Behind the giant alien stood an honor guard of creatures nearly as tall as their king, holding heavy rifles in the place of the big polearms they had carried in Penumbra. He assumed this station, small by comparison, didn’t have a similar suppression system. Somehow, the guns seemed even more threatening than the gleaming steel of their cruel blades.
Justin stood before K’hzan Modath, straightening to his full height, just over six feet.
It fell sadly short of the red king, who was more than a foot taller.
The demon beast snarled something to Justin, and Justin shook his head, gesturing vaguely behind him toward the ship. Angara was now standing with him, shoulder to shoulder, and nodded her own head, clearly in support of the Human.
But whatever they were saying, K’hzan was unconvinced. He sneered at Justin, his face particularly suited for the expression. The beast leaned in, mouth working, and then lashed out with one huge hand, slapping Justin aside with a casual backhand blow.
Angara fell into a fighter’s crouch, the weapons on her shoulders emerging with lightning speed. But not soon enough. The king’s honor guard had her dead to rights before she could even turn, and as she looked down their barrels, Justin shifted on the floor, shaking his dazed head, and she relaxed. The weapon snouts withdrew, and she straightened.
K’hzan looked at them both, as if waiting for them to proceed. When neither moved, he stalked past them toward the ship.
“He’s coming here.” Marcus muttered under his breath. He remembered the tales he had been told about K’hzan’s hatred for Humans. He staggered away from the viewing field, despite knowing that anyone outside was seeing only the featureless metal of the hull.
“He’s coming for me.” His breath was coming in short, sharp gasps.
“Well, he’s not coming for us, that’s for sure.” Nhan rubbed his hands again, looking at him with a vicious grin.
Marcus glared at the creature, but before he could muster a reply, a gravelly voice outside the ship echoed hollowly off the surrounding bulkheads.
“Come out, Human!” It was guttural, vicious. “I know you are within. I could smell your foul stench through the void from my own ship.”
Marcus crept back to the field, peeking out over the lower lip. Below him, K’hzan was frowning up. Even knowing the demon couldn’t see him, he felt a cold hand twisting his guts. The empty black eyes seemed to be staring right through the armored hide of the ship, pinning him to the spot.
“I know what you have done, coward! Come and face me, or I will root you out of your cage and drag you into the light!”
Marcus cringed at the words. He could sense the Thien’ha staring at him, and knew there would be no help to be had from either of them. He looked back out. K’hzan stood below, clawed hands flexing at his sides, and sneered up at him.
“I can smell your fear, craven. I would look you in the eye as I declare you a wretched worm, and have of you an explanation of your intentions now that your destruction of my home is complete.”
Marcus started at that. Could Penumbra have been destroyed? He couldn’t imagine even Taurani would have destroyed the entire city in so short a time. The thought banished all the personal fear from his body, replacing it with a sudden, unreasoning dread that the city was gone.
He turned and moved so quickly between the two mystics that even they could not have stopped him had they wanted to. He stalked through the common room and down the ramp, working his jaw as his inner ear equalized with the pressure in the bay, and then moved around the ramp, toward the tall, dominating figure of the red king.
“What?” He spat the word as if it was a curse; adrenaline overcompensating for his terror. “Let’s hear it.”
He had never spoken two words to this creature before, but there had been those in the administrator’s office who had taken a positive glee in telling and retelling the stories. This fierce and barbaric warrior king had been exiled by his own people for denying to bow down to the Galactic Council when they came to disarm his race, the Variyar. He had been living in exile in Penumbra, disappearing for long stretches of time on mysterious errands, for what he had to guess was over a century.
Through all that, his reputation as a brutal fighter in the pits and a terrible foe in both business and war had been forged.
And here Marcus stood, screaming up at the monster from the questionable shelter of the Yud’ahm Na’uka’s shadow.
K’hzan looked down at him for a moment in surprise. He shook his head, the rack of horns gleaming, and widened his stance.
