Defiant

by Aaron Hodges

  Rydian clenched his teeth as he listened to the charges, arms straining unconsciously against the Lightcuffs. Carlos had truly thrown him down the latrine. When he finally managed a response, it came out through clenched teeth.

  “I didn’t resist any arrest.”

  The creature raised a silver eyebrow. “Your injuries would suggest violence was involved,” it observed. “Would you have me believe you participated in unregulated combat?” It said the last words in a hushed tone, as though it could hardly believe anyone would be willing to partake in such a horrible activity.

  A scowl twisted Rydian’s face and he again felt the sting of his bruises. “I’m saying that bastard Carlos and his goons assaulted me after the games,” he spat. Jerking against the cuffs, he leaned across the table to emphasise his point.

  The cuffs only allowed him an inch of leeway, but even so the Alfur lurched back in its chair and raised a hand. Rydian froze as a sharp glow lit the creature’s Manus reader. His eyes were drawn to the gathering Light, and he caught the soft crackling of energies from the creature’s hand.

  This was no human Manus reader—it was far more powerful. And dangerous. If the creature unleashed that Light, Rydian’s alleged crimes would be the least of his worries.

  Letting out a long breath, he raised his empty hands and leaned back in his chair.

  The Alfur watched him for a long moment, giant eyes narrowed, as though it suspected a trap. Finally though, the glow in its hand died. Coughing as though to clear its throat, it picked up the papers it had dropped in surprise. Pulling them together, it knocked them against the table to straighten them, and only then resumed its study of their contents.

  “Carlos the merchant? Yes, I see he is the chief complainant. An exemplary citizen of Goma, by all accounts.” The Alfur glanced up from its notes. “Why would the esteemed merchant commit such a heinous crime of violence against you?”

  Rydian stared blankly at the creature. “The man’s a crook who steals from every human that walks into his store,” he replied bluntly.

  The Alfur’s frown deepened and it looked back at its notes. “Has there been some misunderstanding?” it asked. “It says here that you are the thief. Did you not remove a loaf of bread, amongst other objects over the last months, from the premise of the good merchant?”

  “I…yes…” A curse slipped from Rydian. “I mean no…look…” He trailed off as he saw the Alfur’s attention had returned to its notes. Its interest in his claims had vanished the second he’d confirmed the charges—not that there’d been any chance of a different outcome.

  “This violence is completely unacceptable,” the creature muttered as it read, though it did not seem to be addressing Rydian in particular. “Something is failing, there must be something else…”

  The creature trailed off mid-sentence, its eyes widening, the Light beneath its skin flashing in sudden alarm. Rydian flinched as its head jerked up to stare at him, and this time he felt the full weight of those giant eyes.

  “You are that child,” the Alfur whispered. Suddenly it was standing, shaking its head, agitated. “This changes things,” it muttered, moving around the table, reaching for its pocket. “I did not realise…should have read the whole file first…but well, this never happens…I mean, there’s only one of you! If I’d known, known it was your mother…”

  Rydian’s heart twisted in his chest and he jerked away from the creature as it approached, finally understanding the meaning behind its ramblings. Shrinking down in his chair as much as the Lightcuffs would allow, he tried to ignore its whispers, to deny what they meant. About his mother. About his family.

  “What is the matter?” the Alfur questioned, a frown returning to its face.

  Looking away, Rydian struggled to push down the pain of his mother’s memories, the guilt that churned his stomach. “Don’t talk about her,” he hissed.

  The silver eyes of the Alfur blinked. “Whyever not?” it exclaimed. “She is a hero! You should be pro—”

  “I said, don’t talk about her!” Rydian screamed, hurling himself at the creature.

  The Lightcuffs brought him up short, of course, though for a fleeting second he thought they might give way, might dissipate and allow him to get his hands on the awful creature standing before him. As it was, the Alfur leapt backwards halfway across the room and raised its Manus reader again, panic appearing in its eyes.

