He exchanged glances with the other priests, who shared his bewilderment.
As he stood up, he heard something so soft that he almost missed it. Pausing, he leaned over to hear her better.
“Help me,” Nariko said quietly, tears running down her cheeks.
“Please, help me.”
Chapter Fourteen
The Butchers of Marion Valley
You say you want freedom from schedule, you want freedom from responsibility, you want freedom from law. You want to do what you want to do when you want to do it. I will tell you now; you want those things because you are still hopelessly obsessed with the things of this world. You want those things precisely because you are not free. Your want of those things is what makes you not free.
-Cardinal Walkir Douglis of Nico 3227-3299rl
Three weeks travel from Jordanus on a planet, yet unnamed by the Explorer Corps, the blazing orange sun crept majestically over the peaks of the snow-capped mountains spilling light into the valley below. Within seconds, the snow from the previous night began melting off of the mountains sending little trickles of water gathering together into great streams which began filling the rocky riverbeds and draining down the slopes into the valley lakes. Every night the mountains would be covered in their corrosive snow and every morning the snow would melt into great rivers of acid that cut deep into the rocky soil.
Great billows of smoke rose from the valley floor in great black pillars. As they rose above the mountaintops, they flattened out and joined together like a great rolling platform.
The chiefs decided it was a very good omen. If the gods had gone to the trouble of making a dark platform to sit on to watch the battle, then they were all committed to make today a good show.
The valley stretched on from the base of the mountain range some 20 miles, but the two great masses of Gunoi stretched on far beyond that. Intertwining together like two great red serpents, the two massive armies had fought all through the acid blizzards that came in the night and their butchery only escalated at first light now that they could see their enemies again.
Chief Grunteif kicked his massive stinking war-dragon right in the rump, causing it to shriek with pain as it leapt forward into yet another group of the plains tribe. Grunteif bellowed a mighty roar and brought his great axe down on the head of the nearest Plainer, the teeth of the chainsaw built into the blade whirred sickly as brain matter was thrown everywhere. Shots rang out around him, bouncing off of his rusty armor. One shot bit through a joint deep into his hip and stung like crazy.
Grunteif turned around and snarled with his mouthful of fangs, demanding to know which Plainer had shot him. Not waiting for a response, Grunteif pulled his axe free and brought it down on the nearest Gunoi, cleaving him neatly in two.
With a mighty roar that made Grunteif proud, although he’d never admit it to their faces, the rest of his tribe smashed into the enemy surrounding him. Bodies were trampled and green blood flew into the air. Grunteif decided this would be the perfect opportunity to try out his new custom-built pistol. Huge and heavy, it sported a massive thousand-round drum magazine that was easily four times as big as the pistol itself.
Grunteif pulled the trigger and never let go. He felt a massive exhilaration as he sprayed bullets indiscriminately into the plains tribe around him. He roared with laughter, the massive recoil rattling his teeth and forcing his dragon to dig its claws deeply into the mud to keep from being forced over. In his elation he occasionally hit a few of his own tribe as well, but he reasoned it was just their fault for failing to get out of the way in time.
When the clip was finally spent, he flipped the pistol over and used it to club a sneaky Plainer that had tried to sneak up behind him.
Suddenly there was a terrible crash as bomb exploded right in front of him, sending burning bodies flying in all directions. Grunteif was knocked from his mount and landed with a hard thud against the mud, his ears ringing. He tried to kick his boot into his dragon’s ear to make it get up, but the front end of the dragon was gone. Grunteif kicked it anyway, just to show it who’s boss and came up to his feet. Already his leg was starting to stiffen up, but he didn’t care. This was what he lived for.
Grunteif looked up and saw what had dropped the bombs. A squadron of war balloons from the mountain tribe sprayed death into the Gunoi below them as they swooped clumsily through the air.
Grunteif was furious that the Mountaineers were sticking their noses into his fight and without hesitation he barked out orders for his tribe to take on both enemies at the same time.
