The Survivors | Book 16 | New Lies

by Hystad, Nathan

  “Worse?”

  “Different,” he answered. “I know you’ve seen a lot of stuff, Dean, but you’ve only scratched the surface. It’s not entire planetary races hell-bent on destroying worlds. Most are individuals: gangsters, building empires behind the scenes. I… If anyone sees me on Carve, I’m a dead man.”

  “Why?”

  “I was involved in some schemes a few years ago. When I was a young man. You know how it is. Have to cut your teeth on a big job to prove yourself to the organization,” Sergo told me.

  “No, I don’t. I chose to secure an education and a career instead of selling drugs to Padlogs in an underground hive.” I wanted him to know I still didn’t approve of his sordid history.

  “Dean, that part of my life is over. Plus, that wasn’t my primary business. I was into bigger things.”

  “Who did you work for, if you weren’t self-employed?” I asked. Truth was, we’d never discussed this before. We’d always let sleeping dogs lie and opted to keep the past where it belonged.

  “I knew this day would come. Fine, I’ll tell you. But I’d appreciate it if you kept this to yourself,” he muttered.

  “Does Walo know?”

  “Walo! Don’t be ridiculous. She’d kill me if she ever learned my secrets.” Sergo wrung his hands uncomfortably.

  “Is it wise to keep your significant other in the dark?”

  “Look at you. Dean Parker, the pillar of truth. I’m sure there’s nothing you’ve ever kept from someone. You always do what’s right. It sickens me.” He was venting, and I let him. Whatever he was about to say was obviously weighing on his shoulders.

  “I’m not perfect,” I whispered.

  Sergo rose. “I’ll check on our passengers. Show them the bunks and see if we can find some food. And we need to plot a course to drop them off safely, because it’ll be too dangerous to bring them to Mount Carve.”

  “Tell me where it is.”

  Sergo leaned over, finding it on the expanded radar. “There. Let’s locate a portal world between us and them. We can bring our guests to Haven or Spero.”

  “Okay.” He exited the space, and I added the Crystal Map layer to the radar, searching for a nearby portal world.

  Mount Carve was a five-day flight from here at hyperspeed, with two options for routes. Neither of them was registered in the Gatekeeper database as explored, so one was as good as the other. I selected the world that was closest to our current trajectory for Carve, and adjusted the ship’s destination. It was listed as Exerli Two. There were a lot of risks involved when visiting an uncharted planet, but Sergo was right. These people deserved a fresh start.

  Sergo returned ten minutes later, checked my flight path, and nodded at the results. “Two days.”

  “How are they doing?”

  “I think they’ll be okay. Jomm won’t be doing that again.” The way he said it sent shivers through my spine.

  “Sergo, what did you do?”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Sergo said. I caught the implied “it’s better if you don’t know” in his tone.

  Sergo passed me a coffee, and I clutched it with two hands. My clothing was damp from the rain, and I glanced down, seeing how much mud I’d tracked onto the bridge. “Tell me your story.”

  The Padlog sat, his shadowy insectoid eyes reflecting the dash lights as he stared at the darkness of space. “I had big ambitions, Dean. My father ran a food kiosk my entire childhood. Mother worked at the colony outside town, toiling in the underground mines for scraps. I wanted to be better, to find a way to help them. I applied for the Padlog Enforcers, but they kicked me out after a month, saying I wasn’t a fit.

  “I was so discouraged. I went to the hive—as just a kid, really—and drowned my sorrows in nectar. He approached me there. Not the boss, but his recruiter. They were looking for someone to drop a package off in the neighboring city. Pay was decent. Better than anything I’d ever made. I took the gig and didn’t ask what I was carrying.

  “This went on for a few months, maybe a year, and eventually, they trusted me with a transport. The thing was a piece of junk, but I got a crew, two people under me, and I thought I had it made. Two years of steady employment. I moved product between worlds, always under threat of the Enforcers and whatever local militia we faced, but I was like priceless nectar. No one caught me. Everyone I knew in the organization was pinched at some time, but never the untouchable Sergo. I was promoted.” Sergo paused and sipped the coffee, spreading his mandibles apart.