“Your cowardice disgusts me, Human.” The hot, foreign breath washed over him, and his shaking adrenal courage wavered. “All my life I have heard the tales. I was raised on the myths and legends of Human power and fury. I was taught that the sad, pathetic remnants that wandered the galaxy were nothing but an attenuated shadow of the might of the primeval Humans.” He snorted. “I harbored in my heart of hearts the belief that such greatness could still be found among the Humans of Earth. That one day, perhaps, they would surge forth and the great, ancient war would erupt once again, washing the tyranny of the weak away once and for all.”
He reared up on his massive, reverse-jointed legs and spat a gobbet of black phlegm that slapped against the deck at Marcus’s feet. “My disappointment in your failure knows no bounds, Marcus Wells.”
That brought Marcus up short. How could this enormous demon-beast out of his worst nightmares possibly be disappointed in him? He looked up into that horrific face, confusion roiling through his mind. When K’hzan leaned down toward him, he didn’t think to back away.
“The Humans of Earth have loomed large in the tales of the Variyar for uncountable ages. There was a time when the galaxy trembled at the tread of your people’s feet, Human. The foundations of the universe shook at your will! And now look at you.” One clawed hand reached out and cuffed him backward, pushing almost negligently at his shoulder. “A pathetic coward that runs from the weak and the feeble as if chased by the very hounds of hell.”
Well, that hardly sounded fair. People had died because of him! Did this giant red shit-head not understand that? For a moment he wanted to push the big alien back, but thought better of it. Still, however, he burned with the need to respond. His mouth, as always, ran far ahead of his thoughts.
“What do you want me to do, you asshole? Would it make things better for anyone if I went back and let those psychotic basset hounds kill me? Would it make the city safer? Would it bring back Copic Fa’Orin and his son?” It was his turn to sneer, his adrenaline in full control again. “You’ll forgive me if any sense of racial guilt on your part isn’t enough for me to feel better about dying.”
The black eyes reflected warped images of himself. He hoped the fear he could see in his own eyes wasn’t as easily read by someone less familiar with Human emotions.
“Fear of dying is the refuge of the weak. There are far worse things than dying, worm.” It was uncanny, the way the towering monster seemed able to read his mind.
“It’s probably easier to say that from some positions than from others.” Marcus stood his ground, trying to ignore his own reflections.
The rack of horns swept back and forth as K’hzan Modath shook his head. “I could easily have stood and died when they came to disarm my people. There were many who expected me to do so. Many believed the old ways demanded it. Instead, I ran.” Something in the eyes shifted, and Marcus had the impression the big monster’s thoughts were far away. “When you run from some things, there is no stopping. You will run for the rest of your life.”
Marcus snorted. “Running might just be a little more comfortable as a king than as a beggar, though, I’d imagine.”
Those black, inscrutable eyes narrowed and fell with their full force upon him. “You might think that. You would be wrong.”
“Leave him alone!” Justin’s voice was a little strident, and he was holding his arm stiffly across his chest. The goggles were askew, and a single dark, Huma
n eye stared out, hot with anger. He tried to insinuate himself between Marcus and the big alien, but Marcus put his hand on his friend’s shoulder and gently kept him out.
“I can take care of myself, Justin.” He focused on bringing his breathing under control, but his growing anger at K’hzan’s assault worked steadily against him.
Angara came up on the big alien’s other side, the enormous honor guards behind her. “There’s nothing here for you, K’hzan. You should leave.”
Neither of them drew the red king’s attention away from Marcus, however. He was breathing heavily, chest heaving with his own pent-up emotions. As the moment stretched into uncomfortable territory, Marcus found he could not look away, his anger fueling his innate stubborn nature.
He could hardly believe it when, with a last eloquent snort of derision, K’hzan straightened, peering down at him from his daunting height.
“Very well. I had hoped to find a legend hidden away within the breast of this creature. Instead I find a worm.” He shook his head in disgust and turned away. “The galaxy is a poorer place for it.”
