Eye of the Tornado

by Kevin Domenic

  "Have you gone mad?" Muert nearly laughed. "We have no idea where he is, and the rest of the ship is probably under his control by now."

  "We know he's using Vezulian communicators," she told him. "If we take one from one of the soldiers, we can try to track him through his communications."

  Somehow, despite the deaths and the bloodshed and the murder, the reality of the situation didn't really strike Muert until the idea of facing Sartan Truce in battle became a reality. If he could be defeated, his supporters would have no pillar to hold them up, no leader to look to, no ideology to defend. At the same time, Muert's followers would be emboldened, driven to take what they'd decided to reclaim. If Truce were to be killed, perhaps his people might be coerced into surrendering. Regardless of the effect, the man had to be defeated by someone, and Muert wasn't so sure that Vultrel was a likely candidate.

  Looking into Keilan's large eyes, he slowly nodded. "Head back to the cargo hold," he ordered the rest of his men. "Take what weapons you can carry, and tell them . . . Tell them that I'm going after Truce."

  Chapter 7

  With the positioning of the battleship between the Black Eagle and the rest of the space battle, the interior of Kindel's flagship was eerily quiet. Distant explosions were little more than quiet pops, and the screech of lasers and missiles had long since silenced. Still, many of the Vezulian soldiers had already launched starfighters while others were manning the outer turrets, and that left the hallways all but barren. An occasional soldier or platoon sometimes appeared, but for the most part, it seemed like the last thing any of them had expected was an intrusion. Thorus himself was nowhere to be found, of course, but then again, knocking on the door to the bridge and asking for him was not exactly a viable option. And so, they searched.

  It was hard to say where Kindel might have placed his personal office. The interior of the ship would be more ideal in the event of an attack, yet the man had always been fascinated with the stars, so it was hard to imagine he'd have chosen a room without viewports. The upper portion of the ship would provide easy access to the bridge, but the lower portion would give him the peace and seclusion that he seemed to relish. There were too many possibilities to try to pinpoint a specific location. That left the Aeden boarders to comb the ship for clues, a process which Damien hated, if possible, more than the idea of actually fighting his brother. Walking around the ship in a random search while his soldiers died defending him would not have been his first choice of duties, but then, there were many difficult jobs that came with his line of work. Facing his brother in combat, for example.

  "This seems to be a storage level," Doman noted, peering through another open doorway. Many of the rooms they'd inspected had been unlocked, though Damien's magic had easily blown through any latches that were otherwise. "More crates in here. Smells like spices, if I'm not mistaken."

  "Arigine," Damien nodded, his eyes fixed on the far end of the hall. His nose had a way of picking apart scents that he'd never understood, though his mother had simply told him it was akin to someone having better than average eyesight. "I can smell it."

  Doman dusted his hands and returned to Damien's side in the center of the hall. "Well, that does it for this level. Shall we move on?"

  He said nothing, silently heading down the corridor toward the intersection. A Vezulian soldier exited a room beyond and, upon seeing the Aeden soldiers, reached for the laser pistol at his hip. A shot from Doman's own pistol eliminated the man before he could draw it. Damien simply frowned and shook his head as they turned left where the hallways crossed. The lift was the second door on the right. "What do you think we'll find on the next deck?" Doman asked as they entered.

  "Got me," Damien shrugged. "I just hope we find Kindel before everyone dies out there."

  Doman nodded, his usually hard face taking on a solemn look. "Agreed."

  The next floor was the prison level, which Doman nearly passed over for the next before Damien stopped him. "If there are any of our people being held here, we need to release them."