  Rydian watched the Light blossom in the creature’s palm. Though he was surely mere moments from death, he felt no fear or regret, only the pounding of his rage against his skull, the jagged pain of loss in his chest.

  But the moment passed, and death did not come.

  Slowly, the glow of the Alfur’s Manus reader vanished, though the creature still watched him. It seemed to understand that Rydian could not harm it.

  Letting out a long breath, Rydian slumped forward in his chair and buried his head in his arms on the table. He’d done it now. Attempted assault against an Alfur. That was a capital crime. A shudder ran down his spine as he regarded his fate. Whispers spoke of Alfurian ships that flew high above even their soaring towers, that carried prisoners to space itself, to be ejected into that endless nothingness.

  Even the mines seemed preferable to that fate.

  “So…violent,” the creature whispered as Rydian heard its soft footsteps begin to pace.

  He did not look up. What did it matter now that he had doomed himself? All that remained was for the creature to pronounce his fate.

  “I had thought…with your mother…that we could…” The creature trailed off for a moment, then: “Such violence! So perplexing. Our scholars claim it is contagious, the haze, you know. Can’t have that, what with the recent uprisings…But Jasmine Halt…”

  Rydian flinched at the mention of his mother’s name. Swallowing, he forced himself to finally look at the Alfur. To his surprise, the Alfur met his eyes from across the room. There was a moment, a hesitation still to it, as though this creature could not quite bring itself to do what was needed.

  Then abruptly it looked away, and Rydian knew his fate was sealed.

  “It seems I have no choice,” the Alfur sighed. Leaning over the table, it scribbled something on the notes before it.

  Rydian swallowed. “What’s going to happen to me?” he rasped, unable to keep his silence any longer.

  The creature did not respond. Carefully, it ordered the papers, before banging them on the table a few more times to straighten them. At last it cleared its throat and paused, glancing at him before again turning away. Rydian’s shoulders slumped as it approached the glowing wall, but at the last moment it turned back.

  “They’ll come for you soon, Rydian Holt. I wish you goodwill.”

  And with that, the Alfur disappeared into the Light.

  5

  Blood pounded in Rydian’s ears as he stumbled up the stairs, shepherded from behind by two human Enforcers. Gone was his rage, his desperation to resist. The full consequences of his capture had fallen upon him, and now all that remained was a terrible emptiness, a painful knowledge that he had made this fate for himself.

  If only he’d listened to his father and kept his head low, if he’d accepted his mother’s condemnation, he might have had a future, one beyond the darkness of the mines or quarries or whatever terrible fate the Alfur were sending him to.

  He staggered, the toe of his boot catching on one of the stairs, and almost fell. The human guards were prodding him with their batons before he could even right himself, their curses chasing him through the shadows of the stairwell.

  For just a moment, Rydian allowed himself to feel something: hatred for these humans who bowed so easily to their Alfurian masters. They were almost as bad as Carlos, these men and women who willingly policed the laws of the Alfur. Squeezing his fist, Rydian felt the heat of his Manus reader and wished he could do more with its power, that like the Alfur he could blast these men from his path and escape.

  But the heat quickly faded, h
is body still starved of energy, of Light, and his thoughts turned instead to his father. Would they tell Rafael his son’s fate, that Rydian had gone and gotten himself arrested, condemned for theft? Rydian shuddered at the thought of his father’s disappointment, and yet…

  …what if the Enforcers told him nothing? Surely that would be worse, for Rydian to simply disappear, for Rafael to never know what had become of his son.

  Rydian shuddered at the thought and squeezed his fist, willing the reader to activate, to connect with his father. If only he could explain to Rafael, could explain that the man had done his best, that this was not his fault. That Rydian loved him, despite everything they’d been through.

  But his Manus reader remained stubbornly dead. Rydian was beginning to suspect something had been done to it while he was unconscious, something to cut him off from the world.

  A sharp hiss came from above, snapping Rydian back to the present, and he looked up to see a door sliding open. Beyond, the light of sunset streamed across the rooftop of the complex, its golden hues catching on the hulking machine that had settled on the landing pad.

