Gerian’s voice, when it finally emerged from the darkness on his side of the bubble, was low and even. “Yes, I’m afraid you are correct. Life support has also failed. But remain calm. The heat and oxygen in our cockpit should last long enough for us to reboot.”
Tris took a deep breath — then reminded himself not to breathe too deeply. “Are you sure? Someone could have messed with the ship! We could be in real trouble out here.”
“You are correct again. This failure is the result of a subtle yet masterful piece of sabotage — one conducted by my own hand.”
A chill ran down Tristan’s spine. Gerian’s cheerful admission of guilt rang every alarm bell he had. Again, possible motives flickered through his brain, warring this time with ideas of their consequences. The overwhelming odds were that he, Tristan, was fucked.
I said too much! Dad even warned me. These people can murder anyone they want and get away with it. And I thought it would be a brilliant idea to give him a bollocking about it? Yeah, great move Tris.
Then again, there was no point denying it.
“So, what then? You think you can just drag me out here and flush me into space? Because I disagreed with your pure-blood power trip?” Tristan’s eyes had adjusted enough to see by starlight. He looked for Gerian, and could just make out the expression on the Magistrate’s face. It was not openly hostile.
“Not exactly.” Gerian flipped a switch on the edge of his console and a single tiny diode lit up. “The reboot process should take approximately six-minutes, so I will speak plainly. I brought you out here for a reason, as I think you’re starting to appreciate. It’s true that your opinion of our society is not a popular one. To even discuss it, we are forced to engineer situations such as this.”
He waved a hand around the cockpit, and a lightbulb went off in Tris’ head.
“So… what do you need to talk to me about?”
“Tris, there is a group in Lemurian society that has opposed the ruling regime for centuries. Officially, they don’t exist; the mere mention of them within fifty metres of a shrine can lead to a visit from the Assessors, and the kind of torments I pray you’ll never know. But this group, the Ingumend, exists, and it’s growing. They’ve been hunted and exterminated over and over, but have always sprung up again. Very soon now they plan to emerge from decades of hiding, calling on the common people and taking their secret war to the streets.”
Tris felt his jaw sag a little. “A revolution? You mean there’s a resistance, and they’re planning a coup?”
Gerian smiled, but stress lines were showing on his forehead. “In a shell. In fact, I have it on good authority that the local cell has a major operation planned for tomorrow evening.”
“What?” Tris shivered, as the temperature in the cockpit dropped a few degrees. “You mean the uprising is starting? How would you even know about that? You have it on whose authority?”
Gerian’s smile broadened. “My own of course. Because I am the commander of that cell. The operation is one I have been planning for months, but unfortunately your arrival has accelerated our timetable.”
Tris shivered again, and saw his breath misting in the air in front of him. “Why us? What did we do?”
“I haven’t time to explain everything now Tris, so here is my offer. As I’m sure you are aware, your father was one of us. In sending you here, I believe he intended for you to join us… if he sent you here. For anyone else I would simply read the truth from their minds, but you have a truly impressive ability to resist my Gift.” Gerian adjusted himself in his seat, turning to focus all his attention on Tris. “There are two ways out of this cockpit, Tristan. One of them, I’m sure you’ve thought about a lot these past few minutes.” He tapped the thin glass bubble that separated them from space. “If your father trusted you and sent you to us knowingly, he would have taught you our pass-phrase. Speak it now, correctly, and I’ll take you back to Berasko Station and introduce you to the Ingumend.”
Tris nodded. He was shivering too hard now for much else, though strangely the cold didn’t seem to be affecting Gerian. Struggling to keep his teeth from chattering, Tris repeated the phrase he’d memorised from endless repeat viewings of his dad’s message.
“No fear in the darkness. All nightmares come true.”
“Excellent!” Gerian clapped his hands, the noise like a gunshot in the confined cockpit. “And the response you’re waiting for is, ‘For darkness breeds light, and nightmares become dreams.’ Not a word out of place! You’re a sharp boy, Tristan. Welcome on board.”
