Sypher spoke up in the warrior’s defense. “This child possesses the power of the vykords. He is the solution we have been searching for—the one who will restore peace to this world! You saw it yourself, Tanos.” She shot a glance at the elder, then turned to the crowd. “You all did.”
“If your vykords are so powerful, then where were they when our society was falling apart?” Tanos rounded on her, teeth bared. “What about when disease and drought ravaged our lands, or when the northern winds turned our crops to ice? What gods would stand by and watch their people suffer?”
“You mean to say that Athenna has witnessed no suffering? That she did not abandon her people when they needed her most? Look around you, Tanos! The world the pretender has left us with is cruel and unforgiving. You execute infants at the first signs of weakness!”
“And see what happens when we let them live to adulthood?”
Kenon’s head sank between his shoulders at the jab of Tanos’ claw. This was a mistake. How could he have been so foolish to think they would actually listen to him? Most of these Drahkori had pledged their allegiance to Athenna long ago, and they would not dare to defy her—not even when their homeworld was at stake.
“We should never have come here,” he whispered.
Jhiral’s green eyes flared. “That’s it.” She stepped forward and gazed upon the crowd in disapproval. “Have we not always said that if the true gods should walk among us once more, we would follow them without question?” Her words reverberated off the sandstone walls. “Now, one stands before you, and you cower in the shadows hoping for this chaos to pass?”
A few contemplative murmurs traveled through the streets.
“The Nephera threaten the existence of every species in the galaxy. It does not matter whether you are Drahkori, Leh’kin, human, or Khael’hin, they will tear through the stars without restraint until they have claimed every world for their own.” Jhiral gestured to Kenon as she paced across the stage. “Kenon has the power to stop them. However, he alone cannot end this bloodshed. If we are to survive, then we must unite—reclaim what is rightfully ours! And so I ask . . .” She halted. “Will you stand for him?”
At first, no one answered.
Parents clung protectively to their children, others shifted uncomfortably on their feet. The guards were still shaking from the shock they had endured, and the Empress’ expression remained unchanging.
Then Sypher’s hand shot up, and the other dancers followed suit.
Tanos clenched a wrinkled fist to his chest. “Silver Forge whores. This behavior is despicable. If you think this treachery will go unpunished, think again! Mark me, the Goddess will strike you dow—” He paused mid-syllable when a female beside him raised her hand. As he turned to berate her, he stiffened.
A dozen pale palms rose up behind hers. Warriors, blacksmiths, and civilians . . . even a couple of councilors. More and more eager hands sprang up until nearly the entire crowd had joined the dancers in their salute.
“Blasphemers!” Tanos bellowed. “Blasphemers, all of you!”
Kenon moved to the edge of the dais. Hundreds, maybe even thousands of Drahkori stood united before the palace in his name—in blatant opposition of the Goddess Athenna. He looked to the Empress. “Must I ask again?”
Lisethea stared at him in dumfounded silence for a moment, then gave a slight nod. “I will grant you and your comrades access to whatever you need.”
“Then take us to the holds.”
Seven kilometers stretched between Shindar and the entrance to the holds. Seven kilometers of featureless sand with no landmarks to tell Echo Team where they were or how far they had traveled. Only the Empress and the High Council knew the way, and they marched confidently at the head of the party.
Behind Echo, past the Silver Forge dancers, a river of grays and browns cleaved the desert. Countless Drahkori had come to witness the revival of their ancient technology, many perhaps in the hopes that Athenna would deliver a swift punishment.
They would soon learn their faith was misplaced.
“Here!” The Empress halted up ahead and beckoned Echo Team to her side. As they approached, she nodded to a cavity in the ground where the sand gave way to chiseled stone. Nestled deep in the depression was a heavy door. Ivy snaked across its pockmarked surface, baked and brittle.
There were no controls—no buttons or panels to be seen.
How are we supposed to get inside?
