Legacy of Shadow

by Gallant, Craig;

  With one shaking hand he reached out and pulled the rough fabric of the hood away from the figure’s head. As the cloth fell away, he realized that he had known what he would see the moment he had seen the shapes.

  The pale, bloodless face of Copic Fa’Orin stared into the middle distance before him, unseeing. The black marks stood out in stark contrast to his pale features. The expression the Diakk man wore seemed to hover, frozen, somewhere between surprise and terror. His identity made it sickeningly clear who the smaller bundle would be.

  Something in Marcus’s chest tightened, and then snapped with an audible click that shook his body. He fell away, catching himself on one palm against the rough floor.

  As he caught himself, a blazing green bolt of energy flashed through the space he had just vacated. The energy struck the wall before him and reduced a large section of it into a flash of steam, fire, and fine particulate matter.

  He remembered the color and the vibrancy of the bolt from his first moments within Penumbra, when he had seen the strange beings he now knew as Mnymians make their abortive assassination attempt on the red king. Someone had just fired a plasma weapon at him.

  “Run!” Iphini Bha dragged him to his feet and pushed him toward the doors to his apartments. She was right behind him as another bolt flashed into the wall, and he shied away, turning from the door. The shot had come from behind them, from the reinforced corner there.

  He had just a moment of lucidity to curse the insanity of the Variyar’s anti-boarding action layout. He knew it had made no sense!

  A hulking figure stomped around the corner, brandishing a large rifle-like weapon. Whatever it was had donned a robe similar to the one that had covered Copic Fa’Orin and his son, and the face was hidden by the shadows of the cowl. It was big, whatever it was. Maybe a Leemuk, or even one of those four-armed bastards from the flight deck.

  Or an Ntja dog. The thought struck him without warning, and he knew, with iron clarity, that it would be true. Another figure pushed around the corner, brandishing another plasma gun.

  There was nowhere for them to hide in the long hall, and there was no way they could stumble to his door in time.

  The figure nearest them raised its weapon before the dark shadows of its hood, taking careful aim directly at Marcus. Looking down the siphon-like tube of the plasma gun’s discharge mouth, the opening seemed to swell and he grew dizzy, feeling as if he might fall into the gaping opening and be lost forever.

  A flash filled the corridor, and Marcus’s ears both popped painfully. He flinched, thinking his attacker must have fired, and jittering after-images danced across his eyelids as he staggered back, reaching blindly behind him for the door to his rooms.

  There was a puzzled grunt, and he realized that he was still alive. Forcing his eyes opened, he gazed through tightened lids at the creatures who had come to kill him. Both of them stood still, looking down with heads cocked beneath their concealing hoods. They were shaking the weapons with frustrated, brutish force, stabbing them repeatedly down at Marcus and Iphini Bha.

  The weapons would not fire.

  “Suppression field!” Bha muttered the words under her breath as if she could not believe what was happening.

  Marcus looked aside at her as he pushed the door to this rooms open. “What?” He waved her past him into the foyer.

  “They activated a suppression field!” She moved in a daze to his door, staring back at the two robed figures in the corridor.

  “Who did? How?” He had seen the field deployed by the city after the shootout on the flight deck, but how could it have known there was trouble in front of his door so soon?

  Iphini Bha was staring at his chest, and he looked down. He should have thought of it first. The Skorahn was glowing a faint cobalt, and when he reached up hesitantly to take it in his hand, it was warm to the touch.

  It had saved his life again.

  There was a slurred growl, and then the two attackers were charging down the hall at them, huge dull blades in their hands.

  “They’ve thought of everything, I guess.” Marcus muttered, backing away deeper into his room. These creatures were huge, the robes doing nothing to hide the size of them as they ran.

  He suddenly realized that there was most likely little defense to be had in his rooms. It wasn’t like there were weapons in there, after all. There were several exits, of course. Angara would never have allowed her prize possession to be kept in a death trap with only one entrance. Maybe if they closed and locked the doors, the assassins would take long enough breaking through, and then searching the rooms, that he and Iphini Bha could make their escape out one of the other entrances and get to the control center, where they would be able to close those enormous blast doors behind them.

