7
The Slave Lord
Fox’s crusted eyelids parted slightly, squinting against a bright light.
What the hell happened?
He recalled something about a ship and a net. Memories—or rather shards of memories—rose to the surface. Drahk dragging him to a cell. A shadow hovering over him. A sharp pain as needles stabbed his arms and neck. And darkness. Try as he did, his mind couldn’t fit the pieces together.
Where am I?
He drifted back into cold oblivion and drifted aimlessly…mindlessly through the dark.
Warm fingers wrapped around his and gently pulled him into a seated position in a familiar cave.
“Michelle?”
“Fox, we need to go. I scouted to the south. The Drahk moorhounds must have picked up our scent again.”
He moaned at the searing wound in his thigh as she helped him stand. “How? I swear we covered our tracks this time?”
“I don’t know, but they’ll be here soon. Come on.”
She flung her pack onto her back and passed him the makeshift walking stick she’d carved from a branch. “I found a river. Crossing it will throw the hounds. Buy us more time.”
He eyed the cylinder hanging from her backpack. She’d been working on it ever since they’d escaped the slave camp. “How much higher do we need to get for your distress beacon to work.”
“A little higher. We’ve been traveling for months. A few more days won’t kill us.” Her smile somehow made everything seem more bearable.
“It will if the Drahk catch up to us.”
“Which is why we’re leaving. Come.” She exited the cave mouth.
Fox followed her into the rain.
“Fox!” a booming metallic voice called from the dark clouds, somehow softened by its own echoes.
His eyes scanned the sky, trying to find the source of the voice.
Several heavy raindrops struck his face and lightning cracked the sky, blinding him.
As Fox’s vision cleared, he found himself on the edge of a cliff, peering at the river far below.
“It’s a long way down,” Michelle said, letting go of his hand.
She backed away several steps, her eyes locked on his. She cried out and doubled over in pain, the festering wound in her side taking its toll.
Fox tried to help her but merely stumbled. He’d lost his stick somewhere along the way. He strained to reach for her all the same.
“Leave me be,” she cried out. “I’ll be fine.”
Barks and clicks sounded from the forest.
Fox froze.
“Fox!” the grating voice called from above.
Consciousness plucked at him, trying to pull him away, but he fought it tooth and nail.
I have to help Michelle!
The more he realized he was dreaming, the weaker his resistance became. As his mind drifted upward to meet the voice that called his name, he got a glance of a flashing green light in Michelle’s arms. His heart collapsed like a dying star when he realized what was about to happen.
At least I’m waking.
His eyes suddenly grew heavy and consciousness fled like a frightened bird. Fox crashed back into his quivering ethereal body.
“Michelle, what are you doing? The beacon isn’t going to help.”
Her pained eyes met his. “It isn’t a beacon, Fox. It’s…a bomb.”
“What?” He could hardly believe it. “What are you doing with a bomb? What about the beacon? You said your people would still be looking for you…”
“Even after all this time, I just know they are, but there never was a beacon. Just a bomb.” She lifted the cylinder. “In case things got bad…and they’re pretty bad.” She hugged the device close as she moaned again.
“No! You can’t…”
“It’s the only way, Fox.” Her smile usually lifted his spirits, but this time it crushed his soul. “Even if we make it, they’ll eventually track us down again. I’m so tired of running, Fox. I can’t do it anymore. At least if one of us makes it…Just remember to deliver my message like you promised.”
Tears streamed down her cheeks as the clicks and barks grew louder. The Drahk couldn’t have been more than a few dozen meters away.
“Disarm the bomb, Michelle,” he demanded, his arms outstretched. “I won’t let you do it.”
“I have to, Fox. I’m so sorry.”
He sprang forward, growling at the pain in his leg.
He clutched at the bomb as they both crashed to the ground. They rolled around in the mud as he tried to wrestle it from Michelle’s arms. She punched his wound and he rolled aside, almost going over the edge.
He scrambled into a crouch and wiped mud out of his eyes.
Michelle kneeled several meters away, hugging the explosive to her bosom.
Lightening flashed, briefly illuminating the Drahk shadows emerging from the trees and Michelle’s sad smile as she climbed to her feet.
“Stop! Please!”
She turned and ran for the hunters.
Ignoring the fatigue and agony, Fox sprang after her.
A flash of white swallowed the darkness. The force flung Fox back several steps. He stumbled over the cliff edge and tumbled blindly through the air.
The raging river rushed up to meet him.
He struck the icy water and gasped, inhaling a lung full.
Fox broke the surface, choking.
His blotchy spots in his vision faded and he found himself sitting in a chair, his body aching.
He spat a mouthful of water onto his white under-armor and inhaled heavily.
A Drahk stood before him, a dripping bucket in his hands.
Cold water dripped from his fur forming a puddle around his feet. He attempted to stand, but his body refused to move, like some invisible boulder weighed down on him.
“Ah, the mighty Fox has finally decided to join us,” a grating voice said.
Lifting his head took every ounce of will in his bones. Before him, on a seat—no, a throne—sat a tall figure in black armor embellished with gold. Arachnid-like spikes protruded from serrated shoulder guards and red slits for eyes looked at him from within a helmet of similar design.
