“They’re leaving,” I muttered. Dust fell from above, coating the floor in a layer of sediment.
“We have to leave.” Sergo grabbed my arm, but the hall was blocked by two large figures.
Stoden and his boss, Ader, stepped toward us, their meaty hands clutching heavy guns. “What do we have here?”
____________
Regnig, where are you?
The words permeated his mind, and he clacked his beak together nervously. He was on board a space vessel with Fronez and a few of his cronies, though this crew looked more like scientists than criminals. But most radicals were focused on the technology aspect of what they were doing, rather than the muscle.
Regnig was trapped in a clear box, with cool air breezing through an open hole on the side of the cage. There was no escaping this, not even with his limited telekinetic abilities. He was able to shut doors and flip pages, but not much else. Very few Toquil were capable of such feats, and the ones that were had been ostracized as outsiders by the locals. Regnig wished his people no ill will, but he also wanted them to evolve past their own planet, become more open-minded.
The fact that Dean Parker had been able to contact him meant one thing. The Recaster was close. He smiled at the idea of being rescued. He knew Dean wouldn’t give up on him, but this Shimmali man was dangerous. The fact that he wore a lab coat and carried a tablet around rather than a blaster did little to dissuade Regnig of this truth. He was unable to stop Fronez from leaving, but there was one chance with Dean nearby.
How long will it take to get to Newei? Regnig asked.
“That’s none of your concern. Are you so anxious to meet Ovalax?” Fronez’s snout wagged slowly.
There were four crew members on the bridge, one a dark blue Molariun man. For a moment, he reminded Regnig of his old friend, Garo Alnod. The other two were Shimmali, a man and a woman. Sarlun would be so disappointed in his people.
I’m only curious how much time I have left. Is that so difficult to understand?
Fronez turned from him and faced the viewscreen as they flew away, leaving Mount Carve in their thrusters’ particle dust. “Two weeks. Give or take.”
Regnig pressed his eye shut, sticking his tongue out. He closed the message off from this ship, and directed it toward one man. Dean, Newei in two weeks. Ovalax! He thought it again and hoped the thought reached Dean Parker.
Two weeks. That was how long Regnig had to live before he was fed to this monster. This massive being who devoured souls and ate memories. Or, if he was to believe Fronez, there might be another ending.
“Don’t worry, Regnig,” Fronez whispered, almost like he’d read the Toquil’s mind. “If I do decide to feed you to Ovalax, you’ll live for eternity. Your thoughts, your hopes and dreams, your memories and knowledge will all continue to exist. Just not in your own brain.”
That didn’t ease the tight knot growing in Regnig’s stomach.
Thirteen
“Let’s see what this baby can do,” Dean said, scrolling through the weapons system.
Magnus was at the security station, and he smiled as he peered at Jules. “We’re going to annihilate them. Strike first.”
Jules watched the incoming eight Runners, admiring their bravery. The Wibox weren’t known to be overly bright, and rarely did they run in packs. From everything she’d been told, they were loners, each crew acting of their own volition. Something didn’t sit right.
“Malir, what can you tell us about the Wibox?” Jules asked. They were only a few minutes from range, and that didn’t leave much slack.
“They’re lifelong enemies. They stole Manria, as we told you at the dinner. We also believe that they recently captured a Toquil from our world, a man named Kallig, and they’re a constant thorn in our sides. We can’t make a supply run to the neighboring system without having to fend off one of these Runners. It’s the main reason we joined the Alliance and offered such a large number of first-time recruits,” Malir informed her.
Another Toquil. That couldn’t be a coincidence. Jules kept on track. “Do they attack in numbers? Or are they alone?”
Malir stared blankly for a second and blinked. “They fight by themselves. It’s rarely coordinated.”
“Then why are eight Runners approaching?” Magnus asked.
Dean cleared his throat. “I don’t think we should trust the Gretiol’s answers. He disappeared for ten minutes earlier.”
“I was lost!” Malir shouted.
