Nyxia Unleashed_The Nyxia Triad

by Scott Reintgen

  I can’t help chasing all the rabbits he’s putting in front of me. Erone came here willingly. He let Babel capture him on purpose. He’s been tortured—maybe for years—all for a reason. It’s the first time Babel looks like they’re a step behind. I find it refreshing.

  “What’s your name?” Erone asks.

  “Anton.”

  “Why did you free me? What do you want?”

  “Babel. I want to put an end to Babel.”

  Erone swallows a final bite of food and stumbles to his feet.

  “I get to kill Requin.”

  “We’ll flip a coin for it.”

  Erone nods. “Fair enough.”

  “We need to keep the ships intact,” I say. “My friends and I need at least one of them. We’re not with Babel, but none of us agreed to live here forever.”

  He nods again. “Do you have more of it?”

  “More of what?”

  He points at my daggers. Of course, he wants nyxia. I pull open my knapsack and hand him two pieces I swiped from the silo cargo.

  “No more than this?”

  “That’s all I can spare.”

  His hands shape what’s there. God, he’s fast. He cracks his neck and holds up a sword that’s bigger than I am. Stepping forward, he hacks through the first mechanical arm dangling down from the ceiling. It shears through, and the metal collapses with a booming crash. He stares at the mess and nods to himself. Without a word, he starts toward the door.

  “Wait,” I say. “We can’t just go storming over to the station. There are alarms, breach points, access codes. We have to have a plan.”

  Erone turns that twisted smile back to me.

  “Plan?” he asks. “My plan is simple. I will kill every single one of them.”

  Part IV

  * * *

  MAGNIA

  Chapter 34

  The Other Requin

  Emmett Atwater

  It’s difficult to say goodbye to the Sixth.

  I walk the streets outside our building with Axis before leaving. He talks about the night before like it changed his life. I don’t think he understands the reminder he’s been. The past few days have been a rallying cry to rise above what Babel wants to make me.

  We turn back through an alleyway and I actually stop dead in my tracks. The walls between the buildings are painted. Colorful advertisements reach across a strained canvas. One image is more familiar than the rest. “That looks just like Thesis.”

  Axis looks up with obvious discomfort. “The emissary?”

  I point to the spot. Thesis has been painted elegantly. His features look exaggerated to a degree, but there’s no denying that it looks just like him. The artist drew him with some kind of old-fashioned robe on. The image is framed by a repeating word that I can’t decipher.

  “What does it say?”

  It takes Axis a second to reply. “It’s an old advertisement. Thesis …” And now my guest hesitates, glancing down the alleyway like Thesis might come walking down it any second. “He was an actor once. A long time ago. This was one of his famous plays.”

  I glance back up. I guess it does kind of look like an old movie poster.

  “We should return,” Axis offers.

  Nodding, I follow him. I don’t want to call him out on the one thing that doesn’t line up about his explanation. I’m always surprised when people expect me to not notice the little details. So many lies are like badly buried bodies, just waiting for a little rain to unearth them.

  The painting on the wall was fresh. It was painted sometime in the last week or two. My mind races through the clues. Axis lied about something so small. And what’s weirder is that he did it to protect Thesis, a man who almost whipped him the day before.

  More importantly, Thesis is an actor. It’s strange. From jump, I noticed how much smaller he was than our other escorts. I guessed he was a politician, but actor makes a lot more sense. It explains the way he performs. The narration outside the city gate. The smiles he throws us before each speech.

  Outside the entrance to our makeshift hotel, Axis clasps my forearm. He thanks me, and I decide to overlook the lie, thanking him in return. I have the same on-edge feeling I always get with Babel. Like there’s something waiting ahead of us we never expected.

  Our crew is gathering inside. Other rings are waiting to see us. Hundreds of thousands of Imago people. Like last time, we’re loaded into boats and ushered out to sea. I can’t help noticing that Thesis is absent. Speaker’s assumed his role for the time being. I wonder if his slipup in the public square cost him his job. I doubt I’ll feel bad if it did.