Fox tried to speak out of habit. His voice made a noise, startling him. It was an inaudible jumble, but it definitely did something. He tried again and was equally surprised by the slurred sound. A stabbing pain rose in his throat when he tried a third time, and he broke into a coughing fit, his body almost too numb to regain control. White clouds floated about his head.
Am I still dreaming?
Suddenly the mist evaporated, and Fox found a second Drahk with a dripping bucket standing before of him.
He blinked several times, feeling a little more alert, but his body remained unresponsive.
The pain raking his body paled to nothing compared with the flaring agony in his throat. He allowed his head to flop to one side, the strain to remain erect too much to bear.
“How much did you give him, you fool?” the figure in the suit demanded.
A white-clad Drahk bowed deeply as he approached the throne. “Apologies, my lord,” its harsh words dripped with worry. “We aren’t familiar with Vosan biology. It appears we administered too much serum, but his levels are returning to normal…though be it slowly.”
“Can’t you do something?” the figure said. “I haven’t got all day.”
The Drahk padded over to Fox, his claws clicking on the cobbled floor. He pulled a needle gun from the folds of his white coat. “This should help.”
“You better hope you’re right, Doctor Grong, or I’ll feed your sorry ass to my dogs.”
The Drahk mumbled something as he leaned over Fox. “Now, you won’t even feel this.”
Fox tried to shake himself free of the daze, but no matter how hard he tried, his limbs refused to move an inch.
The Drahk pulled away. “You should feel a little less heavy soon.”
Even as the doctor spoke the words, Fox felt stre
ngth seep into his joints and limbs.
“But I warn you,” the Lord said, gesturing to each side of Fox. “Any funny business and my guards will riddle you with plasma. Tick in particular can be a bit trigger happy at the best of times.”
The largest of the Drahk gunners growled, the horrible scar splitting his face lending him an additional helping of menace.
Fox kept his eyes on the suited figure. “The hell…are you?”
The figure lifted Fox’s chin higher with a pointed finger. “The Drahk have many names for me, but you can call me Lord Vismark.”
“What,” Fox winced in pain, “do you want?”
Lord Vismark stood and looked down on Fox. “Why…I want what you want.”
“Rich…Coming from a…slave lord.” Each word felt like a shard of glass scraping through his throat.
“Even so, our ideals are the same. You want to end slavery. I want to end slavery. We just have different idea about how to achieve that idea.” He unclipped Fox’s Drahkrod from his black utility belt. “Such a simple device, yet effective, I’ll give you that. You see Fox, you want to save one slave at a time. I want to liberate the whole galaxy by making every person their own slave. Your methods work to a degree, but my plans are a little more ambitious.”
“We’re nothing…alike.”
Lord Vismark gestured to one of the stain-glass windows. “You’ve seen the city. These are not normal Drahk. They are more…civilized. I have devised a means for us all to get along.”
The lord strode across the grand throne room, spreading his arms, his metallic voice bouncing off the high walls and vaulted ceiling. “I will share my secret with the galaxy soon enough. Then it will spread, and every creature will live in harmony. No need for violence and mindless killing. All people will serve my purpose by serving themselves and one another united. By the gods, it’ll be beautiful.”
“You’re insane.”
Lord Vismark spun to look at him. “In a galaxy rife with corruption, a good deed will always be interpreted as insanity. It’s sad really. But soon enough, you’ll come to see the truth.”
“Let me go.”
The lord marched toward him, heavy boots thudding against stone. “Let you go? But you’re a key part of my grand plan. Vosans are very good at sneaking around, and the job I have for you will involve lots of sneaking…and killing. How many Drahk have you killed, Fox? Dozens? Hundreds?”
“Close to a thousand,” he choked, flinching at the strange sound of his voice as much as the clawing pain.
Lord Vismark laughed heartily, the discordant rattle jarring Fox’s ears. “Perfect! Who better to assassinate a Drahk than the Drahk killer? Did you know that’s what they call you in the Drahkonis system?”
“Had no idea,” he croaked, trying not to smile at the thought.
“Drahk mothers scare their younglings with stories of you to keep them in line.” He sighed. “You see, another Slave Lord stands in the way of my plans. He’s the narrow-minded type, fighting over borders, slave stock, that kind of thing. One who refuses to look at the bigger picture must be removed from the picture.”
Fox tried to object but succeeded only in choking on his own saliva. He wasn’t used to so much mucus. His hand gently massaged the fresh scar.
“You should really rest your voice. You’ll be needing it soon. It’s a little rough around the edges, but I hope you like it.”
Fox looked at the lord confused.
“Ah, you’re wondering why I fixed your voice. Doctor Grong disagrees with me on this point. But what use is an assassin who can’t speak?”
“Such an assassin could be useful, my Lord,” Doctor Grong interjected.
“Even so, Fox will need a voice for his new assignment.” Lord Vismark waved a hand. “I would take care of it myself, but I can’t have the other slave lords knowing it was me.”
He was horrified by the thought of what the Drahk doctor had done to his vocal cords. His words tasted foreign and harsh. It wasn’t what he had in mind.