  Iron fingers twisted at Rydian’s innards as he looked on the Alfurian ship. With its doors sealed, there were no outward signs of an entrance, only the crystallised windows set at regular intervals around its circular form. Set aglow by the sunset, there was something grandiose about this machine, a sense of majesty to its smooth, metallic curves. And yet…

  …standing this close to the machine, Rydian noticed the darkness as well. Despite its outward grandeur, there was something overtly threatening about the Aflurian vessel. Perhaps it was only a remembrance, a reverberation from ages past when the Alfur had used these ships to defeat humanity, unleashing their terrible power upon human civilisation.

  Or perhaps it was that this ship meant Rydian’s doom. Once he stepped into its unknown interior, there would be no escaping, no hope for mercy.

  “Please,” he whispered, courage suddenly abandoning him as he turned back to the human Enforcers. “Please, you’re human, like me. Don’t let them—”

  Rydian broke off as one of the Enforcers rammed his baton into his stomach. He had enough forewarning to twist away, and so only suffered a partial blow, but it was still enough to stagger him. Gasping, he straightened in the dying light and stared at the pair. He wanted to rage at them, to accuse them of cowardice and treachery, but…

  What was the point?

  Sinking back into his despair, he turned from the pair. If he was to be taken, at least he would go to his doom with some measure of his pride intact.

  The hiss of pressure releasing came from the Alfurian ship and Light burst from its side as a crack appeared, a door slowly lowering from the sleek curves of its metallic hull. A tremor slid down Rydian’s spine and his legs shook, his courage bending before the terror of that sight. The Light continued to grow, its blinding radiance spilling across the rooftop as the door touched down with a gentle clang.

  “Go,” a harsh voice came from behind, followed by a none-too-gentle prod in his back.

  He glanced over his shoulder, to question whether the Enforcers would be joining him, but the two said nothing, only watched him with their harsh eyes.

  Swallowing, Rydian once again faced his fate. It seemed he had no choice. The door that had lowered now formed a ramp leading up into the unknown bowels of the ship. Drawing in a breath, he stepped onto the metallic surface, and walked into the blinding brilliance.

  A gentle humming vibrated the air as Rydian found himself surrounded by the Light of the Alfurian vessel. Blinking, he came to a stop, allowing his eyes to adjust. Lights danced across his vision from the brightness. Panic touched him as a hiss came from behind and he sensed movement beneath his feet. Spinning, he stood frozen in place as the metallic ramp rose, until with a final hiss it locked into place, sealing off the outside world.

  And Rydian within.

  Only then did his eyes begin to adjust to the Light. Heart pounding hard in his chest, he clenched his fists and looked around, expecting to be surrounded by his Aflurian overlords, to find their Manus readers pointed at him, ready to blast their prisoner at the slightest provocation.

  Instead, he found himself alone.

  Rydian blinked as he looked around the empty ship. There were several rows of metallic benches, each fused to the floor with seeming perfection, but little else in the way of furnishings. The metallic walls were empty but for the crystalline windows, through which the glow of the dying sun was dim by comparison to the Light within.

  A frown creased Rydian’s face. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected of the Alfurian vessel. An interior flush with riches, with velvet sofas and golden decorations and luxurious recliners? But then, perhaps such treasures were to be found in other ships. This one was, after all, used to transfer prisoners.

  Even so, the emptiness came as a surprise. Where was the pilot? He couldn’t see any controls to speak—the Alfur must have a way of operating the ships remotely. Or perhaps the controls could be formed of Light when one of the creatures was present?

  Yet…even his sudden lack of guards was perplexing. Frowning, he stepped across the smooth floor towards one of the circular windows.

  He’d only taken two steps when the ship lurched beneath him. Crying out, he stumbled into the walls, then grasped belatedly for the edge of a nearby seat. Before he could recover from the shock of the movement, the floor—no, the entire ship—rocked again, and he was forced to his knees by a strange weight on his shoulders, as though the air had suddenly grown heavier.

