The Survivors | Book 16 | New Lies

by Hystad, Nathan

  She stared, unable to comment. The high praise filled her, and she sighed it out. “Will it always be this hard?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “Because people will never stop wanting what you have. Remember, the Wibox are no different than you or me. They have their own point of view. They’re the heroes of their tales. Malir is the same, and his father the Emperor looks to have agreed on a deal with the enemy. His story is important too. The lines of good versus evil are not ours to draw,” Magnus said.

  “What about Lom of Pleva? He was vile,” she said, but remembered her vision of him as a child. Being beaten by his father. Burning up in his house when his dad wouldn’t let him escape. “And yet he was a product of his environment.”

  Magnus clenched his jaw at this. “Lom caused me and those I love a lot of pain. He may be the exception to the rule. But the people that followed him… Suma, Sergo, Walo… they didn’t know better in my timeline. They were doing what they believed was best for themselves and their homes.”

  “I guess that’s all any of us can do.” The communicator beeped, and Jules hit it.

  “Guys, we located the footage. It appears Malir wasn’t lying. We have footage of him getting lost. He doesn’t touch anything, and there’s no evidence of him altering our drives or computer systems,” Loweck said.

  “Then it’s someone else.”

  “On board?” Magnus asked.

  “Doubtful, but we should return home as soon as we can.” Jules pointed at the hyperdrive crystals. “Do you think it’s worth a scan?”

  “First, you need some sleep. Then we’ll reconvene in the morning. You’ve been up for a day.” Magnus leaned his elbows onto the desktop and rested his forehead into his palms.

  “You too. Let’s eat and check out the residences,” she suggested.

  “Fine. But you’re taking the captain’s suite.” He chuckled as they exited engineering.

  An hour later, she found herself on Deck Twelve, walking past the rest of the officers’ suites to the biggest one, in the corner. It said the word Captain, spelled in ten different languages. Despite the terrible experience they’d had with Outpost’s maiden voyage, she was sure of one thing: Jules Parker wanted to be stationed on one of the Fleet warships more than ever.

  The suite was comfortable—nowhere near as large as the one they had on Light, but that had been built to accommodate her entire family. These new warships didn’t allow children, since their primary function was battle and peacekeeping, not exploration.

  Jules slipped out of the dirty uniform and had a hot steam shower. She stayed in it until she felt like a prune, and finally turned it off. Dean was in the room next door, and he’d gone to bed three or four hours earlier. Knowing he was close put her at ease. If they weren’t so exhausted, she would have woken him and asked to stay the night, just for the comfort of having him next to her.

  Jules drifted to the bed, not even bothering to get under the blankets, and slept dreamlessly.

  Something tickled at her mind sometime later, and she sat up in a hurry, listening. It was dead silent, the kind of noiselessness she only experienced on a spaceship. Her fingers tingled, and she checked the mirror, wondering if the abilities were back. Her eyes were still dark in the dim residence.

  And then she heard the door open. Jules crossed the room, getting into her uniform, and activated the computer screen. She checked the hall cameras, finding Dasso, the young Padlog man. He glanced around the hall before jogging in the opposite direction from her room. An object hung from his grip.

  “What are you doing, Dasso?” she whispered.

  Jules spent the next ten minutes tracking his movements through the ship, until he reached Deck Fifteen. She quickly opened the ship schematics again, reminding herself what he might be doing up there, and realized it was the only location on the warship where the wormhole generator tubes entered the hull besides engineering.

  “Damn it.” Jules hurried, moving to the wall to access the lock box. It wasn’t sealed, since no one was programmed to the room, and she found a pulse rifle inside. She dashed into the hall, banging on Dean’s door. He arrived a second later, his hair disheveled.

  “Jules?” He croaked out the question.

  “Do you have a gun?”

  “Sure.” He reached by the door, picking up the pistol from a table. “What are you doing?” He peered down the corridor.

  “It’s Dasso. He’s the mole. He’s on Deck Fifteen.”

