Sanctuary's Soldier: The Darkspace Saga Book 1

by B. C. Kellogg

  He paused for a moment at the edge of the chamber, gazing at the throne. Whoever ruled from it controlled hundreds—if not thousands—of worlds.

  Jira touched his hand and guided him away toward an archway. The passageway through which they walked was close and intimate.

  “The Imperial family comes through these corridors when they’re holding court,” Jira explained. “And if you’re allowed here, you can go anywhere in the palace. To the upper levels, or down into the underground archives and vaults.”

  She was running her fingertips over the walls again, searching. “Here,” she said, stopping suddenly. Conrad didn’t hesitate. He pressed his fingertip to the invisible panel, and the lift opened. It was smaller than the ones they had used before.

  Inside, an outline of the palace appeared on its wall. Conrad reached toward it. “Down,” Jira said. “It will go where you tell it to go.” He moved his hand toward the base of the palace.

  A new image appeared, a series of floors. “Down,” she breathed. “And—there.” The image expanded, opening into a rendering of a library.

  Conrad held his hand against the image, and the lift began to move, dropping them quickly into the depths of the palace.

  “The knowledge and wealth of a thousand worlds and two thousand years are stored here,” Jira said as they emerged into the archives.

  “The Empire is two thousand years old?” Conrad asked, stunned into whispering by the expanse before them.

  Two thousand years… that meant the Empire predated modern civilization on Earth. It explained the sophistication of Imperial technology, making even the most advanced tech from Sanctuary look like toys for children.

  The library was vast and claustrophobic at the same time. Its walls were lined with ancient volumes and artifacts, the floors muffled by carpets. There were globes of light hovering above the floors, unattached to any ceiling. There was no movement in the archives, and the air was still. Conrad sensed that things were brought here, hoarded and forgotten.

  “Of course it is,” she said. “Ah. I forget that you come from an unconquered world. Well, when they come for your people, you’ll find out soon enough.”

  “Not if I can help it,” Conrad muttered.

  “I’ve been trying to shake him out of his delusions,” Baltasar interjected. “But he’s a stubborn one. Or a foolish one. Or both.”

  Jira tilted her head. “It’s not a delusion to imagine a future without the Empire’s hegemony,” she said. “It is possible. If enough worlds are willing to fight. If enough people are willing to sacrifice.”

  “I don’t even know what hegemony means,” said Baltasar, “but there’s no winning against the Empire. Name a single planet that’s managed to break away in the last thousand years. Most people don’t mind it—so long as things stay peaceful, and the Fleet keeps the Vehn away.”

  Jira walked down an aisle, reading the elaborate script carved into the stone above the shelves. “You weren’t born on a conquered world,” she said. “You have no idea what the Empire does to systems like mine.”

  Conrad tried to read the script. He could recognize letters here and there, but it was too elaborate for him to comprehend completely. He looked to Jira, who was making it a point to ignore Baltasar. She navigated the intricate layout of the archive, pulling them deeper into ever more cramped rooms and shelves.

  “This place is like a rabbit’s warren,” he heard Baltasar say.

  “You have rabbits?” he asked, distracted. They have rabbits all the way on the other side of the galaxy?

  “’Course we do,” said Baltasar. “Terrible pest. Breed with every kind of vermin there is.”

  Finally, they reached a small alcove, a cramped space wedged against an old shelf piled high and deep with ancient volumes. Jira leaned over the terminal, and waved to Conrad. He lay his hand against the display and it sprang to life. Jira slid a thin white square into its small port.

  “Datapiece,” she explained.

  Query?

  Jira nodded at him. “Navcharts,” he said aloud.

  Specify region or provide more detailed parameters.

  “All regions,” Jira said.

  “All regions,” Conrad repeated. She continued to speak and Conrad scrambled to follow, the terminal only responding to his voice.

  “Exclude topographical data, and any scientific notations. Navigationally relevant data only, including portal location and status. Include historical data. Include overlay of all tactical assets, including Fleet bases and storehouses. Print to datapiece.”

