by K A Carter
“So, what brings you to my moon?”
Nario took note of the candid tattoos that stretched across her forearms and chest region. He didn’t recognize any of them. At this moment he was even more surprised that he was staring at Rowland Antares herself. From what his old friend had told him, to the best of his knowledge, he’d be meeting some vicious monster of a man. That’s how it came across in the reports and that’s all anyone ever got to know. But there was no doubt she liked it that way. That was her play. Unsuspecting and calculating. She was dangerous by the definition.
“You read through most of the data, no doubt,” Nario began. “Orcus has something we need. Information on alien operations. Some intel on the CPF.”
She smiled, “Hacking into the most secure and powerful corporate networks is no small feat.”
“So, you can’t do it,” Lortain added.
“I do it all the time,” chuckled Row. “But this particular one will cost you,”
Of course, it would. “Name your price,” Nario reached for a unit chit in his jacket pocket. Before his fingers hit the jacket lining, the two guards were aiming down at him like he had pulled out a gun.
“Relax,” Row said. “They’re always so tense these days.” The guards lowered their weapons. “I don’t want your money. What I need goes beyond what unit chits could buy.”
“What is it?” Nario asked, leaning back in his part of the couch.
“I need something located. I’d do it myself, but that would mean penetrating CPF servers and frankly that’s more trouble than it’s ever been worth. Not with an ambassador war hero sitting in front of me who can do it.
By now, Row had gulped down the last bit of her drink and waived for more. One of the women from the bed ambled behind the bar.
Nario was silent but mentally pondered how she could know who he was. He’d thought himself not easily recognizable.
“Your friend from Mars gave away a bit too much in his search for my whereabouts. It doesn’t matter that you’re with the Federation. I couldn’t care less. You find me the ship I am looking for and I can hack into Orcus mainframes. All from this comfy couch.”
“What ship is it?”
“Well in a sense two, by finding where the Ebon is, I may find something it is carrying. A ship I had taken from me,”
The ship didn’t sound familiar at all, but it seemed easy enough that the deal was a steal.
“Deal,” he said.
“Perfect. It will take some time for me to set up the servers here. I normally do it aboard my personal cruiser but I’m feeling rather leisurely today.”
Nario sat back in the couch and drank what was left in his glass. Lortain was dancing around his glass with his fingers like he hadn’t like the taste. It was straight whisky, Nario could taste that much. Not the kind brewed in some Brink lab to mimic the good stuff. This was old fashion hauled on a smuggler’s freighter back to the Brink.
“Take your time,” Nario said. “I could use another drink.”
Chapter 35: S’tiri
It was hard to tell whether the anxiety was growing because he was on a quest to find the A’tai officials left from the fleet or because he was leaving behind his home once again. He knew that there were billions more of Irinans on the planet that were being subjected to the unimaginable. If it was anything similar to what he went through, it was likely that there was no hope already.
D’ara was healing, but she wasn’t a fully recovered. She would never be. Although her Irinan biology acquiesced a survival of a suit rupture, her time spent exposed to the vacuum had only slowed her recovery.
“Could this work?” Illa asked. She sat staring perceptively at a read out on her pilot’s screen. D’ara had helped in plotting a theoretical trajectory of the A’tai cruiser’s path using the drive core output.
“We’ll see,” S’tiri responded. His hand clenched a holo-tablet of the readings. He stood there, peering at the display as Illa engaged the drive.
The moment between drive release gave S’tiri a chance to consider his approach.
The A’tai Ita’bas was a battleship outfitted with a fully functional operational command center. S’tiri assumed the mere fact that it had escaped meant that in some way, the A’tai U’naan was launching a counter offensive.
To no surprise, the trail led them to the Myrian homeworld On the opposite side of its star. A close neighbor with respect to everything else, it was an obvious choice.
“Readout of orbital traffic,” said S’tiri in a demanding tone.
“None,” Illa responded.
“Take us down. We won’t get anything from the sensors. They probably are cloaking their transmitter somehow.”
Illa nodded and proceeded.
It wasn’t a certainty but at the least S’tiri could spot the ship by sight.
Finding them was a priority, but seeing the Myrians conducting life seemingly uninterrupted worried him. It wouldn’t be unlikely for certain species to barter peace in some way.
“There,” said S’tiri.
A hazily white ship floated in orbit of a tiny moon around Myri. It was large but only in comparison to other Irinan ships. With relevance to some of those that he’d seen in the Draul arsenal, it was only a fraction of the size.
S’tiri hailed the ship, “Come in Ita’bas,”
The silence was emphatic and only made S’tiri more inclined to try and board.
He said again “Come in Ita’bas.”
His voice was rattled. Who would answer? If anyone.90
A growly deep voice came over the hail. “Unidentified vessel, state your purpose or you will be fired upon.”
S’tiri didn’t recognize the voice. He had assumed whoever it was had to hold a position of power. He only knew of the names passed around of high ranking officials or the flagship of the A’tai. Its operators would have been classified.
It was the first question in a long line of things that needed to be answered.
