Pearseus Bundle: The Complete Pearseus Sci-fi/Fantasy Series

by Nicholas C. Rossis

  Teo grabbed it, to find an e-lib inside. With trembling hands he turned it on, and saw David, surrounded by some gruff-looking barbarians. He recognized one of Cyrus’s friends – the tattooed woman who had caused the Capital to lose the First – but the rest were strangers to him. Pinching the surface, he zoomed in to study David’s face; he looked older, with grey hairs in his soft beard. There was no doubt this was taken recently. Teo’s mouth dried with excitement. “Where did you get this?”

  When no reply came, he tore his eyes from the glowing image. The cart was empty. Craning his head out of the window, he searched in vain for the strange man. He spotted a puzzled guard and shouted an order. The heavy cart slowed down. As soon as it stopped moving, he jumped outside. Two guards rushed to his side, lit torches in their hands. It would be dark soon. “You two, get me the general.” Their confused look infuriated him. “She’s a traitor,” he snarled. “Bring her to me. In chains! Now!” As the men rushed off, he climbed back into the cart. Once alone, he stared at the e-lib and cracked up, the sounds of his delight filling the empty space.

  The Marshes

  Lehmor

  As Lehmor took the final turn on the winding path that led to the Old Woman’s cave, he paused to examine his surroundings. Much had happened since the last time he was here. She had amputated his arm, but now it had been returned to him; an unexpected gift. He worried what she might think of that. Casting wary glances around, he blinked at the unfamiliar sights.

  He had first noticed them as soon as he had passed the point where a shimmering dome started, just as Stripet had said. At first, he thought the fading light was playing tricks on him, then he saw them clearly. Small spider-like metal devices crawled around the thinning forest, making soft clickety sounds as their thin legs grated against the rocks. He wondered how it was that he had never noticed them before, during his long recuperation there. Spiny antennae showed between the leaves and branches of trees, beady eyes at their end trailing his ascent. Damn it, Stripet, what have you done to me?

  He ground his teeth and approached the top, where the cave he remembered so well gaped open. At least that hasn’t changed.

  The Old Woman emerged from inside to greet him. She gasped at his new arm, struggling to maintain an appearance of calm. “Much… much has changed since last time,” was her greeting.

  “Yes,” he agreed. “I need advice.”

  She studied him with suspicion before nodding her agreement and waving towards a small fire next to the cave entry. “Come. Sit.”

  As he approached, she brushed his arm with prying fingers, startling him. He almost pried her hand away, then forced himself to relax. She shook her head, mumbling to herself, as she pinched and pulled his skin. Finally, she waved for him to sit down beside her.

  One of the spider-like thingies scurried past him, and he raised a leg to avoid it. He threw it an annoyed look, then noticed her gaping at him. “You can see the Terraformers?” she asked.

  “The what?”

  He read in her ancient face something he never expected to see. For the first time in his life, he saw fear.

  “What are you?” she asked through clenched teeth. Her nervous stare made him uncomfortable, but he said nothing, not knowing where to begin. “Follow me,” she ordered, and he hastened to obey.

  She disappeared into the cave, and he hurried after her, expecting the familiar shallow cave. His nostrils prepared to fill with the smell of dampness and moss, but when he crossed the threshold, he found himself inside a vast, odourless cavern, with a huge pillar plunging into the planet’s depths. Innumerable pathways connected it to openings in the walls, like spokes on a wheel. He took a step back, and she grabbed his arm, her calm demeanour crumbling away. “Who did this to you? How is it even possible?” Her voice carried a hint of panic.

  More metal spiders crawled around him, and orbs of light surrounded them within moments. “I only seek your advice,” he repeated, not knowing what else to say.

  “Then, walk with me,” she commanded, and stepped onto a pathway leading to the pillar. As soon as he set foot on it, its floor started moving, catching him off guard. She held his arm tight, stopping him from stumbling, and held on until they reached the pillar and stepped into a small room, through a narrow opening in its side. The entire room descended swiftly as soon as they entered.

  “Where are we going?” he whispered in stunned awe.

