Jira let out a shaky breath. Why in all the hells would Karsath be interested in Conrad?
Tarillion seemed to know what she was thinking. “He’ll make Redeker into a weapon,” he said.
Everything in Jira’s heart rebelled at the thought. “Conrad would never allow it. He’s the most stubborn, pig-headed, frustrating piece of—”
“Since when has will and agency mattered to the Empire?” he said. His mild voice belied the harsh truth of his words. “Lady Tai?”
His use of her old title rankled. But it reminded her of how much the Empire cared about her willingness when it pressed her into service as an Imperial concubine. She realized suddenly how urgent the situation truly was.
“So we’ll find him,” she said, raising her chin. “Where do you think he is?”
“Argus,” she said. “Trust me. This is the only way this will work.”
The Kazhad made a doubtful noise.
“Yes,” she said. “I trust him.” She cast a glance at Tarillion, standing next to her. “Or I’ve chosen to. For now.”
“A wise decision,” the captain said under his breath.
They stood on the bridge of the Lusus. The visual comm connection was shaky, a reminder that Sanctuary tech and Imperial tech did not mesh well.
“I’ll send my first officer to your ship,” said Tarillion. “Jeq will work with your systems to mask the, ah, foreign origins of your vessel in preparation for entering the Albion systems. I warn you—do as he tells you, or you’ll be in trouble the first minute a guardship performs a routine scan.”
Argus grunted. He liked that even less.
“If it will soothe your concerns, you may send some of your officers to the Lusus,” Tarillion offered. “Consider it an ... exchange, of sorts.”
Argus made a firm sound of refusal. “Jira,” he growled. “The risk is ...”
“Astronomical, I know. But if we’re going to rescue Conrad, Albion Prime or Secundus are where he’s most likely to be. It’s where the admiral that’s after him will be. All you and the Steadfast have to do is stay out of sight and wait for the right moment,” she said. “The Lusus will be in constant contact. You’ll know where we are at all times. Just trail us. Listen to Jeq’s guidance. The minute we find him we can make our escape.”
Finally, the Kazhad nodded his assent. The connection broke, and Jira turned to Tarillion. “Only one loose thread left to tie up. What happens to Qloe Apta?”
The Nu—one of them, anyway—waited at the ramp of the Garra. To Jira’s surprise, the Nu’s stony expression melted at the sight of Captain Tarillion. Her dark eyes lit up with what appeared to be ... affection.
What in all the worlds is this? Jira wondered.
“Lees,” said Apta.
“Qloe,” he said. He came close to her, drawing her into his arms. She lifted her hands and cupped his face lovingly and raised her lips to his.
Jira stared in disbelief. Conrad had told her that the Nu used men for their genetic material and little else. Yet here was Apta, smiling at Tarillion as if he was her long-lost sweetheart. In his presence, she seemed truly human.
Tarillion leaned his forehead against Apta’s for a moment, closing his eyes. Then he seemed to remember that they were not alone.
“Ah, Jira,” he said. “Qloe tells me that the Garra is ready to depart for the Steadfast, with Jeq. The two of them will keep that ship of yours as safe as possible in Imperial space.”
Jira nodded, still unable to tear her curiosity away from the two of them. Qloe turned her head to Jira.
“Lees and I have known each other for what seems to be an eternity,” she said by way of explanation. On Thypso, the Nu had been distant and enigmatic. Now she seemed less alien. She was almost warm.
“If you don’t mind me asking,” said Jira curiously, “which ...?”
“I’m a one-woman man,” said Lees, caressing Apta’s cheek with a gentle touch. “In all the universe, there is only one Qloe Apta.”
He released the Nu reluctantly and stepped away. Apta turned her gaze to Jira.
Jira took the chance to speak. “Are we doing the right thing?” she asked. If the Nu was prescient as Tarillion had said, maybe there was some hint she could give as to their chances. Not that she planned to change her mind.