  Terror eating at his insides, Rydian crawled the rest of the way to the window and desperately looked out through the crystal. Below, he watched in terror as the ground fell away, retreating so rapidly it seemed as though Talamh itself was in freefall, rather than the ship in which he was imprisoned. Goma and the slumps of the lower city were rapidly reduced to tiny lines on the ground below…

  …and the metallic towers of the Alfur stretched up around him.

  Rydian had just turned his attention to those towers when the ship shuddered again. In that moment, he felt a terrible, awful sensation, as his innards abruptly jerked within him. In that moment, he felt a sensation of falling, as though the ship had suddenly failed and he was now tumbling towards the ground far, far below…

  Crying out, Rydian clung to the edge of the chair, eyes squeezed shut, unable to do anything but wait for the horror of the impact.

  But the impact never came, and finally Rydian opened his eyes. The falling sensation had ceased and the humming of the ship continued unabated. Hesitantly, Rydian forced himself to look out the window again, expecting to see the ground rushing up to meet him.

  Instead, he found himself looking down upon all of Goma. The ship had ceased its rapid rise into the sky—creating the sensation of falling Rydian had felt. Now, he stared down at the lights below, the glow of lanterns that lit the growing darkness of the city. A lump lodged in his throat as he stared at the vista, at a thousand lives, hundreds of buildings, at the soaring majesty of the Alfurian towers. It seemed impossible it could all lie below him, that the tiny window of the ship could encompass all that grandeur.

  Then slowly, the view began to shift. Rydian watched as the flickering lights faded, falling behind, until all he could see was the steady Light of the towers, rising through the dark of the night. Soon even those faded, and he found the world outside turned to an everlasting darkness, to infinite black.

  Shivering, he slumped against the floor of the ship, and crawled to the chair he had been grasping. Gone was the moment of glory, of wonder at the sight of his city. Despair rose to take its place, to drown him. He was completely, utterly alone now. Closing his eyes, Rydian finally let the tears flow.

  It was over. All his hopes and dreams had been undone. Now he was doomed to life of hard labour, or worse, a quick death for his crimes. He still did not know which. Sitting there in the cold Light, the darkness pressing in from without, Rydian
found he no longer cared. What difference did it make if they took his life now, or after years of slavery?

  And so he sat, sobbing softly, as the Alfurian ship carried him into the night.

  6

  The ship flew on through the entire night. Exhausted, Rydian eventually drifted off on the cold floor, though with the brightness around him, he slept fitfully. Dark dreams haunted him, whispering into his mind, feeding the despair that sought to swamp him. Each time he woke, the world outside the window remained cast in darkness.

  Until finally, a light appeared on the horizon.

  Body aching from the uncomfortable floor, Rydian sat up at the sight, thinking at first it was simply a reflection of the ship’s own Light. But no, there was no mistaking it—a sharp line across the darkness, a hint of grey to the black. Blinking back the sleep in his eyes, Rydian pressed his face to the crystal, eager to know what waited for him in the world without.

  And slowly the truth of the land below was revealed.

  Green. An endless, infinite green stretched below. For a moment, Rydian thought it must be a reflection of Talamh’s emerald skies, but the air through which he soared remained dark. Only as Rydian looked closer did he notice the detail to the land below, the towering trees stretching up as one.

  The breath caught in Rydian’s throat as he took in the enormous jungle that covered the ground. He’d heard stories, of course, about the wild lands of Talamh, unoccupied, untouched by human hands for generations. The whole planet was the same: utter, uninhabited wilderness.

  Except, of course, for the five cities.

  Legends whispered of a time before the Alfur, when humanity had spread across entire continents. but the truth of those tales had long since been lost to the ages. Watching the endless jungle pass below, Rydian couldn’t begin to imagine such an existence, a life amidst that wilderness, in a land so wild, so unknown. What would one eat and drink, where would they sleep?