Kenon descended the shallow slope to get a closer look. He grasped a cluster of sun-baked ivy and tore it out of the way, revealing a lattice of cracks in the metal. The cracks steered his focus to a circular piece protruding from the door. When he palmed the circle, it receded into its slot.
The grating of metal on rock sent shivers down the young warrior’s spine as the door began to lift. Once it had opened fully, the rest of the team joined him at the bottom of the slope. They peered warily into the shadows.
A musky odor wafted from within, a combination of stagnant water and eroded copper. Hollow clangs resounded off unseen walls. One light strip flickered on, then another, and another until the whole place was illuminated.
Rows upon rows of machines stretched before them, many different shapes and sizes huddled together, awaiting the day that someone would come and free them from this tomb.
Each model had a unique set of designs etched into its hull. Some were clearly built for air, others for sea. Several even looked as though they might be capable of space travel. One thing they all had in common, however, was the brass-colored alloy from which they were constructed.
Echo Team entered the hangar with caution. Carter stopped to investigate a large craft the size of a human tank and rapped his knuckles upon its hood.
Jenkinson gave him a sharp slap on the wrist. “No touching.”
He threw his hands up. “Just admiring the merchandise.”
“Yeah, well, until we know what these things are capable of, it’s probably best to keep our distance.” Jenkinson turned to Alana and Jhiral, who had broken away from the group. “That goes for you two as well!”
Alana acknowledged his order with a thumbs-up, then followed Kenon down one of the long aisles. Her hand kept sneaking up, itching to touch the insect-like transports—to stroke their smooth metal shells. She folded her arms and resigned herself to studying them from afar.
“Why would your ancestors lock these up?”
“Athenna believed our technology would be our undoing,” Kenon said, stooping low to investigate the struts propping up each craft. “First she slaughtered the mechanics, the engineers . . . Then, like all things thought to be a weakness in her eyes, even our machines fell victim to The Purge. All surviving artifacts were locked away as a reminder of the path we should never walk.”
Jhiral piped up from an aisle over. “And this is our chance to prove her wrong.”
“There must have been a reason for her to think that, though. Right?” Alana asked.
“She could have gone mad with power, or been plagued by mental illness. Who knows? The delusions of Athenna have long been speculated. Perhaps she was merely as deranged as the people who follow her now.”
Kenon paused as he rounded the end of the aisle. A small craft resembling a beetle had caught his attention. He reached out to touch it. As his fingers brushed over the jewel-encrusted horn protruding from its bow, a mechanical warble rang throughout its hull.
Alana gasped and spun on her toes. The rest of the team withdrew from the aisles and brought their weapons to arm. The noise continued to travel from craft to craft until the whole hangar was buzzing.
“Valinquint, what the hell did you just do?” Jenkinson barked.
The machines were stirring. Their bodies were alight. Glass-like plates fanned out from beneath their shells like wings, and they lifted off the ground.
From the walls came a clicking sound—a heavy, monotonous clank like the rotation of massive gears. The ground started to shake, and the ceiling parted.
Sand cascaded into the crack, engulfing the machines in murky clouds.
Echo Team dashed outside to escape the dusty torrents. The Empress had already retreated with the dancers and councilors, and was waving for Echo to hurry in case the holds were about to cave in.
Safely away, they watched in awe and terror as the desert split apart. By the time the tremors ceased, the fissure had stretched into a four-kilometer gash.
The air began to quiver.
Something stirred within the dust, and from the sandy tomb arose a colossal machine. A starship. Its shadow spilled over the assembled, golden hulls gleaming in the morning sun.
Aphelion heeds your call, Doramire said. Take this vessel to Calypsis. When the time comes, it will be yours to command.
Kenon shifted his gaze from the ancient ship to the Drahkori gathered nearby. They huddled close, paralyzed by the awakening of the old technology. Everything they believed in had just been upended. Athenna had failed them. There was no punishment, no castigation from above . . .
In death, their goddess was powerless. Without her, they were lost.