  Conrad repeated the words but stared at Jira quizzically as he uttered them. “Jira—what are you doing?”

  “If you’re planning to warn your people about the Satori, you’d best prepare yourselves. And that means being ready for a fight. Let’s get out of this place.”

  The terminal ejected the datapiece. At the very moment Jira tucked the datapiece into the bodice of her dress, the terminal screen went red.

  “To the ninth hell and beyond,” she cursed, already backing away from the alcove.

  “Jira?”

  “Run!”

  Every terminal screen they passed was red. The globe lights that hung above them were turning off, one after another. It was getting dark—too dark to see.

  “What’s going on?” Conrad roared. It seemed to him there was no point in trying to keep quiet anymore. “Jira!”

  He crashed into her, slamming her against the door to the archive. He could hear her cursing him in the darkness, in a language he didn’t recognize. Her hand roamed his body until she found his hand, then pressed it against an invisible panel.

  The door slid open and she bolted through it, her footsteps pounding as she ran. There was no more ladylike delicacy to Jira. She ran fast, her braid bouncing on her back.

  The lights were still darkening. He sensed a flash in the pitch blackness behind him. Glancing over a shoulder he saw a bright light at the end of the corridor.

  “Run!” he heard Jira shout. “They’re almost here!”

  He sprinted after her, hearing Baltasar panting behind him and the light, rhythmic sound of Argus’s paws springing over the floors. Conrad could feel his lungs burning as he ran, turning down one hallway after another.

  She stopped suddenly—it was a dead end. She placed a hand against the wall and beckoned to Conrad. “Here!” she called. “The lift!”

  Conrad reached out as he approached her. The lift opened.

  “We have to get out of here,” she said urgently, one foot in the lift. “How did you get into the palace?”

  “The mid-level,” Baltasar broke in.

  “That’s how we’ll get out,” she said.

  “They’re almost here,” said Argus, his eyes glinting in the darkness. Night vision—that was one advantage Kazhad had over humans.

  “How many?” asked Conrad.

  “Three,” Argus hissed.

  “We need to go—now!” Jira grabbed Conrad’s arm.

  He shook her off. “No,” he said. “Get in the lift… but don’t go yet.”

  “What are you doing?” she demanded.

  “Argus,” Conrad said. It was all he needed to say. Argus knew exactly what they had to do.

  “Ready,” the Kazhad growled, crouching down.

  Conrad could hear the guards’ footsteps. He waved his hands above him. “Over here,” he called. “Hey! Yeah, I’m talking to you! Four crazy idiots here, just waiting for you!”

  The first shot took Conrad by surprise, burning the shoulder of his cloak. Jira gasped and bit out a string of curses. She’d ducked the shot. “Sorry,” he mouthed quickly.

  “Three crazy idiots,” she snapped back.

  The guards were holding lights. It gave them an advantage—but it also gave away the guards’ location. “Focus,” he muttered to himself, dodging another shot. “Argus—go!”

  So focused were the guards on Conrad that they didn’t even have a moment to cry out in surprise when Argus�
��s lean bulk leapt out at them, sweeping them off their feet and swiping them down onto the floor. One of their lights rolled across the ground, and Conrad snatched it up, aiming it at Argus.

  The Kazhad had the guards pinned. One appeared to be unconscious, and the other one was struggling under the weight of Argus’s paw on his throat.

  “This is gonna hurt, but at least you’re still alive,” Conrad grunted, and slugged the guard hard. As he slumped into oblivion Conrad crouched down, pulling off the guard’s hat and reaching for the gun in his slackened hand.

  “We’re losing time,” said Jira from behind him. She was kneeling down next to him a moment later.

  “Guards can go almost anywhere in the palace, right?” Conrad panted, yanking off the guard’s jacket. “If they’ve got any visuals on us from earlier, they’ll know what to look for. Balt—get dressed.”

  “This won’t stall them for long,” said Jira, looking unconvinced.