  She made no reply, staring blankly ahead. He swallowed and scratched his beard. Moments later, the room stopped moving and they stepped out. The pathway led them to a cavernous amphitheatre. Thousands of orbs of light filled it, hovering around them, pulsing gently, brightly coloured rays streaking inside them. The Old Woman led him to the centre of the hall and raised her hand. “Lehmor of the Wind Warriors has come here, seeking our advice. Listen carefully, for I believe we’re in peril.”

  She gave him a questioning look, and he swallowed, lost for words. Start at the beginning, he heard Two-horns tell him, and he did that, just like he had on his last night at Malekshei. As he spoke, the words came easier, and in the end he found it hard to stop. When he mentioned the metal cube that Stripet had given him, flashes of red pulsed through the room, but no one interrupted him, and he continued until there were no more words to speak.

  There was silence for a while, the lights pulsing in silent conversation. Red, fought off by gold, then some white streaks, followed by more red. One of the orbs flowed next to him, and it morphed into a big, bearded man, made up of an fiery red light. He looked familiar, and Lehmor remembered seeing his image on some of his grandmother’s leather paintings. The Archon! Lehmor’s jaw dropped; according to legend, this was the man who made the first stand against the Whispers; the man who led the war for years and died a glorious death fighting against them. He had always assumed it to be a fairy-tale, like the one of flying cities and magic.

  “We heard the boy. What are we waiting for?” the Archon’s voice boomed in the hall. “I say we take the war to them. We have the means, and through this Stripet we can find their hideaway. It’s a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. I’ve waited a hundred thousand years for this. Let’s finish it!”

  A burst of red light streaked through him, causing sympathetic crimson flashes on the orbs to streak in the room. The man placed a weightless arm on Lehmor’s shoulder. It prickled him, as if hundreds of ants walked on his skin.

  “What do you say, boy? Are you up for it?”

  Lehmor’s knees trembled; this was not what he had expected when he came to the Old Woman. He cleared his throat. “Up for what?”

  The Archon clutched his fist. “Go to the Iota’s headquarters and blow them all up!”

  The red light became brighter now, painting the room in crimson hues. “Yes,” he replied without thought, then his brow furrowed. “All of them?”

  The man leaned forward, his eyes bright flames. “Yes, all of them! That’s the point!”

  Lehmor took an involuntary step back. The memory of Oran crossed his mind. The slow, mesmerizing dance of the Iotas. The many wonders he had experienced in his brief time with them. Images and memories filled his head; some sweet, some bitter. “I can’t,” he said in the end.

  The Archon blinked in surprise, his crimson hues deepening. “Why not? They’re our enemies; the people we’ve been fighting for a hundred thousand years.”

  Panic engulfed Lehmor. “No!”

  It was the Archon’s turn to frown. “Aren’t they building an army of clones, to take over the planet?”

  “Yes, but –”

  “Didn’t they send you here to kill us all?”

  “No, I –”

  “Then what’s holding you back?” Red orbs swarmed around him.

  “Some are good,” Lehmor protested. “Oran is good; he –”

  “Nonsense! Our one mistake was not taking out all of those bastards when we first arrived to this accursed rock. I say we fix that once and for all!”

  Lehmor stood his ground.
“No,” he repeated.

  The Archon seemed to grow in stature and pulsed a furious red. “Then you’ll –”

  “Enough!” the Old Woman shouted, stepping between them.

  The bright flame of a man paused for a moment, then drew grudgingly back. “This is a mistake,” he snarled.

  “Perhaps. But our children must take this decision for themselves...” she faced Lehmor. “…once they understand the consequences. Lehmor of the Wind Warriors, you came here to seek my advice and my blessing. Heed my words: end the war. We’ll help you find the Iotas and eliminate the danger once and for all.”

  “No. We took their home. We killed their people. I will fight Pratin and Stripet. I will fight the clones. But I won’t murder innocents.”

  She raised a hand to stop him. “Don’t you wish to punish your father’s killers?”