And with a low hum, the ship came back to life. The computer chimed to announce the completion of the reboot sequence and a rush of warm air flooded the cockpit. Tris shook himself to loosen muscles cramped tight, and let out a long, shuddering breath.
Gerian stabbed a few controls and seemed happy with the results. He looked at Tris, winked, then tapped his helmet over the ear. “My sincerest apologies Tristan,” he said, his tone light. “I’ll have the maintenance chief Committed for this. I spend half a million credits on a fighter, and that idiot can’t even be bothered to check the relays!” He shook his head as though disgusted. “Makes you think though, doesn’t it? We trust something so completely, but if it lets us down, we’re dead.”
Tris stared out at the freezing vacuum of space and tried to ignore his rising dread.
* * *
Kyra had mixed feelings about how well her evening was going.
Despite being given free rein to wander the Berasko station, and even having her confiscated personal items returned to her, she didn’t feel safe enough to relax here. Her instincts screamed threat so much they were getting hoarse, and yet no danger presented itself. A sense of unease, of something being not quite right, permeated the entire station. Coupled with her inability to use the Gift to confirm her suspicions, it left her permanently on edge.
Even without being able to communicate telepathically, she knew Kreon was experiencing the same anxiety. Being separated from his precious trench coat was an indignity; returning to the docking bay to find his beloved Wayfinder gone had made him apoplectic.
Luckily, it had been a simple misunderstanding. Wayfinder had been moved — though the mere mention of this had nearly resulted in violence — and they’d eventually tracked her down on the opposite side of the hemisphere. It was yet another strange and unnecessary situation, which only added to the overall tension they were feeling.
Leaving Kreon seeking solace in the familiar surroundings of his ship, Kyra decided to take a stroll through the research station. She wasn’t entirely sure what she was looking for, but it felt better to be moving.
If they’re coming for me, might as well make the bastards work for it!
The swords around her waist usually lent confidence to her swagger, but with the Gift so effectively squelched she didn’t know if she could even uncoil them, let alone fight with them.
She was fervently hoping she wouldn’t have to find out.
Her wandering took her to a lower level of the northern hemisphere, following a route she almost recognised. The walls were even shabbier down here, roughly patched with plates over the recent damage. She squinted at one of the plates as she passed. It was new; much cleaner and smoother than the wall around it. How had she known?
She strolled on, around a corner that looked familiar…
And felt her stomach clench with remembered pain.
A shot to the gut… here.
Faint traces of blood still clung to the wall, though the area had obviously been cleaned.
Kyra shook her head. She was going mad down here, surrounding herself with phantom enemies. All because she was deprived of the sense she relied on most to warn her of danger…
Ugh!
She turned around and headed back up towards Wayfinder. Kreon wasn’t the best company right now either, but at least the ancient ship would put an extra hull between her and whatever ghosts were haunting her.
Bloody Lemurians!
>
Why did they have to be so damn touchy? One little visit to the Oracle, and they could all be on their way home…
Where Sera would be waiting for them.
She shivered, and not from the temperature.
* * *
Kyra’s way of coping was the same as it had been since she was a teenager; find something and beat the crap out of it. After the surprise of this evening’s introduction, followed by her unsettling discoveries downstairs, that urge had been strong. Hence, she’d retreated to Wayfinder’s loading bay to knock the stuffing out of a few combat training dummies. Technically it was the middle of the night, but her body wanted what it wanted.
Right now it wanted to kick some ass.
She’d just finished a vigorous warm-up routine and was squaring up to her first victim when the world around her slammed back into her head.
The return of the Gift was as welcome as it was unexpected; a purely mental sensation somewhat akin to having her ears pop. Stretching out with relief, she couldn’t find anyone nearby; only Kreon, and he was busy brooding.
Hey old man, she thought to him. What’s for supper?