“Wait!” The piping voice cried out from behind them all. Everyone but Marcus turned to stare at the diminutive mystic in his fluttering white robes running toward them with an erratic gait, his thin, furry arms flailing wildly. “You can’t leave! This is it! This must be it!”
Marcus was still in shock at his adversary’s surrender. As things unfolded around him, he could only stare at K’hzan with an open mouth.
“Master, stop!” Ve’Yan shouted, following the little alien at a full run. “Please, you must end this!”
But she was too late, and Khet Nhan skidded into the space between K’hzan and Marcus, his little chest heaving, his hands fluttering about without purpose or direction, and his head craning first to the Human, then to the Variyar king. The wide red eyes were pleading, and as he turned his full attention on K’hzan, the hands curled around each other and began to rub viciously.
“You cannot leave him like this. He cannot be allowed to render all that has happened here worthless!” The voice was high and beseeching.
“Master, come away.” Ve’Yan took the small master under his right arm and tried to guide him gently back toward the ship.
“No!” Nhan sounded like a child as he pulled himself out of the Diakk woman’s grip. “This cannot be how this ends! We cannot have dived headlong off the path only to see him fade into oblivion!” He jerked a small thumb viciously in Marcus’s direction.
Marcus’s mouth twisted: someone else shoving their baggage onto his shoulders.
The anger burning within him churned hotter, sending sparks of fire swirling through his chest and up into his head.
“This cannot be the end!” The high-pitched shriek echoed off the belly of the ship looming above them. Angara and Justin looked embarrassed as they hovered behind Sihn Ve’Yan. The acolyte, however, was obviously far more concerned for her master than for anything else.
The Diakk woman kneeled to soothe the little master, and his vibrating beard began to wilt, his shoulders slumping. He looked up at her with sad, wide eyes. “This cannot be the end.”
Ve’Yan nodded but said nothing as she led him back toward the ramp.
Marcus watched them go, and then turned back to the enormous form of K’hzan Modath. The red king was staring at him again, and the look on his face was cold and distant. “I trusted in the wrong tales, Human. You bring misery and destruction with you wherever you travel. We are well rid of you. The Earth is welcome to your poison. Good riddance.”
The towering alien spun away, sending his heavy red cloak swirling, and stalked toward the distant doorway. The two honor guards backed up behind him, keeping their eyes, and their weapons, trained on the trio beneath the ship.
Marcus heard everything with a faint, echoing quality. There was a rushing in his ears that threatened to drown out all other sounds. He had been spat upon and dismissed from the moment Angara had forced them onto her ship. He had clawed his way toward respectability, not understanding the pressure mounting against him, but determined to do his best as his understanding of Penumbra’s potential had grown within him.
And he had lost it all. Every goal he had formed was dust. The people he had tried to help were dead or scattered. And the contempt piled upon him continued to mount.
He was worthless. He was less than worthless, he was a detriment to the only good thing he had ever tried to do in his life.
He was exactly what his father thought him to be.
“Stop!” He barked the single word and it echoed harshly around the cavernous chamber.
K’hzan paused, his horned head tilting like a hunting dog catching a new scent. But he did not turn around.
“I won’t go back there to die.” He approached the red king, ignoring the wide bores of the honor guards’ weapons thrusting at him. “If I go back there alone, I will die. And it will serve no purpose at all.”
K’hzan turned, regarding him with a flat, emotionless glare.
“If I’m not alone, though, there might be more to discuss.” The anger was still there, but now it was oriented with equal parts against himself. “If you’re willing to offer more than your contempt and disdain, we might not be done here yet.”
Within those dark, soulless orbs, something flickered.
Chapter 23
The common area of the Yud’ahm Na’uka, never terribly spacious, was positively cramped with the bulk of K’hzan Modath crouched in the corner. Even the ship’s mutable decking could not provide the red king with a seat suitable for his large frame. If the Variyar’s horns scraped across her ceiling again, she was going to scream.