“It was adequate time for you to sneak off and reprogram the wormhole generator, wasn’t it? You sabotaged us!” Dean crossed the bridge in a hurry, grabbing the taller prince by the uniform. Slate interjected, holding them apart.
“Is this true?” Slate asked.
“I was confused. I didn’t do anything.”
Jules watched Malir, wanting to believe him. Dean didn’t relent. “Magnus, you said someone was trying to hack our network at the Institute. I bet if we dig deeper, we’ll learn it was him.”
Malir frowned, reaching for Dean. Slate planted his feet, remaining between them. “I don’t know what you’re implying. I have done nothing wrong.”
Magnus looked to the viewscreen, where the incoming Runners were coming closer by the second. “Slate, detain him.”
“I can’t believe this!” Malir appeared ready to fend them off, but Jules shook her head, making eye contact.
“If you’re innocent, we’ll apologize. You can understand our reasoning,” she told him, and he gave up the fight.
“You will see.” Malir let Slate throw a set of energy cuffs around his wrists, and he was led to the back of the bridge, where Slate secured him to a post.
“They’re still trying to contact us,” Loweck said. “What should we do?”
Magnus waited for Jules. “What do you think?”
She swallowed through her dry throat. Everyone was anticipating her command. “Allow it. There’s no harm in hearing them out. If it’s a fight they seek, it’s a fight they’ll get.” Her father would listen before firing, even though Magnus’ plan of striking first might have been the proper call. But she needed to know if Malir and the Gretiol were involved in this deceit.
Loweck connected the Wibox feed, and the tall warrior perched on screen with its hands behind its back, a smile reaching its eyes as Jules rose, walking closer.
It spoke in English. “Give us the Gretiol.”
“I’m not sure who you mean,” Jules told it.
“The one named Malir. Give him to us, and you will live to see another sunrise.” The man’s light brown eyes were striking. Half of his face was burned, scars running down his cheek to below his mouth.
Jules glanced at the prince, tethered to the post. “What do you want with the prince?”
“That’s between King Uvid and Emperor Bastion the Seventh,” the man said.
“What is your name?” Jules asked, knowing it was important to have names to faces in negotiations. She’d taken an entire course on it at the Academy and hoped it came in useful.
The guy looked stunned, and he glanced over his shoulder at a silhouette from Outpost’s viewscreen. “I am Cillen.”
“I’m Jules Parker,” she said. “Captain Jules Parker.” For effect. If their situation hadn’t been so tense, she swore Magnus would have laughed at her use of the phony title.
“Are you the same Jules Parker that defeated the Arnap?” he asked.
Jules could see the fear rising in his eyes, and she nodded. “The one and only.” She didn’t expand on it, letting him fill in the blanks.
“We still demand Malir.”
“You mentioned it was between your king and his father. Can you elaborate at all?” Jules asked, keeping her tone friendly. She decided that was more unsettling to the strong being across the screen from her, so she used it. He would be imagining her lifting from the ground, clapping her hands together and destroying him and his friends, like the rumors described.
Cillen grunted, growling something in hi
s own tongue. “What do you know of the Sect of Memories?”
Jules squinted, turning briefly to face her crew. Loweck shrugged, and Slate and Magnus shook their heads. “Very little.” She saw Malir’s face grow long as he paled. “Would you enlighten us?”
“It is not an outsider’s place to hear of these details. Jules Parker, please heed my suggestion. Give us Malir.”
“We cannot,” she said softly.
Cillen fumed. “The Sect will not allow the Gretiol to abandon their promises. You will deliver Malir, or Ovalax will disavow us. Centuries of work will go to waste, but for a simple sacrifice. It is our charter, agreed by each Sect member at conception.”
This was nonsense to Jules, but she listened, pretending to understand. “Here’s what I can offer. We will depart in peace, with Malir, the heir of Bastion the Seventh. We will discuss the sacrifice and Bastion’s viewpoint on what he does or doesn’t owe the Sect of Memories.”
Outpost vibrated slightly, and Jules knew this entire trip had been a mistake. They were operating a warship with a handful of people on the bridge, most of them with little or no experience. There was no one guarding the docking bays, engineering, or anywhere else. She felt vulnerable.