  Conrad tossed her his dark cloak. “Wear this,” he said. She tossed it over her head as he shoved the pistol into his belt. His heart rate slowed a bit. It felt good to be armed for once.

  They made for the lift. Conrad pressed his hand against the panel and Jira ran her hand over the palace diagram, choosing the mid-level.

  The lift whirred, but the image of the palace froze, and the lift door stayed open.

  “They turned off the lifts,” Baltasar said, panic rising in his voice. “What are we going to do?”

  Jira turned to them, her eyes bright and unafraid. “So,” she said. “Who’s up for a climb?”

  Chapter 21

  “I’m going to die,” Baltasar wailed. “I’m going to die, I’m going to die, I’m going to die in the Imperial palace and they’re going to send me home in pieces to my mother.”

  Conrad wanted to tell the medic-mechanic to shut up but it was all he could do to focus on the next step he was taking. The ledge they were standing on was barely wider than one of his feet, and in some places it was even narrower than that.

  He dared to look down and swore viciously. There was nothing but a long plunge down. Don’t do that again, idiot.

  Across from where they were clinging was another wall—the outer wall of the palace. The palace had two walls, Jira had explained in a hurry as she’d broken through. One was the palace as it had been built two thousand years ago, and the other had been added a millennium later as additional protection against the elements—and external attacks. It went all the way down into the earth of Albion Prime, shielding the palace on all sides like an armored vault.

  “This is the only safe way up,” she said. “And besides, if you did fall, you’d hit the bottom so hard you’d turn into soup. There wouldn’t be any pieces to send home.”

  “You call that safe?” Balthasar wailed. Conrad silently agreed with him.

  Jira and Argus led the way. The concubine had ripped off her skirt and tossed it out into the abyss below, leaving only her bodice and a thin jumpsuit. She’d tied Conrad’s cloak tightly around herself so it couldn’t catch on anything. Climbing into the space between the palace’s external armor and its ancient interior wall, she scrambled over the walls as nimbly as a ’sect-bot, her hands gripping the uneven grooves in the ancient stones.

  Argus followed with his usual feline grace, seemingly undisturbed by the chill, still air, darkness, and irregular footholds.

  “How much farther up?” Conrad called to her.

  “Almost there,” she said through clenched teeth. She paused. Part of the ledge was missing. She crouched down and then leaped, sailing across and grabbing onto the wall, her body swinging slightly from the momentum.

  “I can’t do that,” Balthasar said, aghast. “I don’t—”

  Argus snarled with annoyance. He turned around, seized the medic-mechanic by the back of his jumpsuit, and leaped to follow Jira. Balthasar scrabbled at the wall as Argus landed, his entire body shuddering with fear. With an irritable nudge from the Kazhad’s nose he moved on, hurrying after Jira, who was already meters ahead.

  Conrad took a deep breath and vaulted over the gap in the ledge. His feet slipped just a millimeter and he dug his nails into the stones, his body swaying as he fought for his balance.

  He opened his eyes again. Jira, Argus, and Balthasar were steadily creeping up. Jira hadn’t slowed down once.

  What kind of woman is she? Conrad wondered. All he knew about her was what she’d told him—that she was a concubine, a hostage of the Satori. She made another leap, this time onto a small, wide platform. She turned and waved at him, impatient for him to follow.

  She reminded him of Rose in some ways. But beyond her pretty eyes and deadly competence, she was a cypher.

  For now, though, there was no option but to follow her. Conrad suppressed his doubts and climbed on toward the platform.

  They were all finally gathered on the small platform.

  “We’re here,” she said, laying her hand against the wall.

  “How do you know?” Conrad asked. “How do you know all this?”

  “Not getting suspicious on me, are you?” she said breezily. “Seems I’ve kept us all alive so far, despite certain”—she shot a withering glare at Balthasar—“irrational doubts.”

  She hammered her hand against the wall. “Here,” she said. “There’s a softness in the structure right here. This must have been an access point between the palace and the external walls when it was built, or more likely when it was being repaired.”