They sat around the low table, no one wanting to be the first to speak. Master Khet Nhan sat upon his hands, refusing to fidget, his eyes firmly fixed on the table top. He was clearly embarrassed by his outburst in the bay, although no one seemed inclined to acknowledge it.
Marcus Wells sat at the head of the table with Justin next to him. Justin was uncomfortable, shooting an occasional glance at K’hzan. But it was Marcus Wells that dominated her thoughts. His pale-skinned face was distracted and brooding behind his dark stubble. His hair, as always, was artlessly tousled, lending to his air of grim, wild energy.
The Human she had put on the administrator’s throne, the Human that had nearly driven her to violent rage with his lackadaisical response to their abject failure, had found his courage at the sharp end of K’hzan’s low regard. Where the begging and pleading of his friends had had no discernible effect, the harsh words of this demonic stranger had stoked something within him that she had not seen before.
She could admit now, with K’hzan sitting across from her, his massive warship floating somewhere above, that her initial reaction to Taurani’s plot and Iphini Bha’s treachery had been emotional. They would have died if they had returned to fight alone. Marcus Wells’s points against that had been well-made. She was honest enough with herself that in the silence of her own mind, she could confess to those things.
She did not dare, however, assume that K’hzan Modath might take their side against the Council, even with the Variyar exile grudgingly agreeing to sit with them. But if by some miracle they could persuade him, maybe the situation had changed enough to make a return to Penumbra something less than a suicidal proposition.
“The way I see it, with your help, returning to Penumbra is just feasible enough for us to discuss.” Marcus inclined his head toward K’hzan. There was clearly no love lost between the two, especially after their shouting match in the bay. But the Variyar exile, whatever his reasons, was listening, and that was a victory in and of itself.
“I am still not convinced that this is anything but a forlorn hope, but there are possible avenues, if we can agree on how to approach them.”
“The city is completely enveloped by the Council fleet.” The Variyar’s voice grated harshly against her ears in the confined space. “There will be no access to Penumbra without
first engaging those ships.”
Marcus’s eyes were fever bright as he leaned forward over the table. “Well, I was sort of hoping that would be where you came in.”
K’hzan quirked a single eyebrow up, the deep ridges of his forehead writhing around his horns. “Please, by all means, elaborate.”
“That’s not the only ship you have.” Justin broke in, jerking a thumb at the ceiling. “Your fleet is out here somewhere. That’s got to be worth something.”
K’hzan inhaled slowly, nostrils flaring, before his eyes slid to Justin’s face. “I suffer you to sit upon these proceedings at the behest of your administrator, coward.” He sniffed, eyes roving up and down the dark-skinned Human’s form. “You lacked the courage to embrace your heritage in the face of the scorn of lesser races. You are beneath contempt or regard.”
Marcus slapped the table with one hand. “Oh, God damn it! I am so fed up with this bullshit! What the hell has got you all so hung up on the Human race?” He screamed the words, finally giving in to the frustration that had been building within him for months. “Every single soul in that damned city hated me from the moment I walked onto the decking because I’m a Human. Even those who I came to call my friends had nothing kind to say about my species! What, in a galaxy so full of the strange, bizarre, and downright disgusting, is so very wrong with Humans?”
He was nearly panting as he finished. He glared at everyone around the table, obviously unsurprised that none of the aliens would meet his gaze. None of them, that is, except for the giant demon king.
K’hzan’s smile was something out of a nightmare. The way it caused his coarse features to shift and ripple would stay with her for the rest of her life. The deep-set black eyes widened in mock surprise, and a black tongue lashed out to moisten the grinning lips.
“Is it possible that none of your compatriots here revealed to you the weight of history that bears down upon your delicate shoulders?” He looked at Angara and then the two Thien’ha, all of whom cast sheepish, sideways glances toward Marcus and Justin and then away.
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