  The nyxian roof stretches over the ship, sealing us inside, and we dive under the waiting waves. Morning takes the seat beside me and whispers, “We need to talk.”

  I glance around. Speaker’s the closest Imago, but he’s busy commanding the ship.

  “Parvin figured out the command Rahili used. It’s a simple code, repeated over and over again for some reason. It boils down to: uplink complete.”

  “Uplink to what?” I ask, frowning.

  “Our best guess was the scouters. It’s the only tech we had.”

  “And they were confiscated at the gate. Genius plan, Babel.”

  Morning shrugs. “Or they’ve uplinked it to nyxia somehow? I have no idea. That sounds too risky. The Imago have way more control over nyxia than Babel does.”

  I’ve got no answers for her. Only more questions. “Earlier I saw—it was really strange—did you know Thesis is an actor?”

  “An actor?” Morning says. “I had him pegged as a politician.”

  “Me too, but there was an advertisement up for a play or something? I have no idea.”

  Morning thinks about that for a second. Her eyes slowly widen. “Emmett. They could have chosen anyone in their society to send to us. It’s easy to see why they sent Speaker. He called himself the Daughter’s Sword. He’s a guard, one of their best. I’d be willing to bet Bally and Beckway are on par with him. But their chosen emissary is an actor?”

  “Only reason to choose an actor is if you want to put on a show.”

  She looks worried. “Exactly.”

  Another hour passes in brooding silence. We make our way through dark tunnels before linking up to another air lock. Light leaks from above. I shoulder my knapsack and follow the others up through the basement. The high of last night hasn’t fully faded: helping people and eating good food. Existence outside Babel’s reach suits us well.

  The talk with Morning echoes. I can feel something coming. The dark clouds before a storm. Our passage spills into a high-ceilinged room. It’s all smoked wood and dark cushions. I almost stumble right into Morning as she notices what I missed. The room is occupied.

  Twenty guards circle the interior. Directly opposite, two women are waiting. One is an Imago, a Daughter. Like Ashling’s, her eyes are wide set in an even wider face. She doesn’t look as graceful or queenly, but she has an intense focus to her stare. Wherever her eyes settle, it seems like holes should be burning. I startle at the sight of a hound sitting to her left. It sits with perfect stillness. Compared to the hounds I saw on the Sixth—and any dog I’ve seen back home—the thing is massive. Its coat is dusty gray with splotches of black. The Imago strokes its unmoving head with a delicate hand.

  The other woman is more shocking because she’s human. Her hair’s blond, slicked back, with the sides buzzed. She wears thick-framed glasses that glint a classic nyxian black. She sports the same tight clothes and bright colors as the Imago, but her boots look straight out of a New York boutique. It’s impossible to look at her and not see the familiar features of David Requin.

  There’s only one person she could be.

  “Remove their bags,” the Daughter orders.

  Guards close in around us. Our own ranks tighten, disorganized but together.

  “It’s a temporary precaution,” she says loudly. “Trust us.”

  All eyes turn back to Morning. She has a hand
on the grip of one hatchet. She takes a long second and decides better of it. These are our most likely allies. I guess they’re taking the initiative to begin negotiations. Morning makes a show of unshouldering her knapsack. She tosses it to the nearest guard. The rest of us follow her lead.

  Before we can move forward, the Daughter raises another hand. We all feel the stirring of power around us. My stomach turns as our nyxia starts to rise through the air. I don’t struggle, because I remember what happened to Kaya, but some of the others do. The Daughter’s power leaves them helpless. Every single piece of nyxia flings itself to the ceiling.

  Loud thunks sound as the pieces latch on like magnets.

  The Imago guard spreads around the room. Disarmed, we stare at our weapons before moving forward and taking seats. It’s impossible to feel good about what’s happening.

  When everyone settles in, the Daughter steps forward. Her voice is iron.