With a thunderous cheer, all of Grunteif’s tribe within earshot pointed their guns skyward and began letting off thunderous volleys. The noise was absolutely amazing and they all loved it. Most of the herd took aim at first, but quickly forgot what they were doing and got caught up in the simple Gunoi pleasure of squeezing off as many rounds into the air as possible. Several of the guns exploded in their hands, causing their unfortunate owners to clutch burnt faces or the stumps of dismembered limbs.
The war balloons began falling from the sky, their attempts to evade foiled by the simple quantity of lead being thrown into the air around them. One flyer, however, continued to strafe through the ranks of Grunteif’s tribe, shots bouncing off a purple field of energy that surrounded the machine. Even over the roar of the battlefield, Grunteif could hear the pilot cackle.
Determined to prove why he was the boss, Grunteif ran over to the wreckage of a smashed tank and climbed on top. He swung his axe around in the air and called out to the mountain chief, roaring in challenge, his red skin gleaming in the morning light.
Instinctively, all of the Gunoi sensed what was happening and the fighting in the valley slowed and then stopped as they watched in fascination. The air was thick and charged with the psychic power of their aggression. With an ear-piercingly, loud-thumping sound, the mountain chief came straight at Grunteif and fired. The ground around Grunteif was churned up by the war balloon’s weapons, some shots bouncing off of his armor, but many biting deep into his red flesh. Green blood streamed down his body and began to fill his boots, but Grunteif managed to stay on his feet. He knew the gods were with him and he would prove it. He just hoped they were watching right now, because being shot hurt like mad.
His ammo expended, the mountain chief aimed his balloon directly at Grunteif and zoomed toward him at breakneck speed. Grunteif activated the cutting teeth on his axe and brought it high over his head. The flyer closed the remaining distance between them in a heartbeat and Grunteif brought his axe down as the raw animal power of two chiefs collided one with another.
Both sides cheered at the gruesome display of pyrotechnics as a fireball erupted where the two had collided.
After a few moments of hushed silence, a shape could be seen moving among the flames. Grunteif limped out from the fire and a great cheer erupted from all the Gunoi. Even the remaining Plainers joined in. The air sparked and cracked with their psychic energy. They were no longer three armies, but were now one, under the leadership of the toughest among them. That was the way of Gunoi.
Grunteif tried to raise his axe over his head, but realized with a shrug that his right arm had been shorn off at the shoulder. All of the Gunoi fell silent, waiting eagerly for the first batch of orders from their new boss. Maybe he’d have them build a huge temple to him, or maybe he’d have them slaughter the wandering packs of beasts for a huge feast. It really didn’t matter to them. They were instinctively excited to do whatever he said, so long as he led them to good fights so that they could get bigger and stronger. Strong enough to become boss themselves one day.
Suddenly a red light peaked over the mountaintops. The light became stronger and stronger and quickly blotted out the sun. Grunteif was transfixed.
Within the light the shape of a Gunoi took form. He was huge, towering over the mountains around him. His skin was the darkest scarlet and covered with the thick scars of thousands of battles. His smell was the sweet musk of
blood and gunpowder. He carried an impossibly large axe in both hands and his eyes shone with red. It was this red light from his eyes that now surrounded them.
Grunteif howled out, declaring that it was one of the gods.
The great Gunoi spoke. His voice was that of a thousand cannons and it seemed to reverberate inside their minds as if the voice came from inside them as well as from outside, for it was said that a piece of the gods lived inside every Gunoi.
He spoke of a special place prepared for the strongest and the bravest. A place with enemies of unparalleled strength. Every Gunoi knew of this legendary place, Kred-halla.
In their minds they could see the place, a world covered in shifting metal with great streams of lava pouring into it from the very depths of space itself. A giant forge for weapons of war, which would create the toughest of opponents for them to fight. The great foundry world of Bael’Eth.