  Marcus was lost in thought, trying to push the doors vaguely closed in his panic, when a white blur exploded from his left, into the chest of the lead attacker. In a fluttering white robe, a small, spindly figure was spinning and dipping, forming a barrier of stiff arms and legs that brought the two enormous attackers up short. There was a long length of silvered piping weaving through the patterns, while a wizened old head with a fringe of pale green fur, grinning like a child, seemed to settle into the center of the chaos as the metal staff struck elbows, knees, and heads with equal abandon.

  The second monster bowled into the first, pushing it through the small defender’s guard, and Marcus thought he saw a flash of slick teeth in a dark muzzle as the first creature, still off balance from its partners shove, realized it was through. Beady, dark eyes locked onto his as his mysterious defender looked back, chagrined.

  And then a black-robed shape dove into the fray, meeting the descending blade with slapping strike with an open palm. Those tiny eyes widened in the shadows, and soon the beast was fighting for its life as the newcomer tore into it, fists and feet flashing in the red-tinged light.

  Marcus found it incongruous that he was in the middle of a huge, technologically advanced city hanging in space untold light years from Earth, watching three or four different alien species all fight with sticks, swords, and fists for the honor of killing him, or letting him live, hopefully, depending on the outcome.

  The second assailant began to force the little defender back toward the near wall, a flurry of blows ringing off the whistling staff, forcing its wielder into a series of defensive forms that stopped it from doing anything more dangerous than an occasional, flashing attack at an elbow or flank. Even when these blows struck home, they seemed to have little effect on the brutish attacker.

  Nearer to the door, the taller defender in the black robes was more hard-pressed. It had made no attacks since its initial appearance, and was instead concentrating on weaving a steady, blurring defense that managed to keep the attacker at bay. In fact, as Marcus stood there gaping, he realized that this figure wasn’t even trying to attack, but was only fighting a holding action, keeping the brute from advancing any further.

  “Close the door!” Iphini Bha was screaming at him, but he couldn’t bring himself to close out these strangers who had rushed to his aid. He knew it was the Thien’ha and his acolyte, of course, but he had no idea why they were fighting for him like this. Still, he could not close the doors when someone was fighting such a desperate struggle in his defense.

  Desperately, Marcus began casting about him for something he might use as a weapon. There was nothing, of course. But his eyes did alight on a large vase whose cool blue colors had caught his eye in the Concourse. Without a second thought, he lunged for the vessel, grabbing it and pivoting back to the desperate fight outside. He had no idea what he intended to do with it, but thought he might throw it at one of the attackers to distract it, hopefully creating an opening for one of the Thien’ha to shift back onto the offensive.

  He spun back into the door just in time to see the end of the fight.

  The little mystic, obviously tired of the battle, brought his staff up in a dizzying arc that crashed down upon his opponent’s he
ad. The tall figure stumbled back, staggered by the blow, and the staff snapped around toward its chest. The long dull-metal bar blurred as it flew, and Marcus’s eyes widened as he watched the thing flatten and elongate, a broad blade appearing at the top just as it struck the attacker.

  The blade slashed through the robe and into the flesh beneath, while the weight of the weapon itself, with the momentum of the powerful swing, dashed it back down the hall where it landed in a still pile, one clawed hand thrust lifelessly out of the bundled fabric.

  Marcus had no idea what he had seen, but before he could even ask Bha what was happening, the little mystic had whirled around to face the final opponent. The taller mystic was still holding the last brute at bay with an impressive display of unarmed skill, neither of the combatants appearing capable of striking a telling blow. But Marcus realized that the Thien’ha wasn’t trying to strike. She was holding the big monster for her master, keeping it occupied while he removed his own opponent.