“No,” said Apta without hesitation. “You are the last datastore of the Federation. You should not put yourself at risk. One mistake and the Empire will have both you and Conrad Redeker. That will be disastrous for the entire galaxy.”
Tarillion straightened at this. “Last datastore?” He cast a questioning look at Jira. “You mean ... she’s really the last one?”
Jira gave a tentative nod.
Tarillion’s response was immediate. “This changes everything,” he said. “Lords ... you can’t be allowed to get within a hundred parsecs of Albion. You should be running away from the Empire—not jumping straight into the mouth of the beast.”
“It will be a cold day in hell when I take orders from an Imperial captain,” Jira snapped, almost by reflex.
“You’re not thinking clearly,” Tarillion warned, taking a step towards her. She took a step forward, her jaw clenched in determination. “If you were wise, you would not risk what you hold in your mind. Qloe can take you away in the Garra. The Steadfast and I will extract the boy.”
“No,” she said, stubborn as ever. “I’m staying onboard this ship. I’m not leaving the Empire without Conrad.”
Tarillion looked as if he was about to meet fire with fire when Apta placed a calming hand on his arm. “Lees,” she said. “Let her go with you. If it was I who was held captive, would you be content to let someone else rescue me?”
“The stakes here are—”
“I’m well aware,” said Jira.
“Don’t be a fool,” he said, his voice low. “I didn’t take you for a brainless concubine when I met you. You’re proving me wrong.”
“Call me what you like. Think of me what you will. Nothing changes.”
After a long and pregnant pause, Tarillion shook his head. “I’m going to regret this,” he said.
Jira couldn’t help thinking that he was probably right.
Chapter 24
Commander Southwark lifted his hand to touch one of the gleaming metal blades. A cage, Kazu had called it. He thought it was an odd name for a structure so sleek and elegant.
At his touch, the blades that composed the cage suddenly lowered, expanding outwards like a flower opening its petals. The blades lay flat against the floor, and all was quiet. Expectant.
“What is it?” he turned to look at Kazu.
“Perhaps you feel it by instinct,” said Kazu. “What do you think it is?”
“I’ve never seen anything like this,” he said, not sure if it was a lie. “At least ... not in any of the memories I was given.”
“This will be difficult. But enter, regardless.”
He stepped into the core of the sphere. The blades lifted, closing in around him until he was fully surrounded. It was claustrophobic, but he could still see between the metal ribs. Kazu waited on the other side, his eyes fixed on him.
“This cage is the source of all power in the Empire,” the old man quietly explained. “Within this cage, you will be able to conduct entire fleets of warships through the portals. And if your gifts permit—you may even guide those ships. Command them. It is because of the cage—and the man who stood within the cage—that the Empire made its first conquests. And with you now here, its glory may be restored.”
His mouth had gone dry. He grabbed one of the bars of the cage. It was not sharp enough to cut through his skin, but it was cold and hard. “Why me?” he asked. “Surely there must be men better suited for this. Admiral Karsath himself, even.”
Kazu lowered his hood. “It was one of your bloodline who stood in the cage,” he said. “It must be a Southwark. Only that line carries the ability to manipulate the portals.”
He shook his head. “That sounds—ridiculous.”
“Reality is a strange thing,” said Kazu. “Stranger than we imagine it to be. Some things in the universe, boy, simply are. They ignore all our expectations of fairness and logic. This is one of those things.”
He gazed at the man dubiously. There had to be more to it than that, but he let the issue drop. “How does it work?” he asked, turning his attention back to the cage.
“You will learn, in time,” said Kazu. “But first, you must learn to suffer.”
The panic didn’t begin until he ran out of oxygen.
Kazu was holding him under the water. He kicked viciously and helplessly into the abyss of the cistern, his fingers clawing at Kazu’s hands and wrists, while the man held him there with a supernatural strength.
Water—there’s nothing but water—
Water flooded his mouth and throat, filling his nostrils as the last air bubbles escaped. He could feel the primal fear growing, adrenaline burning in his veins as he pushed against his captor.