  Like the other decks, the prison was all but silent. Most of the cells were empty, though a few held unidentifiable remains of men that had been left to die of starvation. None wore Aeden uniforms, but that didn't mean they weren't being wrongfully held by Kindel before they died. Around the corner, a long line of cells stood empty with the exception of one about midway along the hall. Inside, a beautiful Belvid female sat cross-legged on the floor, eyes closed with her hands placed flatly against each other below her chin. Her green skin sparkled against the lights of the corridor, and her deep red hair looked freshly brushed. She didn't seem to notice the arrival of the men. As soon as he saw her, Damien knew her identity. He had done everything in his power to reach Belvidia before Kindel, but when he'd arrived, he was informed that the High Lady Almatha had been abducted along with her two servants. The long white bands of silk that ran from her back identified her. "High Lady Almatha, I presume?"

  Her eyes burst open as though she'd been startled. It seemed to take a few moments for her pupils to focus before she looked up at them. "And you are?"

  The Aeden captain made a majestic bow. "My name is Damien. I am Captain of the Refuge, a starship of the Aeden Alliance. This is Doman."

  "So," Almatha said through twisted lips, "you finally come for me. I was beginning to think I had been forgotten." She rose with the grace and elegance of a swan.

  "Presumed dead would be more accurate," Damien answered. "This is not an easy ship to board. It's taken an all out war between the Alliance and the Armada to get us here."

  "The Aeden Alliance went to war . . . for me?" Almatha asked, almost sounding disappointed. "But such bloodshed is needless. I cannot be worth the lives of the men who'll die because of—"

  "Not just for you," Doman said with a shake of his head, "but for every person on every planet of every galaxy who has ever been oppressed by the Vezulian Armada. We have taken a stand here and now, and when we win the day, the universe will no longer have to bear the burden of fear any longer."

  Almatha's eyes shimmered as she looked at Damien. "Is this true?"

  "That's the plan, anyway. Whether or not we succeed remains to be seen." Turning to Doman, he gestured toward the end of the hall. "See if you can find some keys. I don't want to risk blasting this door so close to her if it can be helped."

  The burly soldier nodded and took off, leaving Damien momentarily alone with Almatha. She seemed to be examining him for some reason. "Your eyes say that you are happy to have found me, and yet your face . . . It is full of despair."

  "I don't like what is transpiring out there," he replied. "Yet the only thing that can stop it is something I do not know if I can do."

  She shook her head and whispered, "I don't understand."

  Damien snorted and raised his hand. "That's all right, it isn't important. I'm simply having trouble ignoring my emotions. But I know that feelings will only get in the way here. On the battlefield, I mean."

  "Feelings about what?" Almatha asked. She reached through the bars and took his face into her hands, gazing deeply into his eyes.

  Something compelled him to reply, and he spoke before he could stop himself. "Kindel Thorus is my brother."

  Instead of gasping in horror or jumping away from him as he'd expected, her gaze seemed to intensify, and she simply nodded. "And you don't want to be forced to kill him. Have you considered the possibility that killing him may not be required to end all of this?"

  Damien furrowed his brow. "What do you mean?"

  Finally, she released his face and stepped back, smiling warmly as she did. "When my sisters and I would have a disagreement, mother would always force us to sit and drink tea until we could come to a resolution. No one was permitted to leave until the problem was solved, which presented certain . . . biological problems, if you follow. It had a way of forcing us to resolve our issues."

  Damien couldn't help but chuckle. "Forgive me, but I'm pretty sure that Kindel is beyon
d reasoning with."

  The Belvid's wings fluttered softly, and the gem in her forehead twinkled as she raised an eyebrow. "Are you certain? You might be surprised how open to change people can be when fighting is no longer an option."

  "Unfortunately, the details of my relationship with my brother are far more complicated than that. He pounces on every weakness I am not strong enough to hide, which is why I must subdue my compassion for him. I can't allow my feelings to stand in the way of what must be done."

  "But your feelings might be the only thing that can get through to him," she countered. "How long have the Alliance and the Armada been at odds? How long have you both been fighting? Perhaps it is because you put on an emotionless front that he sees you as a hostile enemy rather than a caring brother."

  That brought Mateo's words to the surface of his mind. Damien, you have long sought to remove emotion from your work, yet compassion and love are key ingredients in what you do. He shrugged them off with a dismissive wave.