  The small, light-furred creature brought the pole-weapon around again, not pausing in its continuous, graceful movements, and thrust it at the last assailant’s broad back. The big alien never even saw its danger. The pole blurred again as it stabbed forward, the blade now shifting and lengthening again into a flat spearhead that took the robed attacker in the center of the back.

  The spearhead exploded out from the figure’s chest in a spray of dark fluid. The large sword swayed slightly as the thing’s arms jerked to a halt, shaking. The head bowed, shadows swallowing the glimpse of bone and glint of eye, as it looked down at the gleaming blade that now stood out from its flesh. With a soft sigh, the monster collapsed forward, the blade sliding out as it fell.

  Marcus stared at the body, lying very near the Diakk man and child, his mouth hanging open in dumbfounded confusion. The two Thien’ha consulted briefly with each other, and then came into his apartments. The small, furry creature, what Iphini Bha had called a Goagoi, wrapped in gleaming white robes, was pushing the female Diakk apprentice before him.

  “You will need to close this door, please.” The short alien bowed slightly to Marcus, indicating the door with a gesture from his weapon, which had once again returned to the shape of a short metal rod. “There will be no more attacks for the present, but that is no reason to abandon prudence at such a time.”

  “How—” Marcus cleared his throat. “How do you know? That there won’t be more attacks, I mean?” He moved to close the door all the same.

  “Because he killed the other two dogs before we got to these two.” The Diakk woman spat the words, anger clear in her flashing dark eyes. The black design that spread out beneath her eyes writhed with repressed fury. She cast one last glance behind her at the bodies littering the floor as the door closed.

  “What have you done?” Iphini Bha pushed past Marcus to address the mystics, both of whom turned to look at her with bland eyes. “Thien’ha never take a hand in the events they observe! What kind of Thien’ha are you?”

  “Not very good ones.” The Diakk apprentice muttered. She was clearly unhappy, and would not meet Bha’s eyes.

  “We follow our conscience, Deputy Administrator.” The small, green-furred mystic spoke clearly, the rod falling back to rest on his shoulder. “We follow the path of the Thien’ha as we understand it. Our path is often that of observers, set to watching the trials and tribulations of the galaxy as it contends with the great Entropy.” He shrugged, and his little muzzle twisted into a bright smile. “Sometimes, however, we like to give it a little nudge.”

  Iphini Bha shook her head. Marcus thought her reaction was bordering on rude and boorish, all things considered.

  “Well, thank you, anyway.” He moved vaguely into the receiving room. The shock was wearing off, and he could not forget the glimpse of Copic Fa’Orin’s face beneath the matted hood.

  “It was Taurani.” There was a burning taste in his throat. “It had to be.”

  “There are few Ntja in the city that do not serve the Council, that is true.” The smaller Thien’ha confirmed. He moved to one of the couches and hopped up onto the cushions. “It seems a safe assumption that the Ambassador has decided to act at last.”

  “Why?” Iphini Bha had collapsed into one of the smaller chairs, her eyes wide and staring at nothing. “Why now?”

  Marcus looked up at the Thien’ha again, and started as he realized that the young Diakk woman was staring at him with a clearly hostile glare.

  “What?” The loss, danger, and anger were swirling through his mind, and the last thing he wanted to do at the moment was deal with another baleful look by some alien who knew nothing about him.

  The girl said nothing, her lips tightening, but her master chuckled. “Sihn Ve’Yan blames you for my poor choices, I’m afraid, Administrator. Do not take it personally.”

  She flicked her cold glance from the little alien and back to Marcus. She did not deny his claim.

  “Nonetheless, I believe you should be safe, now.” The mystic hopped off the couch and moved to the door. “I would perhaps stay in for the night, and see that your security is tighter from now on.” A sad shadow passed over the furry face. “You will find your Leemuk guards in a service room down the hall, I’m afraid. The Ntja are not known for their gentle natures.”