  “I am Feoria, ruling Daughter of Sevenset. Welcome.”

  As usual, Parvin takes on the role of spokesperson.

  “It’s an honor,” she says.

  The other woman steps forward. Her sharp voice carries to every corner of the room. We all know her name before she says it. “I am Jacquelyn Requin.”

  She has sharp eyes, an athletic frame. We all look at her like we’re seeing a ghost. Every one of us remembers the vids. She’s the little girl the Imago spared.

  Feoria doesn’t bother easing us into the conversation. Instead her first question cuts right to the bone. “Do you know why you’re here?”

  When no one answers, Jacquelyn turns and clicks something. A screen unfolds behind them. It’s the first technology I’ve seen like it in Sevenset. The images load, cycling through faces and landscapes. We see shots of Defoe, Requin, Babel marines. There are overheads of the three bases Babel has since established. Jacquelyn pauses the series on a picture of Imago people standing across from Babel on an open plain. It’s a glimpse of negotiations.

  “The Interstellar Contract,” Feoria says. “I’ll ask again: do you know why you are here?”

  “We came to mine nyxia,” Parvin answers.

  “That was one part of the treaty,” Feoria agrees. “You would be given safe passage to our city. You would be permitted to access mining deposits of nyxia during your stay. But were you told what we were to receive in return?”

  Feoria’s question chills the room. We all know Babel’s promises are dangerous things. I can feel worlds spinning in and out of existence. This moment could change everything.

  “We were told our presence here was wanted as a blessing to you.”

  “A blessing,” Feoria repeats. “To a people on the verge of extinction?”

  Parvin frowns, but has no answers to that.

  “You were promised to us,” Feoria corrects. “All of you.”

  My mind is lightning; my heart is thunder. Babel’s lies taint everything.

  “Promised how?” Parvin asks.

  “Babel believes the Imago are dying out.”

  Her words gust through the room like a cold wind. It’s a horrible thought, the idea that they might go extinct, but I have a feeling we’re about to be invited into the horror somehow.

  “You still haven’t answered the question,” Parvin notes. “Promised how?”

  “The contract promised you would help extend the existence of our people. We were told that you had agreed to come here, willingly, to participate in Jacquelyn’s fertilization program.”

  Fertilization is a word that leapfrogs to other ones. Genetics, pregnancy, babies. Parvin glances her horror back at us. Morning has to speak up on her behalf. “We were never told.”

  “So we expected,” Feoria replies. “Babel operates a certain way. They prefer to leave their own in the dark, especially when it suits their overall purposes and goals. We’ve found this to be a very valuable space in which to combat them.”

  Jazzy sits up straighter. “So wait,” she says, accent thick. “You want us to have babies?”

  “That’s not why we came.” Morning raises her voice. “That’s not Babel’s to offer and it’s not yours to take. We never agreed to anything like that.”

  “You can’t possibly expect—” Parvin starts.

  “This is wrong,” Katsu calls out. “This is so wrong.”

  “Completely messed up,” Noor agrees.

  Jacquelyn holds up a hand for silence. It takes a few seconds for the entire group to hit the pause button. Our anger is a pulsing, living thing.

  “We would never ask that of you,” Jacquelyn clarifies. “We needed to see your reaction. It’s been unclear to us how you stand with Babel. We’ve waited until now to tell you this, because we needed to be certain you would join us in the war to come. Babel signed you away without consent. They promised each of you to us forever. That was their intention.”

  Her words don’t make any sense. The Imago arranged a treaty. They invited us to their planet with a purpose in mind. But Jacquelyn is talking as if that was all …

  “A ruse,” she says. “We told Babel what they wanted to hear. We carved them a road into our capital. We’ve been waiting for them to walk down it ever since.”

  Parvin struggles to find her voice. “But what do you really want? Why are we here?”

  Jacquelyn and Feoria exchange a smile.

  The Daughter answers simply.

  “You are the Genesis. You’re here to create a new beginning for us.”