  Jira drew her fist back and drove it into the wall. It bent slightly under the blow, but remained intact. She grimaced at her bleeding knuckles, looked at the wall again, and made another fist.

  Conrad grabbed her wrist before she could try again. “Hey,” he said. “Give me your knife.”

  She stared for a moment, but reached down to her waist and pulled out the small blade. “There might be a panel just inside the wall,” she said. “Be careful, or you’ll break it—and then they’ll know where we are.”

  Conrad took the knife. He laid his hand on the wall, running his fingers over it, feeling for a soft spot in the mortar. “Here,” he said. Her punch had loosened the mortar, which had begun to crumble just slightly. He jabbed the blade into it, working it gently up and down. It crumbled further, pieces beginning to fall off.

  “How’d you learn all this about the palace?” he repeated.

  “Yeah,” Baltasar piped up. “What kind of concubine are you?”

  “When you spend every day of two years trying to avoid being seen by the people at court, you need something to do,” she said, kicking a piece of rubble down into the void. “I thought I’d educate myself.”

  “C’mon now,” Conrad said, flashing her a smile as he worked. “You didn’t learn all this just to pass the time.”

  Something flickered in her eyes. She turned her head to the wall. “Let’s focus on getting out of here,” she said. “And if we’re still alive tomorrow, I promise I’ll tell you anything you want to know.”

  Conrad had a feeling that she was betting against them.

  The knife suddenly hit metal. Conrad pulled the knife out, and Jira grabbed it back, tucking it away. “There is a panel here,” she said, excited.

  Argus grumbled and nudged Conrad out of the way. He dug his paw into the opening in the wall and ripped out the stones, scattering them into the darkness below.

  The panel was ancient, almost entirely rusted over and covered with grime. Jira brushed the top layer of dirt away to reveal a faintly blinking light. She frowned. “This is an old system,” she said, annoyed and impatient. “If it were a regular panel I could hack into the computer system, but this one’s a mechanical door.”

  Baltasar poked his head between Jira and Conrad and pushed his way in front of them. “Never send a concubine to do a mechanic’s job,” he said, and swiftly yanked off the front of the panel, seizing the translucent, glowing wires behind the light. He tucked one wire between his teeth and dug in with his hands.

>   Baltasar leaned so far forward that his feet dangled, kicking slightly as he wrangled the wires and circuits.

  Another chunk of stone tumbled from beneath Baltasar’s weight.

  That was when Conrad saw it—a crack extending from beneath the hole they’d dug.

  A crack that was inches away from the cramped platform on which they were all standing.

  “Balt,” he hissed sharply. “This platform’s about to fall out from under us. You’d better go faster.”

  “I’m going as fast as I can,” came the muffled reply. “I can’t focus under all this pressure!” He turned his head to speak and thumped his forehead into the wall.

  The crack opened wider.

  “Hurry!” said Jira.

  The platform shook. Argus chirped with alarm and plastered himself against the wall, his claws digging into the stones.

  “You’re not making this any better!” Conrad snapped at him.

  The fissure grew. It was one inch away from the platform.

  Jira looked at Conrad, her eyes wide. “Just get through it,” she said, speaking slowly and softly, as if she was afraid to raise her voice.

  “Balt,” said Conrad.

  “What?”

  “Move back. Slowly. I’m going to break through the panel.”

  “You heard what she said! If you do that you’ll set off all the alarms. Give me another couple minutes—”

  “We don’t have another couple minutes. Listen to me. Get out of there. The minute your feet touch the platform I’m going to jump in. Argus will grab you if the platform gives. Do you understand?”

  “The… platform’s going to break?”

  “One.”

  “Conrad—”

  “Two.”

  Baltasar squirmed. Conrad took one deep breath.

  “Three.”

  Baltasar rocked back, and Conrad dove forward, the sheer momentum of his body weight slamming his fists and arms through the tangle of wires.

  He felt them constrict around him for one breathless moment before they gave way, and he crashed onto a cold, hard floor.