The air became thick and greasy with power. The psychic excitement of the Gunoi manifested itself in great purple bolts of lightning that shot up into the sky, tracing arcs along the smoke clouds. The Gunoi cheered in unison, their war cry shaking the very ground beneath them. So powerful was their combined psychic power that a few in the crowd fell dead to the ground, green blood streaming out from their ears, eyes, and snouts.
The vision disappeared as quickly as it had appeared and Grunteif knew exactly what to say. He lifted his ruined axe over his head with his remaining hand and hollered as loud as he could. The gods were with them, just like he had always told them.
Grunteif snarled, ordering everyone to begin the preparations. They would smash down the very gates of Kred-halla.
The Gunoi cried out with an enormous wail and began running off to their camps. There was much to be done.
Chapter Fifteen
The Trade Winds of the Ether
What can we learn from the Ashtari, who were betrayed first by their men of iron, the Irathsa, and later by their men of flesh, the humans? We learn that they fell because they sought to be served. That is why our empire seeks to serve. Every member of the human race in service of our Great Emancipator, blessed be his name.”
-Cardinal Miguel Santos of Abunden 3145-3234rl
Don Kielter wrapped a third blanket around himself and lazily watched his breath turn to mist in front of him. Stretching his jaw, he released a thin little smoke ring. He looked around waiting for someone in the room to praise him for it, but no one did.
It had been nearly a week since the last of the boarding parties had been eliminated and the handful of survivors had gathered themselves together in one of the few areas of the ship that still had power.
Kathlair gangled stiffly into the room, his prosthetics nearly paralyzed by the cold. Dargner rose to his aid and brought him over to the center of the room where a heat lamp had been set up.
“I am sorry, my Don,” Kathlair wheezed in between coughs. “I was able to stabilize the spirit of the Essencia system, but I am sad to say that the ether drive has perished.”
Dargner bowed his head in reverence. “Preot, I will begin the preparations for the last rites.”
“So, we can’t reenter realspace on our own?” Don Kielter asked, inching closer.
Kathlair shook his head solemnly. “No and all the sails are torn beyond repair.”
The handful of huddled survivors in the room all looked at each other apprehensively. The room shifted suddenly to one side and Don Kielter had to steady himself against a frost covered food crate.
“Feels like we just got yanked into a faster current,” one of the men observed, pulling his blanket tightly around himself. There was no way to be sure, but Don Kielter guessed that the traitors from Jordanus were still out there somewhere hunting for them.
“Well,” Don Kielter said cheerily. “Since it seems our fate is either to freeze to death or be hunted, I see no reason to delay a little enjoyment any longer. With a snap the food crate was opened and several bottles of very fine wine were pulled out. All around the room faces popped up in excitement.
“I’ll have you know these are from the private stocks of one of the wealthiest families in Advan,” Don Kielter boasted as he lit up a stick of incense. The survivors cheered heartily as the drink was distributed and thanks were given all around. One man even forgot himself and offered a toast and for a while it seemed like they could have been at some fine restaurant on a beautiful and warm world somewhere far away from here. A few songs were sung and Don Kielter was right in the middle of telling one of his favorite stories when the door opened and Nariko walked in.
The room grew completely silent and all eyes suspiciously followed her as she walked over and sat down. No one offered her a blanket and she didn’t ask for one. Amazingly the cold didn’t seem to bother her very much, although no one had worked up the nerve to ask her why.
Don Kielter took a deep drought of wine as he watched her. She was noticeably different from when he had fist met her. Her skin was extremely fair now and her hair was lighter too, a platinum-blonde color. She looked deep in thought as she fiddled with the torn cuff of that black suit she always wore beneath her clothes.
“Any luck with the navigation beams?” Don Kielter finally asked, breaking the silence.
“Some,” Nariko answered without looking up. “We’ve definitely drifted back into Confederate space, though how far I can’t say for certain. I was able to awaken the distress beacon. Hopefully, we’ll get lucky and someone will pick it up.”