  A pang of guilt shot through Lehmor’s heart. Was he betraying his father? His gut clenched at the thought; if he could kill Stripet with his bare hands, he would not hesitate a moment. The thought almost swayed him, then he remembered Oran and his lessons. “Yes. I will kill Pratin and Stripet. Not Oran. The Iotas are not your enemies. The Whispers are. Pratin is. I will not punish the innocent along with the guilty. These are people we’re talking about. Living people, not…” He motioned around him. “Not ghosts.” Her light flickered red, and he hurried to continue. “We act as if our way is the only right one. And it is – for us. But not everyone’s like us. There’s more than one path. Others should be allowed to follow their own.”

  “Their path, as the boy calls it, leads to our death!” the Archon thundered.

  “Is becoming evil the only way to fight evil?” Lehmor exploded.

  A rainbow of colours now shone all around them, in rapid succession. His words had made an impact, he saw, but he had no idea as to the outcome. Finally, the Old Woman raised her hand and the lights around them returned to a soft white glow. She stared at him, to make sure he understood her words. “It is decided. You are free to continue on the path you chose. So are we. But we both have to face the consequences.”

  She paused to stare at him with sadness. “We will not give you our blessing, nor our aid. When the enemy comes, you will stand alone. Is that understood?”

  His heart sank; this was unheard of. How did it get to this? His pulse thundered in his ears as a feeling of powerless rage raced through him. “I am the Wind Warriors’ heir. It’s our tradition!”

  “We are your tradition,” she snapped at him.

  His throat felt dry, his heart pounding in his chest. “Without you we’ll die,” he whispered.

  She stared at him for a long time. “I know,” was all she said in the end.

  Jonia

  Paul

  Paul glanced at the stout man standing next to him, pointing at various shapes that flickered in orange on the table, the soft light illuminating the man’s face. Only the sewn yellow stars on his plain khaki uniform betrayed his rank. “We’ve lost two more cities in the South, here and here.” Two blinking dots disappeared.

  “They’re nothing compared to Ephia,” Paul growled.

  The man shifted his weight uncomfortably. “It was a glorious loss,” he said. “Not even the Capital’s new weapon can bend our will. The cry ‘For Ephia!’ can now be heard throughout the realm.” A woman standing next to him rolled her eyes theatrically. A small galaxy of yellow stars adorned her white epaulettes.

  Paul glared at the khaki-clad man. His battered face betrayed the many battles he had seen – and survived. “You should be a politician, my dear marshal.” He leaned forward. “Where is my daughter? You promised she’d be safe, but no one’s heard from her.”

  The man wiped his brow. “We’ll find her,” he promised. “War has its ups and downs; we just need more men.”

  Paul spun around, turning his back to them, to stare at the fading light outside, painting the cypress trees in rich, golden hues. “What we need is for the cities to pull together,” he growled. “Each of those idiots is keeping their soldiers within their city walls, not caring if the city next to them is being razed to the ground.”

  “As long as we hold the seas, we will win this war, no matter how many battles we lose,” the woman said. “We still have our fleet.”

  Paul’s wrinkled brow softened as he faced the lanky woman with the short hair. “How’s that coming along, Admiral?”

  “We’ve added liquid fire to the old warships Anthea sent us, converting them to sea fortresses. They’re now guarding our ports.” She zoomed in on the map, pointing at softly glowing dots surrounding Jonia’s port.

  “And our fleet?”

  “Only a handful of our ships are large enough for liquid fire, but they should be enough to win us any battle.”

  “How many so far?”

  “How many ships we’ve retrofitted? Six, but –”

  “Not that, how many losses!”

  “We’ve lost three vessels in the last month, to sixteen of their own.”

  Paul chuckled. “That should teach them.” He rubbed aching temples, then his brow furrowed again and he focused his attention back to the marshal. “Have each city send us ten percent of its troops. I don’t care how you do it, just do it. Go there personally to pick them up, if you have to. It’s our only chance to win this.”

  “Our spies say that the new weapon is out of commission for now,” the man said. “We should attack while we have the chance.”