“Assignment?” Fox managed, slowly regaining control of his voice. “I…haven’t agreed…to anything.”
“No one said you had to agree.” The lord beckoned the white-coated Drahk. “Doctor Grong, the crown.”
The Drahk doctor approached, fiddling with a metal ring big enough to fit on an average-sized head.
“We’re having trouble extending the secret to other species, but Doctor Grong has devised a temporary workaround. It’s incredible how much more potential the Drahk have with a touch of order.”
His head clearer, Fox quickly examined the throne room.
Between the lord the doctor and the six Drahk guards, he would be cut down within seconds in a fight. Then again, it sounded like this lord needed him. The tall stain-glass windows looked solid, but he noticed one had a small crack creeping across several panes.
Wait…How high up are we?
“Big talk…for a Lord tucked away in the top of…his high tower.”
“A fitting place for any Lord.”
Damn.
He jumped from the chair, snatching the ring from the doctor.
“Hold fire,” the lord shouted.
Fox’s claws tore at the small control unit attached to the ring, ripping out its internals.
A sharp blow struck Fox in the back of the head, dropping him to the ground.
Three Drahk descended on him, taking turns at kicking him.
Fox curled into a ball under the barrage of blows.
A kick took him in the ribs, winding him. He wheezed and fought for air like a landed fish.
“That’s enough,” Lord Vismark ordered. “We want to keep him in good shape. Lord Darris and his cohort arrive in five days.”
Two Drahk flung him back into his chair.
Lord Vismark leaned down, tutting. “You foolish Vosan. Consider this your second chance, but know that I never give a third. Do not overestimate your value.”
“Stupid Vosan,” the doctor seethed.
“How is the control ring?”
Doctor Grong turned to them with bits of the device in his hands. “He ruined it.”
“How long before you have another?”
“I have a new prototype in the lab. I can have it ready in a few days.”
“Have it ready today.”
“With all due respect, m’lord, it still needs cal—”
“I said have it ready!”
“Yes, m’lord,” Doctor Grong nodded. “Right away, m’lord.” He hurried off, the large doors slamming shut behind him.
“I have other business to attend to,” Lord Vismark spat, walking off. “I’ll be back to finish what we started shortly, Fox. Keep a close eye on him, guards. If he moves so much as a muscle. Blast him.”
The doors slammed again.
Fox regarded the guards from swollen eyes and smirked.
At least I know my legs work. And now they think I’m slow.
8
The Hardest Game
Of all the games Kelvin had ever played, he considered waiting the hardest. He leaned against the counter in his kitchen, staring at the rent invoice on his compad.
This citizen business is expensive. Good thing Dyson’s people are taking care of it.
He moved to the apartment window, gazing out over the city. Hovercars flew their designated paths guided by floating lights four stories down. A forest of glass buildings spread throughout the city; some half as high as Starbase Orion’s towering bulkheads.
Between the buildings, greenery grew in thick clusters, adding a dash of color to the otherwise sterile blue-silvers and grays.
He set the compad on the windowsill, unable to believe that he’d really left it all behind. His rank, his unit…his home. He had been bullied out of his moment in the spotlight like some sort of sick joke without a punchline.
He still couldn’t find it in himself to inform his family.
No matter. Word will reach them soon if it hasn’t already.
&nbs
p; Dyson’s covert team had told him to lie low for the time being anyway. Acting like someone who had deserved a dishonorable discharge was far from easy, especially since it meant he would never join the military again. Not that there weren’t opportunities for someone with his skills elsewhere, but he would be the first to break the family line of servicemen.
He ran his fingers through his hair. He’d worked his entire childhood for a place on Starship Atticus, for a chance to follow in giant footsteps his father and grandfather had left behind…not to mention the family he still had living in various branches of the military.
Not being able to tell anyone the true story was the hardest part. He had to act like he’d actually cheated. “What has Admiral Rex and his crew done…Hell, what have I done?”
He had to stop himself from punching glass.
Part of him wondered what would have happened if he’d fought the charges at a formal hearing. The other part knew the opposition would have slaughtered him. There was no telling what other doctored evidence they would have cooked up.
The situation had called his beliefs about the Fleet Delta into question. He had never had any cause to scrutinize things too closely, but lately everything was bound for the microscope.
They couldn’t be that corrupt, surely.
All this waiting was killing him. He wanted nothing more than to get out and do something…anything, but he’d been ordered to wait. In Delta Fleet, there had always been something to occupy him even during down-time.
His chronograph buzzed. Checking it, he found an incoming call from his mother.
His finger hovered over the green answer option.
He swiped the decline option instead and changed his status to busy.
He just couldn’t face talking to her, or anyone else, at the moment.
His chronograph buzzed again.
“What the hell? Stupid piece of shit.”
He twisted his wrist and was about to swipe the decline option again when he noticed Dyson’s name.
“Admiral?”
“Sorry to bypass the small talk, Kelvin. But have your bags ready.”
“I just got here this morn—”
“Things have changed.” Dyson was trying to keep his voice as sure and steady as always, but Kelvin detected something different.
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