Blackness gnawed at the edges of his consciousness, his vision darkening.
As he spent the last of his energy, he was hoisted onto solid ground, landing on his back with a bone-jarring thud. He instantly coughed and retched, vomiting water, and gulping for air.
Kazu squatted in front of him. “What did you feel?” he asked, totally calm.
He couldn’t control himself. Still sputtering, he grabbed the old man by the throat. “What did you think I felt, drowning?” he snarled.
“Fear,” said Kazu, showing none of it himself in the onslaught of his attack. “Panic. Rage.”
He pushed the man away, staggering up into a standing position.
“All emotions that you should be familiar with. All emotions which you must exorcise if you are to control the cage.”
He wiped his face with the back of his hand. “To the lowest hell with you,” he growled.
“I am preparing you,” Kazu said. “These emotions cannot be faced in the abstract. I cannot say ‘do not fear.’ You must feel it to control it. And if you do not control yourself in the cage, you could cause the destruction of an entire fleet. You would be responsible for the death of millions of soldiers.”
“You could have warned me,” he said.
“If I warned you, you would not have felt it,” said Kazu. “Not to the same degree. It is my responsibility to push you to your last limit, Southwark, and then past it. And believe me ... I do not relish it any more than you do.”
He suspected that Kazu lied about that. The old man’s eyes gave it away.
He hadn’t missed the glow of wretched satisfaction in his expression when he beat him with his staff, or held him under water on the verge of drowning. There was malice, deep-seated hatred, and another emotion that he couldn’t quite identify.
There was something about the way Kazu said his name.
He was starting to think of himself as Southwark, finally, after countless cycles of being called the name by Kazu. Sometimes the old man shouted the name when he attacked him; other times he uttered it neutrally as he passed him a bowl of tasteless nutrient mash.
Sometimes Kazu called him Tadao, when his vision went hazy and confused. The man mistook him for his father.
Today he was running through the corridors of the Satori. Kazu’s “lessons” were unpredictable; he had to be prepared for an assault at all times. The old man sought to teach him control; even on the verge of death he needed to control his fear and rage. He aimed to purge him of all intense emotion and instinct, make him a creature of pure control and logic.
Still, for all his violence, Kazu tended his wounds and talked to him as if they were old friends. He could be violent one moment and gentle in the next. The man’s volatility was almost more unnerving than his ferocity.
His mind returned to the present. His breath was ragged in his own ears as he sprinted in the dark, abandoned corridors. It was not what he preferred, to be trapped underground in the bowels of the massive ship.
When the weather was favorable, he ran outside across the barren landscape. The air was smoky, as it always was; he breathed in ash and breathed out wet heat. He knew that if he stayed on Arkona long enough, the air alone would kill him.
Yet he could not resist the taste of freedom. After his reconditioning and now his tutelage under Kazu, running was the only semblance of liberty that he could take. And he took it, even though he was tempting death.
But today, there was no escaping the Satori. He had been following the elegant spiral of the corridors, rising from one level to another; now he neared the top. He slowed as he approached the room with the cage.
He had to admit that he was drawn to it for some reason. He stretched out a hand, feeling the needle’s sharp sting as the panel took his bloodprint.
It was the ship’s bridge, as far as he could tell, given its positioning. There was no other room like on the entire ship—and he’d traveled through the entire monstrosity from top to bottom. The doors slid closed behind him, and the dim lights came on above. He paced slowly around the room. The instrument panels were old and dusty; there was no telling if any of them were functional. The cage stood prominently in the center of the room, but there were three chairs off to one side, positioned before a flat, blank screen. Officers’ chairs and viewscreen, he guessed. Old tech—I think.
Everything on the ship had to be obsolete, with the exception of the cage.
He approached the silver structure once more. He noticed that the base of the cage rested on a platform of holographic projectors. It resembled the same projectors that allowed pilots to fly their ships, but this configuration was unusual.
He knelt down and touched the projectors. His fingers ran over a series of triggers; at his touch, they blinked on.