“This is S’tiri Z’etamurod, Official of A’tai Operations. ID Twenty-eight forty-one”
The hail com link made a click noise and a lightly pitched voice came over it. “S’tiri?” it said. The hail screen opened and a dimly lit bridge could be seen. The back drop of operations while able bodied crewmen scoured between the seats.
In front of everyone staring at S’tiri was a familiar face. “You shouldn’t be alive,” Z’oni said.
“...I wasn’t.”
∆∆∆
To his surprise, he was allowed to board. Nilus and Pyx accompanying him, disarmed before they were cleared to enter.
Z’oni greeted him, bearing a scar across a discolored neck. She had seen atrocities in the time he was gone. It was all in her eyes, the way she moved now. She didn’t have the shoulders of someone who could turn off the cautious stance of a soldier or agent any longer.
One thing he did remember was that she had clearly divided the two when he first met her. Now, as war touched everyone, she had morphed into the scar she carried. Coarse and reminding of a horror.
“That’s far enough,” she said. gesturing a gloved hand about to stop them.
S’tiri and his mates stood at the edge of the inner airlock. As it closed behind them, a group approached.
Sogul Runen limped toward him. Behind two others baring the badges and insignias of Soguls. “Surprised you decided to return,” said Sogul Runen. She too was different. No shiny armor glistening glamorously unscathed. Just a padded mesh suit cloaking injuries he was sure she would rather keep hidden.
“Why is that?”
“After you took out the defenses of your people. No, not your people. You aren’t an Irinan anymore.”
This was expected.
S’tiri took a step forward that was only greeted by the gradual raise of weapons. Even from Z’oni.
“I was not me,” he said.
“You expect us to believe that,” Z’oni said, her voice cracking as she held a hand cannon at him. “The bill
ions of lives that you condemned with your actions tell me to pull the trigger.”
“I would not fault you for that,” he said calmy, lowering his head. “But it would be a mistake, I wish to divert any recourses I may have to your disposal.”
“What could a traitor possibly have?” Sogul Runen asked.
“A small feet of fast ships, and a small army. Not enough to take back Mulaya but enough to start with.” He took another step forward. “And knowledge of how the Draul operate.”
A pause spread around the corridor. Sogul Runen was thinking. The two other soguls glared at him with cautious eyes. They were staring into the eyes of a traitor.
“We should kill you…” she started. “If I had it my way that’s exactly what I’d do.”
One of the Soguls motioned out of the corner of his eye. He focused on him seeing him steady a stance that only could mean an attack.
“But, I would assume the last surviving A’tai Commander would like to speak to the traitor before he dies. This way.”
Z’oni accompanied, leaving the other guards and soguls gritting, aiming down their weapons at Nilus and Pyx. They stayed put, not any more comfortable than they were previously.
The corridors were unlike typical cruisers and bared heavily reinforced bulkheads. The tactic of sacrificing aesthetics for security. If the kinetic barriers and resonance shields didn’t work. Hard plating would hold up for a fair amount of damage.
The room was wide and domed at the ceiling and bared markings in the ancient language. Some of them phrases of strength while many others the echoes of fallen leaders that sprung Irinan advancement in every field possible.
At the edge of the room was a robed being. His back turned to S’tiri. Runen nudging him forward with the butt of a carbine.
The robes were long and thick that wafted with every motion. The being’s tall neck connected to a pale violet scalp that shuttered hairless. The skin looked artificial in the light of the embedded screens. Finally, it turned, revealing a long face and ghostly gray eyes.
By the tall one, was a thin throne like seat embedded into the wall. It sat down as though its bones were withering and frail.
“Sit,” whispered Runen. A seat meters away from the being. She retreated behind him. He could feel her steady glare through him. Shooting a solid radiance into the back of his head.
The beings voice was deep and resounding. S’tiri could hear the voice as though it spoke directly in his ear. A voice that transcended beyond what he could typically comprehend.
“S’tiri,” the being said. “You may address me.”
S’tiri shot a confused look and said. “You…are an elder?”
“I am an ancestor. The last living one,” the elder said as it nodded.
“I don’t understand.”
“You weren’t meant to,” It said. Although blunt it didn’t seem as though it meant to cause any distain. “I am of the ancestors that helped forge the civilization known as Mulaya. From our DNA, came you.”
“How does a group of ancestors go unnoticed by all of our people.”
“Irrelevant,” the ancestor said with a low base tone. “Those who we fight are the acolytes of other ancestors. Those who did not want a harmonious galaxy, but one struck with an unfathomable strife. These were the heretics of our people. Consumed by their desire to rule.”
S’tiri listened keenly. “Those of who the Draul worship.”
“Indeed, but do not worship willingly. As I can imagine you know now.”
“Then you know about the control they had over me.”
“The others and I felt the use of thier technology could be behind such treacherous actions from such a previously patriotic Irinan. An unfortunate experience. However, this does not excuse your actions S’tiri Z’etamurod. A great deal has been lost and we may not get it back.”
“I am here to help.” S’tiri said with a plea.
The ancestor froze in his thoughts and examined S’tiri, almost as though a puzzle jumbled itself in the seat.
