, asking for mercy.

  Sonus let the cover down over the firing stud, then held the weapon firmly in both hands. Without even thinking, Qari and Karas came to him when he needed them.

  He drove the butt of the weapon down into the Vitaari’s face.

  Bones cracked. The guard moaned, quieter this time.

  Sonus hammered the weapon down again and again and again. At the fourth blow, blood splattered his hands. He fell to his knees and dropped the rifle. The guard was silent.

  Trying not to look anywhere near his face, Sonus undid the top of his jacket and reached inside. Still warm, the Vitaari skin felt unnaturally smooth. Possessed by a desire to get away from the corpse, he nonetheless found the cord around the neck, followed it down to the triangular ID card, and pulled it free.

  Once this was out, he also removed the com-cell from the Vitaari’s ear. The guards communicated with the tower fairly regularly. Even if he couldn’t convince them he was the sentry and there was nothing to concern them, he would know if they were coming.

  Sonus was about to leave the body when he realized he needed something else. He shone the rifle’s flashlight on the guard’s fatigues. His name was Nullerik.

  Taking the weapon with him, Sonus walked around the far corner of the armory. The next building along was the barracks. There was no noise coming from it, no other sign of activity. He glanced up at the mine. More fresh containers were on the conveyor, but the guards at the entrance had disappeared.

  The armory’s main door was at the front, a wide entrance for the combat shells. The secondary door was on the right side, halfway along. A powerful lamp was situated above it. Sonus had already decided that taking it out was more likely to draw attention; he would just to have to hope none of the Vitaari looked at that precise location at that precise moment.

  Please work. Please work.

  He walked straight up to the door and held the ID against the sensor panel. A light turned from red to yellow, and the door slid open. He threw himself inside and slammed a hand into the controls. As it shut, the armory’s interior lights came on.