  Chapter 35

  Collision

  Emmett Atwater

  I expected the puzzle to get clearer. I wanted to understand which pieces fit where, but Jacquelyn’s revelation just took the box and shook it. None of this makes any sense.

  “Why go to all that trouble?” Morning asks. “Why bring us?”

  “You were the reasonable lie,” Jacquelyn explains. “We have successfully kept Sevenset off Babel’s radar for a long time. They don’t know our population breakdowns. It was easy to hide our women and come to Babel with a problem we knew they would be all too eager to solve. We needed children.

  “More importantly, we knew how they would handle the issue. We expected lies and deception. Babel delivered both. We assumed the group they sent would desire an alliance. We also assumed Babel would bring more of their ships across space if we gave them a new window of opportunity. We were correct on both counts.”

  I find myself nodding along with the explanation. All this time I’ve feared how far ahead of us Babel could plan, how extensive their reach seemed. But the Imago clearly won’t be outdueled on that front. They have a far better read on Babel than Babel does on them.

  “So your population, your women …” Morning looks lost.

  “Both have been at normal rates for decades,” Jacquelyn says. “There’s no shortage, no need for you to provide more children. Thesis and the other emissaries have done a brilliant job selling the story. We assume Babel’s been watching the entire time. It was our way of luring them closer.”

  That explains Jerricho’s presence outside the gates. And the woman I saw in the crowds of the Sixth. There’s no shortage of women; they’ve just kept them out of sight. It also explains having Thesis as their emissary. Hire an actor to make sure the show leads the audience in the right direction. He was chosen as much for Babel’s eyes as for ours.

  The clues lead to one conclusion.

  “There must be something else threatening you,” I say.

  Feoria offers me a look of approval. “Show them, Jacquelyn.”

  With another click, images load on the screen behind her. Statistical data, star charts. We’re all eyeing the bright screen when Jacquelyn presses her thumb to an icon in the corner. A video widens until it fills the whole screen. It’s like something out of an astronomy class.

  “You’ve seen our moons,” she says. “Glacius and Magness.”

  The screen shows them revolving in their separate orbits. It follows their paths, dancing in and out, as the entire planet rota
tes on an axis. Parvin’s the first one to see where this is going. Her response isn’t elegant, but it hammers the point home just fine.

  “Shit.”

  I translate that for her. “A collision.”

  We watch the orbits strangle one another. The two moons dance too close, and there’s an inevitable crash. The simulation shows the probable debris. Massive chunks escape out into space, but even larger pieces find their way into the atmosphere. The simulation stops there, but words like cataclysm and apocalypse and extinction come to mind.

  Jacquelyn says what we can’t. “Our world is coming to an end.”

  It’s like someone keeps pressing a defibrillator to our chests and lighting us up with electricity, not realizing the shocks to our system are already too much to handle.

  Morning asks the million-dollar question. “How long have you known?”

  “It was discovered six years ago. Every historical record in our archives mentions a world with two moons. The references can even be found in the oldest poems. Our scientists believe they have orbited for millennia. According to my—to Erone, a two-moon system can survive for a very long time, but the moons statistically have to collide at some point. We just happen to be the generation who will see the inevitable come to pass.”

  Erone. That name again. It’s so distracting that I almost miss the anger in Morning’s expression. “Six years. So you invited us here even though you knew this was going to happen.”

  Jacquelyn and Feoria look away for the first time. This must have been the one potential flaw in their plan. An understanding that they’ve done the same thing that Babel did. The Imago saw an opportunity and took it. They willingly invited us into danger so that they could attach themselves to us. We are the genesis, whether we want to be or not.

  I file it right where it belongs: U for Unforgivable.

  “And you call people like Jerricho slings?” I ask. “How are you any different?”

  Feoria shakes her head. “A sling works for himself. We work for all of our people. Do you think everyone in this room will survive what’s coming? I made these decisions for my people knowing I would die beneath the only two moons I have ever known.”