Doramire spoke again. These are your people now, child. Athenna’s reign is at an end, and they have no path to follow. Guide them, Kin’Sevor. Become the leader you were meant to be.
Kenon turned to address the crowd. “The path ahead is fraught with peril,” he said. “The Nephera have grown desperate. When we march on Calypsis, there is no telling how they will respond. They may even send their forces here in an attempt to draw us away. But if they do, you will be prepared.” He motioned to the holds. “I have granted you the power to defend yourselves. Do not squander it. Too long have we cowered in Athenna’s shadow. Together, we can rise above her tyrannical ways and quell this enemy so that we may restore the world she denied us!”
There was no roar of agreement, not even a murmur. The Drahkori were stunned, too overwhelmed to respond. He could only hope his message would sink in.
Alana took the young warrior by the arm and dragged him aside, a look of uncertainty in her face. “You want to lead an assault on Calypsis?” she asked.
“With this starship, yes.” Kenon jerked his chin towards Aphelion. “Is there a problem with that?”
“The UCG put that whole region under lockdown after the evacuation. We can’t go anywhere near there without permission from the Security Council.”
Lieutenant Jenkinson strode up beside them. “Then it looks like we’ll be making a detour to Chelwood Gate,” he said, giving Alana a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “Ping Levian—see if he has any room for our new toy. I’ll call Home. If anyone can get us a meeting with the bigwigs, it’s Anderson.”
Chapter
—TWENTY-THREE—
1330 Hours, September 13, 2442 (Earth Calendar) / Etna Tower, Charab’dul, planet Chelwood Gate
The lemony scent of carpet cleaner wafted up from the floor as Agent O’Connor paced around his office. If nothing else, it would mask the scent of the cigarette between his lips. He inhaled a lungful of the pungent smoke and continued pacing, mulling over what Serenity had said.
He couldn’t take his mind off it. He had so many doubts, so many questions . . . Had the construct even realized what she was saying? Was there any truth to her words? Or what if this was just some clever trick meant to screw with his head?
It wouldn’t be difficult for an AI as powerful as Orion to project a second avatar whilst maintaining its own image. Although, the fact that Serenity had been transmitting from a shipwreck on Dyre prior to Orion’s return nullified that theory.
The office door burst open suddenly, wrenching O’Connor from his thoughts, and Agent Stedman stormed in as quickly as one could in a pencil skirt and heels. Her cheeks were flushed, veins popping out in her forehead.
What had gotten her in such a huff?
“Whatever it is, Gretchen, I’m sure it can wait.” O’Connor gave her a dismissive wave. If only he still had the authority to send her away that easily. Alas, he’d had to relinquish his management role after the stunt he pulled on Tyrill. Now they stood on equal ground and he couldn’t force her to do a damn thing.
Stedman slapped her hands on her hips. “I just dropped my task report off. DuFrayne practically tore my head off after I told him we left CMRD without deactivating Orion’s core, like it was my fault.” She let out an exasperated laugh. “If that’s what I get for not keeping you under control, just imagine what he has in store for you.”
“Oh no, I’m shaking in my boots,” he whimpered sarcastically. The Director lost the ability to strike fear into his employees when he bailed on the Calypsis Project like a coward. Besides, that old man was never as intimidating as the aliens O’Connor worked for now.
Stedman glared at him as he plunked down in his seat, her upper lip curled in disgust. She’d noticed the cigarette in his hand. “Are you smoking?”
“What do you care?”
“Well, for starters, you haven’t smoked in years. Not to mention, that’s illegal. Are you trying to get yourself fired? Do you want to go to jail?”
She wasn’t wrong. The UCG outlawed cigarettes almost a century years ago, and the damn things were getting rarer and more expensive by the day as a result. But O’Connor had no reason to fear a prison sentence over something so insignificant. He was above such meager laws.
“Cut me some slack. This job stressful.” He took another puff of his cigarette, then looked up at Stedman and wondered if she would she care to address his concerns. They had known each other for a long time. If he approached her from the right angle, she might just listen. “Gretchen, what if she’s right?”