Something was terribly wrong. “Captain, the sensors on Deck Seven are indicating an issue,” Dasso said.
The concussion blasted the bridge’s door behind them, sending Sergeant Raron to the floor. Jules saw Cillen smiling before his image vanished from the screen. They had no weapons. Magnus was running at the doors with nothing but his fists up, and another blast struck the bridge as a gas detonation exploded. Magnus was thrown back, Dean right beside him. Jules felt helpless, unable to reach them in time to prevent the eruption.
A fire burned as gas spread through the bridge, and she could only make out the form of three seven-foot Wibox soldiers as they entered the space before quickly retreating. The gas penetrated her nose, and she coughed, trying to breathe, but failed. Loweck fell in front of her, sliding from her seat, and Slate crumpled nearby.
Jules caught Malir through the fog, being dragged into the corridor by the Wibox, and then there was nothing.
____________
I was beginning to despise these Wibox.
Stoden and Ader aimed their guns at Sergo and me. At least it would be a quick death. I didn’t expect the former slaves to rush off our Kraski ship to save us again. They’d been given strict orders to hide on board until we returned.
Dean, Newei in two weeks. Ovalax! Regnig’s message burned into my mind, and I staggered at the impact. He knew I was on his trail. I needed to escape Mount Carve if Regnig had a chance.
“I think we can make a deal,” Sergo said, walking over to them. He’d activated his translator so it echoed his words in their tongue. He seemed unaffected by the massive barrels facing him.
“Is that so?” Ader asked.
“Sure. Allow me to introduce ourselves,” Sergo said with a dramatic flair. “I am Sergo of the Padlog, grandson to the Supreme, and this is Dean Parker.”
Ader chuckled. “Dean Parker. You expect me to believe this old pale man is the leader of the Alliance?”
“Next thing you’re going to tell me is you’ve had tea with the Bhlat Empress.” Stoden slapped his leg at the hilarious image.
“She’s more of a coffee woman,” I muttered.
Stoden shoved his gun at me. “What did you say?”
“Listen up. I am Dean Parker, and this is Sergo. He forgot to mention his girlfriend is the Supreme’s granddaughter,” I told them.
“Close enough,” Sergo whispered.
“I think you’ve been misled.” I pointed to the ceiling. “We just had a meeting with Fronez, and he was laughing about the grunts he’d hired to bring the Toquil in. Mentioned them having the combined IQ of a Shimmali desert flower. Or is that how your relationship works?”
Ader lowered his gun. “He said that?”
“That was the edited version. Dean didn’t want to repeat the actual conversation. Disgusting,” Sergo said, hopping on board.
“Is that so?” Stoden stomped his foot. “I’ll show that skinny-snouted science…”
“I think these Alliance scum are trying to pull a fast one,” Ader said in English.
“Does everyone have the voice modifications?” I asked Sergo, who nodded.
“Okay. Here’s the deal.” I tried to shake off the nerves and act as confident as possible. Regnig was relying on us to come through. “Fronez is flying to Newei, but he won’t fulfil his end of the bargain. When Ovalax makes the trade, Fronez is going to screw him.” I used their conversation we’d overheard in the shadows against them.
Ader grunted, shoving Stoden. “I told you he was bad news. I took your word on it.” He spoke this in the Wibox language, but the earpiece translated it.
“You’re trusting the Alliance leader over Fronez?” Stoden asked, signaling it was going to be a problem. I’d assumed his boss would be the issue.
“Gentlemen. Can we cool it?” Sergo asked, risking himself by walking between the two Wibox. He lifted his hands up. “What would convince you to let us leave? We have a meeting, and we’re already running late.” He glanced at his wrist as if he had a watch on it, which he didn’t. They didn’t seem to notice.
“You want to leave?” Stoden asked, squaring off against the Padlog.
“Sure, thanks.” Sergo backed away, and I was ready to defend myself.
“Not so fast, bug.” Ader grabbed him, hauling him off his feet. “You better have something to offer. If what you say is true, King Uvid will be extremely disappointed. Maybe if we brought Dean Parker with us, he’d be more forgiving.”