“Still works,” he muttered to himself, surprised.
The projectors whirred to life, blinking, and suddenly an orange glow suffused the cage. The glow resolved slowly into a flat horizontal plane, flickering every few seconds.
Intrigued, he reached out to the cage. The blades opened, but the flat hologram remained the same. Slowly, he stepped up into the center of the cage. It closed up around him, the holograph unchanging as he stood at its core.
He didn’t feel any different. How was a twisted hunk of metal and a glitchy hologram going to transform him?
“You shouldn’t have done that,” he heard Kazu’s voice say, his tone flat and dead.
He tensed. He immediately reached for the cage, but the metal slats refused to budge. He was trapped.
“It obeys me, Southwark,” said Kazu, advancing on him. “Me, not you. It always has.”
A chill ran down his spine. Always? Have I been here before?
“You may have the power,” said Kazu. “But I am the one who harnesses it. Don’t forget that.”
He closed his fists around the blades of the cage. The cold metal bit into his flesh. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said. “I’ve been your prisoner since you found me—”
“I could gut you like a pig,” said Kazu, his voice still flat and even. “It would be so easy. I’ve thought about it my whole life. Dreamed about it. You’d thank me for it, at the end.”
He focused on the man’s blue eyes. They were distant, staring at him and yet not seeing him. A knife glinted in his hand.
“Kazu,” he said, every muscle tense. “I know you won’t do that.”
The old man moved swiftly, faster than he could have anticipated. A moment later he was pinned against the side of the cage, Kazu’s hand at his throat, the edge of the knife drawing a thin red line under his jaw. He swallowed and stayed perfectly still, knowing that he was inches away from a bloody death.
“You’re a presumptuous child.”
“Maybe I am, but you won’t kill me,” he breathed, feeling the sting of the blade. He wondered briefly if he was trying to convince Kazu, or himself. “Karsath won’t allow it.”
“Karsath!” Kazu said with derision. “That useless fossil.
He always did favor you. Even when ... when ...”
The light dimmed suddenly in Kazu’s eyes. He stepped back, his hand dropping limp at his side.
“You’re not him,” he said suddenly. “You’re ... someone else.”
He touched his neck. There was a trace of blood on his hand, but Kazu had only given him a shallow wound.
“I told you,” he said warily. “You wouldn’t kill me.”
“You controlled your fear,” said Kazu, as if coming to his senses. “Your rage.”
“No thanks to you,” he said with a grimace.
Kazu looked down at the knife in his hand. “A mistake,” he said, putting the blade away. “I apologize.” Kazu studied him. “Perhaps you’re readier than I thought,” he said.
“Ready for what?”
“To take the Satori through the portal.”
Chapter 25
“I won’t do this,” said Jira, her hands in fists. “Not again. Not for you, not for anyone.”
“Anyone? Not even for him?” Tarillion’s voice was calm in the face of her ire. “You’ve decided to risk the future of the Federation and your ship and my ship and you won’t put on a simple dress?”
He tossed it at her. The pale green silk concoction landed on her lap and spilled onto the floor. “You truly know how to choose your battles, my lady.” His tone was bone dry.
She looked at it with disgust. The Lusus was drawing near to Albion Secundus, and Tarillion had not expected to be fighting a battle so soon.
“Think carefully,” he cautioned.
His opponent slowly leaned down and picked up the dress. She twisted it in her hands, wringing the garment. The dress returned to its flawless, unwrinkled state the minute she released it. “How long will we have to carry on the charade?” she asked reluctantly.
“As long as we’re in the shipyards or on Albion Secundus. The only women permitted on Secundus work in the medical corps, and they’re highly restricted. The only women in the shipyards are shipwrights, engineers, or their daughters, and just slightly less guarded. If you want anything approaching freedom of movement, and my protection, then you’ll have to look, sound, and act like my concubine.”
Sanctuary's Gambit: The Darkspace Saga Book 2 Page 15