  "It doesn't matter. He's gone mad, and no amount of words can reach him now."

  Almatha frowned at that, tilting her head to the side. "Don't abandon hope, Damien Thorus. The bonds of family are not so easily broken."

  The rapid trampling of distant boots gave only a brief moment's warning before voices shouted out at the end of the hall. "There he is! Freeze, intruder!"

  When Damien looked up, the barrels of at least fifteen rifles were focused squarely on him. The Vezulian soldiers stood at least twenty paces away where the hallway turned to the left. Clad in padded black uniforms and matching solid helmets, they were clearly prepared for battle. "Hands above your head!" one of them shouted. Damien complied, though he had no intentions of surrendering. "On your knees!" the Vezulian man ordered. With a defiant grin, Damien slowly lowered to his knees, waiting for the opportune moment to act. The three foremost soldiers moved in slowly, fear glimmering in their eyes. His resemblance to Kindel had to be obvious; it was probable that his likeness was rattling some nerves. His height certainly added to the menacing air about him. Even kneeling, he was nearly as tall as the shortest guard. Two of them shifted to either side, and the other approached him from the front. The soldier's hand jittered visibly against the shaft of the rifle.

  "You're afraid of me," Damien said plainly. "And with good reason."

  His fists moved as lightning, meeting the noses of the men on either side before bringing the soldier before him to the ground with a strong uppercut. Immediately, he focused his energy into a magical shield around his body. Lasers began to fly within seconds, each disintegrating upon collision with the energy field. He stood and raced toward them, fire surrounding his hands as he extended them with a grunt. A white-hot stream of flames burst forth, incinerating two men. He whirled as he leapt into the air, swinging a boot around to send another to the floor. Mixed shouts and orders came from the remaining guards as they scampered backward. Lasers pummeled away at his shield, and the strain of sustaining it began to wear on him. They had to be stopped quickly.

  A knife flashed and lodged itself in one of the men's ribs, and Doman appeared seemingly out of nowhere in a whirlwind of steel. Blades flew from his endless supply, piercing necks and chests while he cut down others with quick stabs and wide slashes. Before long, there was only one Vezulian soldier left standing, the captain of the squad. Damien released his hold on the energy shield as Doman disarmed him, and they both pinned him against the wall.

  "Where is Kindel?" Damien demanded, wrapping his huge hand snugly around the soldier's throat. "Tell us now!"

  Sweat poured down the man's face, and he licked his lips as his eyes darted back and forth between them. "I-I don't know," he stammered. "No one has seen him since he ordered us to return here."

  Doman pressed a razor sharp knife against his neck. "Tell us the truth, or your blood spills!"

  Damien held up a warning hand. "I believe it to be the truth, Doman. Put away the knife."

  The big man complied, if reluctantly, and stepped back. "We need passcodes to grant us access to your systems. What are yours?"

  "In-In that thin case on the side of my belt is an identification card," he said. His eyes squeezed tight as if he was either expecting death or disgraced that he was assisting the enemy. "My codes are imprinted on it. They won't allow you access to everything beyond what a squad captain is permitted, but it's all I have."

  Doman took the thin plastic card and examined it before nodding and slipping it into his own pouch. The man's helmet came off next, exposing a bushy bowl of sweaty black hair. Doman's eyes turned to Damien expectantly. "I suppose that only leaves one thing left."

  With a regretful nod, Damien looked at the soldier. "Thank you for your help. I'm sorry, but I can't allow you to follow us or alert anyone else to our presence."

  The soldier's eyes widened as Damien clubbed his skull with a stiff forearm, knocking the man out cold. Damien lowered him to the ground gently, then turned back toward the direction of Almatha's cell. "Did you find the key?"

  "I found several," Doman replied, removing several rings lined with various keys from his belt. "They were inside a locked glass case in what looked like a warden's office. One of them must open her cell."

  "Good," Damien said, jogging down the hall. "We'll release her and find a way to get her back to the Refuge before we get back to looking for Thorus."