  “Who was he?”

  “Turns out the guy wasn’t even a Padlog. He’s a gangster. A Motrill, if you can believe it.”

  “I can. I recall Polvertan recalling some issues they had with drugs and weapon dealers.”

  “That would be him. Name is Evors. First time we met, I knew I’d made a mistake.”

  I settled in to listen, leaving the ship on course for the best portal along our path to Mount Carve.

  “Evors, like most Motrill, was an intellectual. He had a way of impressing his audience by using verbose phrases, quoting the great Motrill and Keppe authors, usually historians or experts on intergalactic warfare. Often it went over my head, but Evors managed to convince me in that initial meeting,” Sergo said.

  “What did he want from you?” I asked.

  “Same thing they all want. Someone to stick their neck out so they don’t have to. Job sounded simple. Take one of Evors’ men to Mount Carve.”

  “That’s it?”

  “That’s what I was told, but like you’d assume, it was much deeper than that.” Sergo buzzed softly under the glow of the dash lights. “I didn’t care, because I was someone important now. Evors treated me as his clutch player, a guy he could see himself bringing to the family dinner table. Shows you how naïve I was.

  “I learned the guy I brought with me was from Shimmal. He carried a tablet with him everywhere, and I had the sense of something valuable on that device. When I asked him about it, he shouted at me, claiming he’d have me killed if I so much as looked at the tablet. I’ve never been overly afraid of most people, but I sensed a darkness in his eyes.”

  I recalled the woman, Doctor Yeera, who’d tried to kill Jules, Dean, and the rest of her own planet, and shook my head.

  “Mount Carve was nothing like I expected either. It looked dead from orbit. No lights. No life,” Sergo whispered.

  I was being drawn into Sergo’s tale, and curiosity was getting the best of me. “What happened next?”

  “My passenger used his tablet to activate a beacon. Lights began to flash from below, forming a symbol on the surface of the world.”

  That was interesting. “A symbol of lights?”

  “Yes. He told me to guide our ship there, and I did, landing in the center of the emblem.”

  “Can you describe it?” I asked him.

  Sergo didn’t answer. He drew it on a blank screen, using a mapping program. A circle within a circle, enclosing a third solid round mass in the middle. Gentle spikes carried from the center and outside the barrier. Three of them.

  “I’ve seen this before,” I muttered, bringing up the Crystal Map.

  “You have? It’s been so long, I’ve blocked the memory from my mind. I didn’t ever think to compare the shape to a portal emblem,” Sergo admitted. He watched with wide eyes as I scrolled through the thousands of portal images, searching for one that matched.

  It took a few minutes, but there it was. “Newei.” The planet had been explored by the Gatekeepers twenty-nine years ago, and they’d discovered some local lifeforms. It was listed as moderately safe, with precautions against wildlife. The packet had droves of information, from soil sample data to temperature to geographical uniqueness, as well as air composition. It appeared to be a desert world, with nothing special in their notes.

  “I don’t understand why this would be used on Mount Carve,” Sergo told me.

  “Me neither. I guess we’ll find out. But our priority is getting Regnig home.”

>   “You heard that other guy. They weren’t even after Regnig. Maybe when they realize he’s not this Sager they’re seeking, they’ll drop him off,” Sergo said.

  “More likely they’ll kill him or trade him as a slave.” I watched the image of the portal marking, wondering how it tied together with this planet the Wibox were traveling to. “What happened next?”

  “It was sketchy, Parker. The ground lowered beneath my transport, and we ended up in a massive underground facility. This place was ancient, like it had been created by a race of giants ages ago. Everything was oversized, but they’d modified things to accommodate most races.”

  “Giants?” I asked.