  Dean zipped up his uniform. “We should tell the others.”

  “No time.” Jules was already halfway down the hall when Dean chased after her, and he caught up when the elevator opened.

  “Are you sure it wasn’t a dream?” Dean asked, wiping sleep from his eyes.

  “I watched the wasp on the cameras. He’s sneaking around.” She was angry at so many things. The fact that they’d allowed an open number of recruits recommended by their Alliance partners took the forefront. If Dasso, a Padlog, could have waited under their noses—in her case, right under it in Squad Nine—how many others had already infiltrated the Institute?

  “You have that look on your face. I don’t like it.” The elevator arrived at the top deck, and Dean went first, aiming his pulse pistol forward. Jules rushed past him, rifle jostling in her grip as she directed to the maintenance room.

  “How do you know where he’s heading?”

  “He’s the one who sabotaged the ship in the first place. Now that we’ve fixed the generator, he’s trying to break it again.” Jules ran by various quarters. Deck Fifteen was mostly used for storage and maintenance equipment, and they stopped at the proper location. The number 15.0089 was imprinted on the door.

  “Whatever happens, we need him alive,” Jules whispered to Dean, who gave a curt nod.

  The door’s controls were closer to Dean, and he pushed on the buttons to open it. The gray slab slid, and Jules jumped inside, gun raised.

  Dasso was on a ladder, balancing precariously on the top rungs as he tried to connect a mechanism to the exposed tubes.

  “Dasso! Stop where you are!” Jules slowly approached him.

  The Padlog man buzzed, glaring at her with malice in his eyes. “One more step and this thing blows. Not only will Outpost be fried, you two will be dead.”

  Dean stepped beside her. “Right along with you.”

  “That’s the price to pay for the cause. Bless his mind,” Dasso said.

  So he was part of this group. They wanted to learn more about the organization. “Set it down, and we all get to live. Dasso, no matter what you think you’re doing for the Sect, we can figure it out together. If they’re willing to let you die for them, what kind of allies are they?”

  He appeared to consider this but sneered in response. He stretched, barely reaching the tubes, and the device clung to one of them. He smiled, cackling a laugh. Jules sighed in disbelief and tried firing at the detonator in his hand.

  Dean kicked out in front of her, knocking the tall, rolling ladder. Dasso lost his balance, tottering on the top rung before plummeting to the ground. He flailed and struck the surface head-first. The detonator flew into the air, and Jules dove, catching it. She landed beside the dead Padlog, his body contorted from the fall.

  The detonator was secure. The bomb didn’t go off.

  “At least we know who the mole was,” Dean said, helping her to her feet.

  Jules had wanted him alive, but it was clear Dasso had gone into this mission with a death wish. Sadly, the older and hardened version of Jules wasn’t surprised that he’d met his fate.

  ____________

  The Guardian that greeted us wore mustard-yellow armor, his face obscured by a black visor. He stayed silent as I told him who we’d come to visit. The Guardian unclasped a communicator and spoke into it, his words muffled.

  He returned a moment later, shaking his head. “No admittance.”

  “Can you please contact your supervisor… or whoever signs your p
aychecks, and let me speak with them?” I asked.

  “No admittance. It has been decided.” The Guardian stepped into position, blocking us from entrance out of the portal.

  “Why is it I cannot see the Collector, when I’m the one that sent him here?” I stood as confidently as I could, hoping to exude more authority than I had.

  “You hired us?”

  “Does that change anything?” I asked.

  “No admittance.”

  “Parker, I think we need to rethink our strategy,” Sergo mumbled.

  “Parker?” the Guardian asked.

  “That’s right. Sarlun was the one who sent the Collector here, but I approved it. I recall we gave you a generous payment in exchange for your services, didn’t we?” I thought I might be witnessing a fracture in his yellow armor.

  “No admittance.”

  I leaned against the wall. “Great. This is perfect. How are we ever going to find out what the hell an Ovalax is…”

  The Guardian lifted a finger. “Ovalax? Wait here.” He spoke into the contraption again and stepped aside. “Admitted.”