She hung back and chuckled as Kreon, also deprived of the Gift since their arrest, promptly shit himself.
Kyra? What’s going on?
Not sure. She gave a mental shrug. I’m guessing it has something to do with Tris. Maybe he’s convinced Gerian to give us a bit more breathing room. She reached out a bit further, but could find no trace of either of them.
They must have gone outside, she told Kreon. And that’s when it hit her.
Gerian is the source of the blocking! It has to be him! Mikelatz would have been that powerful, not that he’d ever use the Gift that way. If Gerian is outside, flying around with Tris…
He’s out of range, Kreon finished the thought for her.
Yeah… Kyra thought back, remembering Mikelatz beaming messages across battlefields half a system wide. Either that, or he’s letting us have our headspace.
Interesting. We must be doubly on our guard, Kyra. There is a strong possibility that this is merely a trick.
Could be, she shrugged again. But if it is Gerian, and he’s strong enough to suppress my Gift as though it wasn’t there? No way I could keep him out. Chances are, anything he wants to know about us he’s found out already.
Kreon didn’t reply directly, but she could feel his mood darken another notch.
Kyra hated conspiracy theories.
They were notoriously hard to kick the shit out of.
Driving the heel of her palm into the dense foam of the dummy’s chin, she followed it up with a deep punch to the solar plexus. Spinning on the balls of her feet she snapped her elbow around, slamming it into the temple for a guaranteed knock-out. Her momentum was enough that she let the spin continue, bringing her other elbow into the same spot. If her opponent hadn’t been a dummy she’d have been tempted to finish with a knee in the balls, but the move lacked the satisfaction of performing it on a grown man.
The dummies were bipedal though, designed to mimic a large-ish human target. Idly, she wondered if anyone made five-armed versions to practise fighting the Siszar.
That made her think of the Empress. Purely out of curiosity she reached out for the alien’s thoughts, but the Empress was far, far out of range.
Meh. Earth needs her more than we do.
Kyra had never relied on others to get her out of trouble. She’d committed her first murder at fourteen, justifying it with the knowledge that the dead man was himself a murderer, and of far less conscience than her. In some form or other she’d been fighting ever since…
And somehow these bastards know all about it!
That was deeply unsettling. Although… the re-emergence of her Gift gave her a sudden insight into Gerian’s impossible display of knowledge.
Slimy bastard read my mind! And I never felt a thing.
It made her feel oddly dirty and violated — even though she’d done the same thing more times than she could count.
Gods damn it!
What was really bothering her, she realised, was that he knew all this stuff, and she couldn’t kill him for it.
She landed another flurry of blows on the dummy, taking out her frustrations in the only way that worked; well, one of two, she thought, grinning savagely. But sure as hell no-one on this station is worthy of me.
Tristan’s arrival in the docking bay caused a trill of alarm from the Wayfinder’s anti-intruder scanners. She hadn’t realised Kreon had activated them; obviously the Warden was feeling even less comfortable here than she thought. The console nearest to her lit up with an image from the external cameras, and she keyed the hatch to open. Kreon had been surprisingly stingy with his command codes for the ship, given that Kyra had been his pilot since they’d first met. He hadn’t even let her fly Wayfinder yet — or test-fire the rail guns.
Spoil sport.
Grabbing her towel from the floor, she made for the entrance corridor. She was soaked with sweat and leaving a drip-trail of blood from her knuckles, she realised.
But she felt a whole lot better.
She quickened her step, catching up with Tris as he passed the galley.
“Hey! How was the date?”
But the look in his eyes and the set of his mouth told her everything.
Or, not quite everything.
“Tris, come here,” she beckoned.
He turned towards her, his mouth open to gush. She put a finger to her lips instead, forestalling him. Then she mimed taking off the pendant, and after a second of indecision, he did just that. His mind opened to her, gloriously simple and unobstructed. And despite what she’d felt a short time before, she had no qualms about delving into Tristan’s memories. He offered them up to her, so much easier and more efficient than a verbal recounting. She saw the details that he did, read the nuances in speech and body language as he had, and felt the same sense of overwhelming dread at the situation he had unwittingly put in motion.