  “That’s what I think. They had to be twenty feet tall, if an inch.” Sergo raised his hand above his head. “Fronez, the Shimmal man Evors had me escorting, was treated like gold. The locals were a mixture of everyone, kind of a who’s who in the zoo type scenario. All bad people, but not the kind you might expect. They were like Evors, with style, money, and class. At least, on the surface. Deep down, they were sick, twisted creatures that would do anything for power. The moment I realized what Fronez had brought them, I hatched a plan.”

  “What could have been so bad?”

  Sergo clicked his mandibles and rubbed his palms together nervously. “He had the schematics for a weapon. A tool so destructive, it should never have been conceived.”

  I glanced behind us, making sure none of our guests was listening in from outside the bridge. “Tell me.”

  “If developed properly, the weapon would fire over a planet, encompassing it. Every single person would have their memories expunged, stored on a network, leaving their brains essentially hollowed out.” Sergo cringed as he told me this.

  “For what purpose?” I asked.

  “It was twofold, from my understanding. The people could be used as livestock. An entire planet’s population to do your bidding.”

  I swallowed through a scratchy throat. “What’s the second?”

  “Their memories were utilized to nourish something.”

  “What?” I asked, leaning closer.

  “A being they revered. A monster that fed on memories and dreams.”

  My skin crawled at his words. “Did you ever see it?”

  Sergo shook his head. “No. But I can guess where it’s located.”

  “Where?”

  Sergo pointed to the Crystal Map, which still showed Newei.

  Four

  The lights flickered in the holding cell, and Regnig opened his eye as the hull vibrated. They were entering an atmosphere. How many times did he have to endure this? They’d already stopped at five planets since his abduction, and he had only been spoken to on a handful of occasions.

  Two hundred years had passed since he’d escaped their clutches with Manria, second daughter of Emperor Bastion the Fourth. Could these same goons have held a grudge so long? Wibox weren’t known for their health, their average lifespan only forty Alliance years, mostly due to their own bravado and substance abuse problems. It seemed impossible that these Wibox were the same as the ones he’d escaped from two centuries ago.

  Oddly enough, they did call him Sager, so they knew exactly who he was. Hearing them use the old title had sent a flurry of memories through his mind. He’d changed his name after that day, and over the years, had even begun to forget he wasn’t actually Regnig. Seeing the familiar interior of a Wibox Runner had revived all the pain and torment he’d experienced in that spell under their captivity.

  They’d given him a threadbare blanket, and he rolled the end, treating it as a pillow, but every day, he still woke with aches in his neck. He wasn’t young anymore, already well past his allotted years. Regnig hated that this was going to be his end. He’d been among friends for decades. His book on Dean Parker wasn’t complete, and Jules had become one of the best companions an old bird could ask for. These people had never asked anything from him but his company and research assistance when necessary. He’d felt like part of a team, but that had been stolen from him the moment the Wibox invaded the library, abducting him.

  Kallig, are you there? Regnig cast the question out, targeting the other Toquil man on board. As he expected, there was no response. Which either meant they’d killed Kallig or had dropped him off on their last pitstop. He was alone again.

  Regnig sat up. The bulkhead was rusted, water dripping from above, and he sighed. The sound that emerged from him was defeat. He looked at the blanket, assessing two dozen ways to hang himself if it came to it. He’d lived a long and fulfilling life. Maybe it was time to take back the power from his captors.

  But he couldn’t do it.

  There were two reasons: Dean Parker and his daughter Jules. They would come for him; he felt this with every ounce of his being. The Recaster wouldn’t let him die at the hands of these scum. It was a thought Regnig had clung to early on during the last six months, and he reminded himself again now.

  His conviction waned like never before. Were they coming? Would they track him?

  A door hissed open a short distance from his cage, and Regnig waited patiently, not willing to attempt communication with the Wibox first. The soldier was wide, and a piece of food clung to his cheek. “Get ready.” The words fell from his mouth like marbles.

  For what?

  “We’re here. Prepare.” The guy shoved some clothing through and passed a bowl of water. “You stink. Wash.” A bar of soap fell to the floor beside the robe. Before Regnig could say another word, the Wibox was gone.