  “That’s more like it.” Sergo puffed his chest out, striding by the Guardian like he’d had anything to do with our entrance.

  The hall led us to a vast foyer that expanded into the open air. It was warm out: two suns in the sky, one on either side of the horizon. Neemi whispered to herself as she scanned the area. It was dry, with tufts of brown grass rising from cracked beige soil. A few buildings rose in the distance, almost camouflage with the landscape in color.

  “I hear an engine,” Sergo told me, and lo and behold, one was approaching from the town.

  “Why do you think they let us in after hearing the name Ovalax?” I asked Sergo.

  “I think we’re about to find out.” Sergo went first, greeting the incoming vessel as it landed a hundred meters away. It was rudimentary, a classic issued dropship, but when the doors opened, no soldiers emerged, just a single Guardian. His uniform was black with a mustard visor, the opposite of the one that met us at the portal. I wondered if that denoted a rank change or not.

  “You are Dean Parker?” It was a woman.

  “That’s what it says on my underwear,” I joked.

  “What?”

  “It was a joke. I’m Dean.”

  “Follow me,” she spoke in perfect English, and turned, walking onto the dropship.

  “Do we trust her?” Darem asked me.

  “For now.” I clapped him on the arm and hurried after Sergo, who’d already entered. It was stuffy on board, and we came upon another two Guardians, each with skinny weapons in their hands.

  “Don’t worry. We aren’t planning to hurt you,” I told her, and she laughed. A normal, friendly sound.

  The Traro Guardian pressed a button alongside her helmet, and the visor receded, revealing sharp yellow eyes. She unclasped the helmet, setting it on the seat behind her as the craft rose into the sky. Her skin was spotted with intricate patterns: lines, circles, triangles, and stars. It looked tattooed. “I am Ave, Captain of the Guardians. We welcome you to Traro, Dean and guests.” Her hair was bright white, cut short and parted to the side.

  “Thanks for meeting with us. We’d like to speak with the Collector,” I told her.

  She shook her head. “I’m afraid I won’t allow that. We’ve paused his essence, after constant attempts to breach our security.”

  “He’s trying to break out of prison?” Sergo asked.

  “He is, but we’re prepared for anything on Traro. This Collector will never leave our world,” Ave informed us proudly.

  “It’s imperative I talk with him. I have to ask him about…”

  “Ovalax?” she finished.

  “That’s right. Can you help us instead?” Sergo grabbed a strap as we hit a pocket of turbulence. It was clear we weren’t landing at the nearby city.

  “There isn’t much to tell. We only know what we’ve heard from a member of the Sect,” Ave said.

  “What Sect? I feel like we’re missing something.” I tried to think if I’d ever heard that name before, but came up blank.

  “The Sect of Memories. They are an old group, fanatical but influential. This member was brought to us fifty years ago from Chamis. Their leader claimed his own ancestors sacrificed their children once a century to appease their god. We later learned their god’s name was Ovalax.” Ave glanced at the two Guardians beside us. Their weapons were lowered. “It became clear the roots of this Sect ran deep. We informed some allies, but no one took the threat seriously.”

  “I can understand that. If you told a race that one of their people was possibly being sacrificed once a century, they probably would decide there were bigger fish to fry,” I told her.

  “Fish?”

  I had to stop making Earth references. “The threat wasn’t important enough to worry themselves with.”

  Ave nodded, keeping eye contact with me. “That could be true, but threats should be acted upon, regardless of how often they come around.”

  “And who is on Traro?” Sergo asked.

  “He was an advisor to the Chamis hierarchy, from a planet named Newei.”

  I almost bit my tongue as she said the planet’s name. “Newei?”

  “That’s right. Have you heard of it?” Ave seemed intrigued.

  “We have. Our Gatekeepers have accessed it and noted nothing out of the ordinary.” I caught a glimpse of surprise in her expression.