  "Do you think she'll be better off out there than in here?"

  He pursed his lips in a dejected frown. The space battle was not exactly an ideal location to send a transport containing the High Lady of the Belvids, but then, given the options, it seemed to be the best choice. "The further away from Kindel she is, the safer she'll be. Come on."

  *******

  Truce's fingers rapped impatiently along the rim of the control panel. Olock's report had not sat well with him, though the situation onboard the Black Eagle had complicated matters. What should've been an exceedingly simple task had somehow turned into a bothersome chore, but then there was only so much Olock could do on his own. Not that he was alone, exactly; F'Ledro had joined him with a group of his own friends, and while the shifty Kyrosen wasn't exactly gifted in the art of war, his talent for smuggling was unmatched. If there was anyone who could retrieve the supplies they needed from Thorus' ship without alerting anyone, it was him.

  "Standby, Boss," Olock's voice came from the communicator. "There are a lot of supply crates here."

  Truce frowned in displeasure. "Hurry it up. I could use your help."

  With the exception of the two Kyrosen guarding the door, Truce was alone in the library on the fourteenth deck of the Falcon Mist. Upon hearing news that deck twenty had been secured by the rebellious traitors, he'd elected to make the library into his own base of operations. There were scanning terminals available there, usually used for research and study by cartographers, and that was all he really needed to combat an insurrection. Commander Enzulia's login codes would've helped a great deal, but the man's corpse had been incinerated by the blast that Truce had used to kill Vultrel. The head librarian's codes worked well enough, though. Truce could scan the Falcon Mist for life forms and track movements between floors, and he could issue orders through the communicators recovered from the Vezulian troops. The majority of the fight was still contained within the cargo hold, but as was evident by the loss of deck twenty, the conflict had begun to spread. The whole situation was going to make the original plan of destroying the Black Eagle a bit more difficult to carry out, but Truce wasn't going to be stopped by a few black sheep.

  "This would've gone a lot faster if we hadn't been forced to lay low when that Aeden soldier showed up," Olock told him. "I assume they're looking for Thorus."

  "Let them find him," Truce snorted. "They can eliminate each other for all I care. All I want are those capacitors."

  "You said the inventory readout indicated they were in this room, right?"

  Truce glanced at the terminal screen absent-mindedly. "Yes."
/>   "We'll find them. I'll contact you when we're on our way back."

  "Hurry it up, Olock. Our window of opportunity will not be open for much longer."

  With a grunt of frustration, Truce returned his communicator to his belt. All indications were that the Black Eagle was not prepared for an attack, especially not from an allied starcruiser. Whoever was in charge of the Vezulian Armada's battle strategy seemed to have placed a great deal of faith in the battleship they'd positioned in front of their flagship. But the Alliance was hitting it hard, and unless something drastic happened to push the Aeden forces back, that massive starship was going to fall. That would be the opportunity Truce needed, but with preparations still incomplete, he had to hope that the battleship held out a bit longer.

  "Sir!" a soldier called as he burst into the room. A stocky man named Brent, he had been appointed as Truce's official messenger amongst the Kyrosen who had yet to acquire communication devices. "I have troubling news!"

  "Great," he growled, shaking his head. "What is it now?"

  "The second floor has reported at least five mysterious deaths," Brent said, nearly stumbling over the words. "Guards murdered by blade, it seems. No other evidence was left behind. The trail of bodies led from the hall outside of the crewmen's lounge to the lift, so it is possible the killer escaped to another level. I don't know how, but it would appear that some of Muert's men made it to the second level."

  Truce shook his head, laughing in spite of himself. The boy had survived. Somehow, Vultrel had lived. If there was one thing that Truce should've learned from his years spent on Terranias, it was that Eaisan's blood was not to be underestimated. Yet again and again, he failed to give credit where credit was due. "No, it isn't a Kyrosen at all. Alert all decks to be on the watch for a young man dressed in black. If and when he is found, I want him captured and brought to me. Kill him only if absolutely necessary."