  Where are we? What do they want with me? Regnig hated how weak he felt. Desperate for answers.

  Instead of washing with the water, he drank half of it first, finding it filled with metallic aftertaste. He tilted the bowl into his beak and took one last sip before dipping the bar of soap inside. It had been months since he’d bathed, and he took his time, attempting to clean his feathers with all the grace he could muster.

  When he was done, feeling thrilled at not being dirty any longer, he removed his stained and tattered robe, unfolding the new one. The hem brushed the ground when he walked, but it would do. The fabric was comfortable, the color reminding him of the Toquil leaders at home. That was what they were trying to emulate. Where were the Wibox bringing him?

  He’d know soon.

  Regnig remained standing, wishing he had his canes with him. His knees were already sore, and he felt exhausted from the simple task he’d just performed. Help me, Jules. Help me, Recaster. He hadn’t tried reaching out to them before, knowing it wouldn’t do any good, but saying their names calmed him.

  He was almost thrown to the ground as the Wibox Runner landed on the surface, and he grabbed for the wall, using it to stay upright. Wherever they were destined, they’d arrived.

  Regnig might not have long to live, but he wasn’t going out without a fight. His spirit wouldn’t let him.

  ____________

  The dinner had gone well, with Jules and Dean playing consummate host to Malir, the Emperor and Empress’ son. He was full of questions regarding their history and the Alliance Institute, and Jules found herself impressed with the man. In her brief experience, most alien royals were like past generations on Earth: full of themselves and unaware of the commoners. Malir was the opposite. He seemed genuinely interested in the Alliance and offered great recommendations for the Institute.

  “What did you think?” Dean asked as Malir chimed into the discussion over possible intergalactic threats. Most of the recruits had departed to their quarters for the night over an hour ago, and they’d joined their parents at the main table.

  “About the Gretiol?” she asked quietly. All eyes at the table were on the future Emperor of the Gretiol, and they could speak freely.

  “About him. Bit of a blowhard,” Dean said.

  Jules almost laughed but slapped a hand to cover her mouth before she did. Her mother noticed, frowning at her from across the table. “You’re jealous?”

  “Jealous?” Dean’s face reddene
d. “What are you saying?”

  “Stop whispering. They’re going to think we’re rude children,” she said, smiling to herself. Malir had given her a lot of attention during dinner, and it was obvious Dean had noticed.

  “We have been facing the Wibox for a thousand years,” the Emperor said. “Did you know they even went so far as to kidnap one of our heirs?”

  “You have to be kidding me,” Magnus said. “I hope they paid for that.”

  Emperor Bastion the Seventh nodded. “The truth was, someone rescued his daughter, Manria.”

  “Please continue,” Mary urged. This was the perfect kind of after-dinner story, and Jules leaned her elbows on the table, listening with rapt attention.

  “Manria was outside of the palace, playing as children do, when the abduction took place. My ancestors figure the Wibox had hidden under the guise of our trading partners for over two weeks, waiting for their moment. She was alone for a few minutes. When the staff noticed she was gone, they sent out an alert.” The Emperor spoke eloquently, using English with his translator embedded into his brain. “A single vessel escaped the atmosphere right before they could stop it. Somehow it managed to evade pursuit, and they established it was the Wibox from the start.”

  “What did they do?” Jules asked from across the table.

  “Nothing. It’s said they tried to negotiate with the Wibox government, but that’s like arguing with a wall. They threatened to send warships, but the Wibox didn’t step down. For some reason, my predecessor did not dispense a fleet to attack,” Emperor Bastion said.

  “How was Manria returned?” Dean asked.

  It was Malir that answered. “The heir arrived months later. Turns out she was rescued from the captors with the assistance of a Toquil. One of those little bird people that converse with their thoughts.”

  Jules stiffened. “A Toquil saved her? What was a Toquil doing on board a Wibox ship?”

  “We have no idea. He didn’t tell Manria. She was grateful for his help, and the moment they landed the pod at home, she was ushered to the capital.” Malir sipped from his glass.