Stoden chuckled again, smiling as he strode across the room toward me.
“Enough!” I shouted. I walked up to him with a casual disregard for my own well-being. “Do you think I’d come to Mount Carve without a fleet backing me up? We have five Bhlat warships, not to mention six Motrill carriers flush full of Skimmers ready to assault this very planet. If we don’t return to our ship and give them the A-okay in ten minutes, they’ll make you wish you’d never been born.”
Stoden recoiled, and Ader let go of Sergo. The Padlog hit the ground and sprang to his feet, dusting his jacket off. The two big Wibox glanced at each other. I was close.
“Tell you what.” I took a single Inlorian bar from my jacket and stuck my hand out. “You leave before the mess happens, and take this with you for your troubles.”
Ader shoved his sidekick away and grabbed the bar from me, grinning widely. “Maybe Uvid will be content with this outcome. Come, Stoden. Leave the worms.”
Stoden shouldered Sergo on his exit, and we were free. We jogged in the other direction, not wanting to see if they changed their minds.
“Nice work, Parker. You understand the way to a criminal’s heart. Money.”
Our ship was as we left her, and Darem greeted us at the ramp. He lowered the gun and stepped aside. “Everything go okay?”
“We didn’t find Regnig, but we know where he’s heading,” I told the Keppe. “And when.”
“Wait, what?” Sergo asked. I’d forgotten he couldn’t have heard Regnig’s message.
“Regnig. He was on the departing craft from Fronez’s lab. He called to me, saying they’d be on Newei in two weeks,” I told him as I darted for the bridge. “Eretan, take her up.”
The Inlor woman nodded and lifted our Kraski ship from the ground.
“What’s the plan?” Sergo asked. “Are we flying to Newei?”
“We are. But not until we make a short detour.” I watched as we rose from Mount Carve. I had half a mind to order its destruction, ridding the universe of all these criminal organizations, but I wasn’t going to make such a decision from the seat of my pants.
I needed to learn about Ovalax, and with Regnig gone, there was only one person I knew of that might have this information.
Fourteen
Jules’ eyes burned, and her lips felt raw as she
opened and closed them. The smoke had dissipated, but everything stayed blurry.
“Is everyone okay?” It was Dean’s voice.
“What happened?” Loweck asked.
Jules wiped her face, blinking rapidly, and saw the silhouette of Magnus near the bridge entrance. She used a chair to help her up, her knees and hips protesting. Every bone in her body hurt.
“They took him,” Magnus said, barely loud enough to be heard over the alarms ringing through the bridge.
“How did they breach us?” Slate stumbled to Magnus and opened the doors, the fresh air helping.
Jules recalled something from her studies of the warships and found a console, using it to trigger the air vent system. Apparently, it was still on manual, not automatic. Another reason they shouldn’t have been out for a test flight. Outpost hadn’t passed preliminary mission status parameters.
The gas-filled air and smoke lifted from the bridge, clearing her sight almost instantly. Dean had a gash on his forehead, and blood ran over his eye. He was wiping it away and sitting in the commander’s seat.
“They’re gone,” Sergeant Raron told them. “All eight of their Runners have departed.”
“How long were we out?” Jules asked.
“Ten minutes.” Dasso’s eyes were gray instead of black, and his wasp-like fuzz was matted with dust.
Magnus slammed a palm against the wall. “How could this have happened? Outpost should be unbreachable.”
“They wanted Malir. What’s the reason?” Slate asked.
Dean steadied himself on the console. “The better question is, how are we going to tell Emperor Bastion that his son was kidnapped off our brand-new warship?”
“We need to find out what they were hinting at. The Gretiol breaking their end of the bargain. The Sect of Memories. Ovalax. It’s all so confusing. Let’s travel to Haven. Now,” Jules said.
Loweck returned to her seat, and Jules could see something was wrong. “We have subhyper, but the drive is busted. There’s no way home.”
The Survivors | Book 16 | New Lies Page 12