She screwed up her face. “Who?”
“Serenity. What if she was telling the truth about the Nephera and their plan?” he asked. Surely she’d at least considered the possibility. “There are people out there who believe our entire galaxy is at risk, and they are actively trying to put a stop to the project. What if they know something we don’t?”
“You mean Echo and Alpha teams?” Stedman rolled her eyes. “You realize the only reason they’re on this godforsaken mission to save the galaxy is because Alana Carmen went poking around in one of our comm units, right?”
“Yes, but what if the rumors are true?”
“What rumors?”
“You must have heard about the mass suicides that occurred right after we lost that unit. All those soldiers who blew their brains out after listening to the recordings on it?”
She shrugged it off. “Could’ve been a coincidence. As far as we’re aware, there was nothing on there that could have caused anyone to do such a horrible thing.”
“As far as we’re aware,” O’Connor repeated firmly.
The PCU wound up in the hands of the Nephera’s Drocain allies after it disappeared from a BSI outpost on Anahk. What they talked about, no one knew—except for the UNPD soldiers who promptly killed themselves after listening to its recordings.
Unfortunately, the unit was destroyed before the Bureau could recover its contents and the validity of the rumors could never be confirmed or denied.
Stedman folded her arms, her patience wearing thin. Or perhaps she simply didn’t want to face the fact that he could be right, that there might be something more to these stories. “Look,” she said, “if Valinquint is right, then that AI is ancient. She could be corrupted for all we know!”
“And if she’s not?”
A loud blip from O’Connor’s computer cut their argument short. There was a pop-up window in the lower corner of the monitor notifying him of an incoming call. When he tapped the window to bring up the caller ID, his pulse quickened.
It was Sol D’Vare
“I have to take this,” he said. If he ignored a direct call from the Nepheran High Lord, Stedman wouldn’t be the only one getting reprimanded today.
Stedman drew up beside him as he swiveled his chair to face the desk. “Don’t say anything stupid,” she hissed through gritted teeth.
Like I nee
d you to remind me. O’Connor accepted the call and reclined as the High Lord’s image filled the screen.
The alien stood in the gloom of his ship’s observation deck. It appeared he had already returned to Calypsis to prepare for the mission ahead. A gray tunnel stretched beyond the glass behind him.
“Sol,” O’Connor greeted warmly. “I wasn’t expecting you to call until tomorrow morning. Is everything all right?”
“The key continues to evade us. Even after the destruction of Oe’Nhervon, he still travels with the soldiers collectively known as Echo,” Sol snarled, then his voice dropped low and he began muttering to himself. “The coward hides, guided by the ghost of a fallen god . . .”
O’Connor rolled his eyes. The ghost of a fallen god? What in the world was this lunatic on about? “Is there something you’d like us to do about it?” he asked.
“Your partner claims to have an agent tracking these soldiers’ movements. Put that knowledge to use—stop Echo by any means necessary and apprehend the Drahkori before he becomes a threat.”
“You want us to stop a team of highly trained military operatives while they’re on the field? They have a Leh’kin fleet commander at their beck and call, and they’ve already figured out that Sector Zero is allied with your kind. We won’t be able to get anywhere near them unless they set foot on a human colony.”
“We may be in luck then,” Stedman piped up. “Lincoln has been monitoring communication arrays for a few days now. It seems Admiral Phillip Anderson reached out to the Security Council and called for an urgent meeting. While he didn’t say Echo Team would be present, assembling the committee on such short notice tells me he’s up to something.”
The High Lord dipped his head, satisfied. “Good.”
“Speaking of communications . . .” O’Connor flicked ash into the empty whiskey glass on his desk. “I told you about our mystery construct, didn’t I? The intelligence who helped us locate Pioneer?”
The Calypsis Project Boxed Set (Books 1-2 - The Echo-Alpha Duology) Page 50