  Marcus was looking at the rod again. He couldn’t take his eyes off of it, remembering the way it had flashed and blurred and changed shape in the middle of the battle. Without realizing it, he was looking down into the Thien’ha’s face.

  The Goagoi’s eyes were deep vermillion pools, and they seemed to bore into his own as the creature stared up at him. “Do not render my actions this day futile, Administrator Marcus Wells. Take care as you navigate the waters before you.”

  The door hissed quietly closed behind them, leaving Marcus staring after them with a wrinkled brow.

  “I must return to the control center.” Iphini Bha pushed passed him. “I will see that the corridor is cleared, and the bodies returned to their people.”

  Marcus grabbed her by the shoulder, heedless of her sudden, jerked response. “I want the Ntja studied. There has to be some sign of where they came from. If we can link them to Taurani, I want him imprisoned before he can cause any further harm.”

  Her eyes, always overlarge to his mind, widened even further. “He is an ambassador, Marcus Wells! The only one in the city! You cannot seize him, it is against all convention!”

  Marcus shook his head. “If he’s responsible for this, I don’t care. We’ll build a jail if we have to, but if I can pin this on him, he’s going down.”

  She shook her head, opening her mouth to respond, when the lighting in the room shifted darker for a moment, and then brightened again. An alarm sounded throughout his rooms, and Angara’s voice echoed through the chamber.

  “Marcus, are you in your rooms?” Her voice was sharp and full of concern.

  “How the hell does she always know what’s happening?” He shook his head, and then looked up, for lack of any other focal point. “I am, Angara. We’re okay. But—”

  “You need to get to the control center at once, Marcus.” Her voice was crisp and full of command.

  “Well, I was going to stay in for the night—”

  “You must go to the control center immediately. I will meet you there.” She paused for a breath, as if gathering her thoughts, and her next words sent a chill down his spine. “Everything has changed, Marcus. Everything has changed.”

  Chapter 17

  Angara Ksaka paced back and forth within the administrator’s office. The prints on the walls reflected landscapes of jagged reds and blacks against stark grey backgrounds of senseless, swirling chaos.

  She had always hated psycho-reactive art.

  Where was Marcus Wells? She had returned to her quarters after parting ways with Justin in the primary Concourse flight deck, frustrated and annoyed with herself, only to find one of her clandestine agents waiting for her.

  The Namanu’s report was
not good.

  She had been rushing to the control center, trying to contact Marcus Wells, when she learned of the latest attempt on his life, and the death of the Diakk man and his son. She knew what that would mean for the Human’s initiatives, and with what she had learned from her Namanu friend, she knew that their time was nearly up.

  Penumbra was not a safe city. It had never been a safe city. She knew that, and had known it since before deciding to make it her home in exile. Still, from the office of the administrator she had assisted in making the city as safe as possible. Such concerted incidents of violence were nearly unheard of, and had triggered a cascading sense of terror in the city that was even now rippling out from the Red Tower to the surrounding sectors.

  She knew Taurani was behind the whole thing, and the rumors her operative had brought her provided all the circumstantial evidence she would need to convince Marcus Wells. And that was before the Ntja thugs had been killed outside of his apartments.

  The door behind her whisked open and Marcus hurried into the office, Iphini Bha behind him. Her perennially-wide eyes seemed dull with shock, and she moved with a slow, almost dream-like gait.

  “What’s happening?” The Human looked haggard, his hair wild and his eyes hard. “It’s already been less than the best day ever, Angara.”

  Behind him, the control center was filled with the quiet, rushing sound of whispered conversation. There had been no further attacks or acts of violence, but everyone in the room could sense the potential in the air. And if the rumors she carried with her had not spread to the office’s workers, it would only be a matter of time.

  She put her arms up to calm him, but Marcus was already lurching past her and collapsing into the chair behind the desk. “It’s got to be that bastard, Angara. It’s got to be.” His eyes, while hard, were haunted. “That poor kid.” He muttered the words, and she was alarmed to hear the despair leaking into his voice.