“And what frequency are you using?” Kathlair asked spitefully.
Nariko looked up and met his stare defiantly. “I used a common frequency. They carry farther. Is that good enough for you?”
Kathlair snorted. “So, if our side comes first, you will be our prisoner and if your side comes, we will be yours.”
“If the traitors come first we will all be dead,” Nariko corrected. “But we should be close enough to the rendezvous point with my people’s Seventh Division for them to pick it up. At least I hope so. I’ve hard-wired the remaining battery power to keep the beacon going as long as possible, but we’re still leaking a lot of atmosphere and battery fluid out there.”
With Dargner’s help Kathlair stood up. “My Don, this is your ship and according to the articles I cannot tell you what to do. You may be willing to contaminate yourself by allowing her to stay, but I am not going to sit in the same room with that...that...thing. I will not abandon the Luminarch.”
“Let’s get one thing straight here, okay?” Nariko said sternly. “I didn’t abandon the Luminarch; I was torn away from him. I was discarded.”
Kathlair spat on her face, then he and Dargner left the room in protest.
“Come on, guys,” Don Kielter appealed, “If it wasn’t for her we would have all died from the boarding parties.”
“You should have spaced her,” one of the survivors said as he stood up and walked out as well.
The atmosphere grew silent again and Nariko kept working on whatever it was on her wrist. Having everyone glare at her was making her visibly uncomfortable.
“You shouldn’t burn that incense,” she advised, wiping grease off of her face. “I wasn’t able to revive the injured scrubbers and we’re going to run out of breathable air pretty soon.”
“That’s exactly why I should burn it, slave-girl,” he explained. “If we’re going to die today, I want to enjoy one last whiff of jasmine spice.”
“I really wish you’d stop calling me that,” Nariko grumbled. “How can I possibly still be your property after you had me killed?” Nariko trailed off, realizing she had brought up something no one wanted to talk about. The rest of the survivors stood up defiantly and took the heat lamp with them as they left the room, leaving the two alone. Don Kielter ignored the accusatory stares and only inhaled slowly as he sat in his bundle of blankets, savoring the scent with his eyes closed.
Nariko stood up and walked over to where Don Kielter was sitting to grab another tool. He could tell she was much
taller than she was when they first met. At six and a half feet, Don Kielter had never met a woman taller than himself before and now that she was taller than him he found it slightly intimidating. As she neared him he scooted away from her slightly.
“You’re scared of me, aren’t you?” she asked quietly as she sat down and continued working.
“No, I’m not,” he said, breathing deeply.
“Yes, you are. See how you scooted away like that?”
“Nonsense, I’m simply respecting your personal space.”
Nariko stopped working and looked at him sideways. “Since when do syndicate members respect personal space?”
“All the time.”
“Yeah, right.”
“Of course we do,” he insisted, holding his hands up. “It’s one of the traits we screen for in new recruits.”
The statement was so absurd that Nariko chuckled out loud. Don Kielter couldn’t help but be amazed at the sight of it. Her skin was so flawlessly pale, almost like a polished white stone. He had to admit that it was eerily beautiful in its own way.
“What now?” Nariko asked. She had noticed him staring.
“Nothing, it’s just that I’ve never seen you chuckle before,” he said, scratching the back of his neck. “...or laugh...or smile...or...”
“Okay, I get the point,” Nariko said, cutting him off. “I just...I just don’t have a lot to smile about.”
“Well, you should. You are pretty when you smile.”
“Don’t,” she said humorlessly.
“Don’t what?”
“You know what I mean and...just don’t.”
Nariko went back to work on the torn cuff. As he watched her he noticed that her fingers were different than before, the nails each coming to a sharp point, almost as if they were filed sharp, but he had never seen her filing her nails, they just seemed to be growing that way on their own. The two of them sat in silence for several minutes.
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