All things leading to this felt as though all the pieces were finally starting to align. The factors and history behind why everything had begun slid into place gently in his mind. He was staring at one of them, in the flesh, barely alive yet more so than he ever was.
The banished ones were those that Thalus worshipped. It was apparent and although only a theory, it was a guess that the reason they could only resurrect a dull hue of themselves in this realm was because of their clear fate.
S’tiri tried not to make it so obvious that he had only now stumbled on the true nature of the galaxy. Something that spanned past the boundaries of his own species and many others. He hoped the ancestor would see his worth. Whatever it may be.
This was only the beginning.
The ancestor raised himself from his chair slowly creaking toward S’tiri. In the middle of the room he waived his hands and a map of the known galaxy blew out of thin air. It enveloped both of them in a soft cloud of picturesque cosmic beauty.
As he wandered with his eyes, his finger peered from under a long over-sleeve of the robe. “Ah right here,” it said and pressed into the map. The visual swallowed itself into one single planet that contained a ring and over thirty small satellites all individually distinct in their characteristics.
“This is Sarjana. A desolate world. It was once the Draul. Long ago we used it as the grounds of the banishment of the ancestors that wanted to enslave. Though now, Thalus has learned of such things from the them. He has returned to use it once again. To unleash them.”
The ancestor took a seat, his gait became more visibly fragile as he ambled over. “There may be use for you yet, Traitor S’tiri.”
Chapter 36: Jericho
The majority of his fear overhauled into one familiar gut feeling. Anger. Jericho wanted to be the kind of Captain his crew could look to for solemn strength. Not letting the death of Luke weigh on the tasks at hand. And there were plenty that were still on his mind.
All of it manifested. One big rush of emotion that he couldn’t bear to suppress. He didn’t want to keep dealing with a problem that kept spawning no matter how much effort he put into getting rid of it. Zael and his singularity were not going to go away. And unless he were to manage getting back home, it would follow him to the reaches of wherever they were and maybe even back home despite his best efforts.
“Tell me you brought me some of the thermites,” Jericho asked. He aimed down the opening to the cavern blasting out bolts one by one making sure he saw a body drop. There were so many.
“Never leave home without a grenade, I always say,” Scud responded. He pulled and oval shaped disk with a blue button at the top of it that clipped on his side belt. As he pressed a thumb into the center it beeped and went red. “Please stay dead,” he added and chucked it toward the insurgency.
It exploded in front of the Ixorians a yellowish red fire expanding its reaches. Immediately after a crumble noise and vibration shook the cavern.
“That should do it,” Jericho said.
The fire had stopped but by then he had his backed turned, leading his team out of harm’s way.
Anda glanced at her wrist, a small cycler gauging where they were with respect to the ship. “Come in Icarus,” she said.
As Jericho lead them back, the brush became neck high and the vegetation mimicked a grassy plain of high growing wheat; only green. A sound of nearby animal life could be heard.
“Hold it,” Jericho said. “There is something up ahead,” It was one of his subtle gut feelings again. Like being watched from afar by an unidentified presence.
“Sense something Cap’n?” Scud said.
“Yeah... guns ready.”
For a brief moment, there was silence and all he could hear was gentle wind stirring around his ears. It coincided with the flow of each strand of grass whishing.
He saw nothing, heard nothing, but before he knew it a loud shot came from further ahead. Two solid blue bolts passed him. H
e only caught the aftermath. Anda and young Keon went down.
“No!” he yelled.
Before he could begin firing back, three more were fired. Zen, Morris and Scud dropped before his eyes.
Jericho attempted to see where any of them had come from but lacked the vision beyond the trees. Finally, through the grass he could see a darkly colored cloak hanging off of air brushed metal.
It was all he could see before another shot at him a pulsating bolt hitting him dead center and knocking him down harshly. Everything became black.
∆∆∆
All he could still see was a darkness like a deep shadow stuck right above his eyes. He could hear the sound of boots on solid ground. Someone scuffing the heels as they walked apparently heavy, whoever’s it was.
The boots stopped and lights came on. Bright gleaming lights that blurred the vision. As it settled. Jericho saw a figure. Short and thin it was armored.
“Good you’re awake,” she said. “You’re not with the colony…” The armored woman crouched in front of Jericho with a frown and her wrinkles slowly folded into place. “Who are you?” Her eyes bared the strain of pain. Like watching loved ones pass and holding back the tears. A discrete redness spread like branches through the whites of her eyes caressing the iris under tired eyelids.
Jericho didn’t respond, but instead took the time to look around. The room was a concrete structure with pillars in place holding the ceiling from collapsing. Wherever this woman had taken them they were underground.
Scud was beside him struggling in his constraints that locked his arms behind one of the pillars. Zen and Anda were on the opposite side, Jericho could feel the two distinct textures of their hands. Zen’s was callus at the fingertips. Anda’s were those he could never forget. Oiled with slender knuckles. He could see a pile of their flex gloves thrown by the metallic door in no particular order. Keon was clasped to another pillar adjacent. Unconscious by the look of him. Morris beside him, nudged him with a shoulder but received no response. He shrugged in his locked hands.