  Paul pursed his lips in thought. “How certain are we of this? It could be a trap.” He had once underestimated Teo; he had no wish to repeat the same mistake.

  “Many have died to bring us this information. We can take the war to them. An offensive will be the last thing they expect; victory is assured.”

  Paul shook his head. “I’ll think about it. Now, if there’s nothing else…”

  The two soldiers bowed their heads and prepared to leave, just as the door to the spacious room burst open and a messenger hurried towards Paul. “This just came in, sire. It’s from Teo Altman.”

  Paul raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Teo? He must be really desperate to want to talk to me!”

  Chuckling, he picked up the papers and broke the seal. The laughter left his face, along with all blood. He punched his fist on the desk, then turned his attention to the shocked people in the room.

  “Leave,” he said with a hoarse voice. “I must think.” The marshal was the last to leave, shooting a questioning glance at Paul’s ashen face. “Not you,” Paul commanded. The man closed the door softly and returned to his seat. Paul grabbed the first page, crumbled it and sent it flying into the marshal’s hands. “Read it,” he ordered.

  The man straightened the paper out and stared at it. “She is recovering well at the moment, but I can’t make any promises as to her future health,” he read out loud. His face filled with sympathy. “Satori…” he whispered.

  Paul ground his teeth at the thought of his daughter in the hands of Teo; he knew him too well to trust him even for a moment. “No wonder you couldn’t find her. What are we going to do about this?”

  The marshal studied the letter a little longer, then slid over to the map on the table. He pinched and gestured with careful, calculated movements, studying the terrain projected in front of him. “Ah,” he exclaimed, having finally found what he was looking for.

  Paul failed to hear him, as Teo’s words rang in his head; the ones contained in the second piece of paper. The piece he now crumbled in his right hand; the one no one should ever find out about. The one containing Teo’s suggestion, as he referred to it. With a deep sigh, Paul put the scroll down and stared at the door, his face blank. Where is that councillor when I need him? The weird grey one?

  The marshal cleared his throat, interrupting Paul’s reverie. “Well?” Paul asked impatiently, his hand tearing up the letter. If this surprised the marshal, he failed to show it.

  “I believe I know where she’s held,” the man said with confidence. “The
y would never keep her in the battlefield; too risky. And they wouldn’t want to drag her back to the Capital; not when they need her close by.” He tapped a spot on the map and Ephia appeared on the table. “Ephia. This is where she must be.”

  “I don’t care if she’s on the moons. What I need to know is, can you save her?”

  The marshal nodded with confidence. “I’ll need to confirm her whereabouts with our spies, but yes, I believe I can.”

  Paul let out a sigh of relief. “Then, go! You’ll have anything you need. And, if you succeed, anything you’ve ever wanted.”

  “What about the men you asked I bring from the cities?”

  “I’ll send someone else. Right now, you only have one mission. Understood?”

  The marshal’s expressionless face failed to demonstrate any emotion as he saluted and turned to leave.

  “Take anyone you choose, but I want you to lead them yourself,” Paul shouted as the man grasped the door handle.

  An offended look finally managed to break through the mask of stoicism that the man wore constantly. “Of course!”

  “One last thing.” Paul raised his finger in warning. “Not a word. To anyone. Now, leave!”

  The Marshes

  Gella

  “You must leave! Now!”

  The galloping soldier startled her. Her years as a Lancer made her uncomfortable unless she rode ahead. She might be a general, but she was also a Scorpio, and would never shy away from the front line. Her two escorts, trotting beside her, exchanged uneasy looks, eyeing with suspicion the flustered rider that had appeared in the dusk.

  “Explain yourself, soldier!”

  “No time, General! Master Altman has sent men to capture you. He says you’re a traitor.”

  The men pulled the reins and turned to face him. “That’s ridiculous!” one of them protested.

  The soldier gave him a pleading look. “The general saved my bacon back in Ephia. I was cut off from my unit, surrounded by Ephians; if not for her, I’d be dead now. I rode as fast as I could, but they’re not far behind me. Please, General, you must hurry!”