  “Then I suspect someone in your Gatekeepers wants to keep Ovalax secret,” she said.

  I couldn’t believe that. “No way. Sarlun has his finger on the pulse, and he’s not the kind to hide the Sect’s existence from us.”

  Ave smiled, her teeth short and narrow. “The lies from those closest to us always sting the most.”

  Sergo shifted on his feet, his mandibles clicking three times as they did whenever he was deep in thought.

  The ship began descending, and our new friends kept close to the exit, Othus looking petrified of the Guardians near him. Darem had to duck to keep from hitting his head on the grab bars, and Kallig stayed by my leg, watching our conversation carefully.

  I couldn’t believe that the Gatekeepers knew anything about a dangerous Sect, but tried to keep an open mind. Maybe someone in the organization was aware, but surely not Sarlun.

  The doors opened after we landed, sending a gust of hot air in. Wherever we were, it was far warmer than by the portal.

  Sweat formed on my brow the moment I stepped outside, and Othus’ pink nose began to wiggle as he shook, pieces of hair falling to the cracked ground.

  Ask the right questions, Dean. A Sect leader might not want to divulge information, but from what I’ve read, they will likely have an ego threatening to burst. Kallig’s counsel was welcomed, and I told him so.

  The building ahead of us was only two stories high, constructed of thick black metallic material. It appeared to absorb the heat of the suns, and I guessed if I touched the wall, it would burn my skin.

  Ave led us to the exterior and paused near the entrance. “This houses five of our captives. We consider these ones level six risk.”

  “What’s level six?” I asked.

  “They’ve stolen, killed people, ruined planets’ ecosystems; two are traitors to their kind.” Ave glanced at a screen, and it shot a glowing beam over her. The door clicked open.

  “How many level ones do you have?” Sergo asked, nervously looking to another building in the distance.

  “There is only a single being we deem level one,” she said softly.

  “What did they do?” Neemi asked.

  “She destroyed most of a galaxy.” Ave didn’t offer anything else. I hoped to research the prisons of Traro when my current mission was over.

  “Leave your friends.” Ave pointed to them, and then to Sergo. “That includes the Padlog.”

  “Come on, Parker. You have to let me come with you,” he complained.

  “I think she’s right. It’ll b
e better with one,” I told him.

  “What about the old good cop/bad cop routine? I know how much you love to play good cop,” Sergo said.

  “Stay with them.” Eretan smiled at me. These people had been held in cages and pens, and I didn’t want any of them to feel uneasy in this environment.

  Sergo seemed to sense my intentions and nodded. “Fine. But is there anything to drink around here?”

  Ave grinned at him. “I’ll have refreshments brought out.”

  The double metal doors opened, and Ave led me into the prison. Unlike outside, it was cool, with large floor-to-ceiling windows on the rear half of the building. The main foyer basked in daylight, making it feel comfortable and airy. “Not what I expected.”

  “Things rarely are,” she said. “You must remove your armor.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Please oblige. You cannot bring anything foreign into the prison. You won’t be permitted.” Ave pointed to a door. “Put your things in there. Use the scanner, and a uniform will arrive.”

  “Sure thing.” I entered the room, stripping off the armored suit. I stacked it on the shelving, and found the computer screen. There was a single option, and I pressed it. A light scanned me, and one minute later, a concealed hatch opened to my right. The uniform was black, and for a second, I had a fearful thought. What if Ave was deceiving me? What if they had other plans, and this was my prisoner’s uniform? The resemblance to her own attire put me at ease.

  I walked out, unarmed and feeling exposed.

  Ave waited for me across the room. “This way.”

  There was a solitary Guardian stationed in this foyer, and this surprised me too. I would have estimated one at every corner of the place. Once through the doors, we found a staircase. The stairs were the same metal material, and our boots clanged as we descended a good hundred steps to a lower level.

  A tall Guardian moved aside when he saw Ave, and we entered another corridor. Gone were the bright expansive windows. We were in an underground bunker, and from the feel of the air, it was dense and protected.