“Oh,” said Kyra, when the exchange was over. “Oh. Shit.”
Tris nodded glumly. They’re listening everywhere, he added.
I’d figured that much, she agreed.
The anti-intruder alarm trilled again. Kyra didn’t need to look at a screen. We’ve got company, she warned Kreon. Gerian’s coming.
She made a quick gesture to Tristan, motioning him to put his pendant back on. It defeated her Gift so completely that she felt sure it would block Gerian’s, too.
Now we just need one each.
Making for the boarding ramp, Kyra reluctantly keyed it open. Gerian waited patiently at the bottom, resplendent in his grey and silver uniform.
I used to like a man in uniform, she thought, as he strode up the ramp. Ugh!
There was something so incestuous about the whole cloning thing, it made it impossible for her to think of him as anything more than a manufactured meat product.
Sorry, Tris! That was one thought she was glad he wouldn’t overhear.
Instead of leading Gerian to one of the ready-rooms, she collected Tris and retraced her steps to Wayfinder’s loading bay. She figured it was as good a place as any to negotiate, and the blood-stained dummy was bound to add a subtle note to the ambience.
Kreon arrived the same time they did, his trench coat firmly wrapped around him, his grav-staff appearing to all the world as an eccentrically-carved walking cane.
Kyra led them in, stopping by the dummy and leaning casually on it, legs crossed. The others formed a small circle, with Gerian opposite, Kreon to her left and Tris to the right. The loading bay smelled of sweat and disuse, but she felt more at home in there than any fancy quarters the Berasko Station could offer.
One moment. Gerian’s voice sounded less oily in her mind, but she still repressed a shudder.
He produced a palm-sized scanner and panned it around, watching the device’s tiny screen. “Very well,” he announced at last. “All clear. We’ll do this out loud for Tristan’s sak
e — though I must admit, his lack of talent for the Gift perplexes me.”
“Tris confuses us all,” Kyra quipped, “but we try not to judge him for it. But you should know, his decisions aren’t final. Whatever your purity tests say, Lord Anakreon is the ranking officer here. Any deals you want to make will go through him.”
“Thank-you, Kyra,” Kreon said. “Magistrate, I have a question for you. What did you do to my ship?”
Gerian looked surprised for a second. “Your ship? I—”
“You moved it,” Kreon elaborated. “Without my permission.”
Gerian frowned at him. “It was all done with tractor beams, Lord Anakreon. No-one went inside. Surely your entry logs told you that?” He held up the scanner. “There are no listening devices in here, if that’s what concerns you.”
“Yet certainly your so-called ‘shrines’ exist in the walls of the docking bay, as they do throughout this station,” Kreon pointed out.
“Certainly they do,” Gerian agreed. “But since I was responsible for their installation, I made sure the ones fitted in this bay were selectively defective. Which is why I had your ship moved in here.”
Kreon made no reply to that, so Kyra took the initiative. “So, we can talk in here. That’s great. Whaddaya wanna talk about so badly?”
Gerian glanced at Tris. “Your apprentice brought me a coded message from his father. It seems you were sent here by Lord Andoss to aid us in our endeavour.”
Kreon placed both gloved hands atop his staff. “Explain.”
Gerian blew out a frustrated breath. “You must know of the Ingumend — the resistance against the religious fanatics who govern our Empire? Lord Andoss was a leader amongst us, and one of our most skilled operatives. There is a long-standing tradition of mutual assistance between our peoples, Lord Anakreon. For centuries, certain agents of the Lantians have helped sponsor our activities, in the interest of bringing about a permanent end to the war. If control of the Empire can be wrested away from the Church and given over to the people, there would be no need for this petty feud to continue.”
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