The Emerald Duellist (Five Empires Book 2)

by Steven J Shelley

  “I don’t think so,” Ajon said with a sad smile, as if coming to Tranda was the last good decision he’d ever made.

  “I owe you an apology,” he said. “Instead of venting my spleen I should’ve attended to the bad news I’ve been carrying all day.”

  His eyes darted to Verity.

  “We held your father for a short time,” Ajon said. “He’d been taking fission on Bita VI. We failed to rehabilitate his mind, I’m afraid. He’d done too much damage to it.”

  Jake felt his chest constrict. He pictured his father in some dingy back room, injecting himself from a dirty booster pack. No one paying him any heed, no one listening to his startling tale.

  “The only recognizable sentiment he could offer was in relation to you, Jake,” Ajon said. “He said you were the only one that believed him. The only one who could see this galaxy through the coming storm.”

  Jake resisted the emotion welling within him. He glanced at Fusar, who watched on with intense interest.

  “Is he here?” he found himself asking.

  Ajon’s face clouded over and Jake felt the truth rip out his insides.

  “Our holding facility was penetrated by a Cavan ghost squad,” he said. “They took your father back to one of their warships.”

  “So they know about the Catalyst Prophecy,” Jake said, not particularly troubled by that. As long as they could get his father back.

  “They sent us a transmission six hours ago,” Ajon said. “Yashom15, to be exact. I believe you’ve met him.”

  Jake nodded. He was that slippery simian negotiator from the Cerulean garrison. A dangerous operator indeed.

  “Yashom15 killed your father during the transmission,” Ajon said. “I’m sorry, Jake. Verity. A dark day for the Le Sondre family.”

  20

  Jake’s first instinct was to look over at Verity. Sweet Jean was already laying a hand on her shoulder.

  Mandie took a step toward him but he waved her away more harshly than he intended. There was work to be done before he could allow grief to overcome him. He considered the tall, bearded cybomancer standing in the middle of the light projection. Usually so imperious and brilliant, Ajon Prime looked a defeated man. As if all the tiny planets swirling around him had conspired to bring him down. Which, in many ways, they had.

  “How can you help me?” Jake asked, determined to continue his mission, no matter the odds.

  Unexpectedly, Ajon grinned at him. For a moment he was every inch the imperious, brilliant man he’d once been. The Catalyst Prophecy was Ajon’s last chance at landing a blow against the Cava05. It didn’t really matter if he believed in it - it represented a final shred of hope. And, as Jake had discovered time and again, hope was much stronger than faith.

  “You know I pulled your friend from his med tank on Vista,” Ajon began.

  Jake nodded.

  “A fascinating man,” Ajon mused. “I’d never seen a Milkman in the flesh. Seems he has retained most of his old body, too.”

  “I saw him on Tranda,” Jake said. “We couldn’t have cleaned the monastery without him.”

  Ajon’s face clouded over. “I fear our race has been in decline for a while,” he said. “What you found at Fidelis is symptomatic of a wider malaise.”

  Jake pursed his lips. He didn’t have time for a philosophical discussion.

  “What’s the plan, Ajon?”

  “We have acquired a Cavan shuttle with live codes,” he said, frowning at Jake’s impatience. “Michael Danner is waiting for you in the hangar. Verity and Sweet Jean will accompany you. A simple ‘thank you’ would suffice. I didn’t have to come here.”

  Jake leaned in close to his once-formidable leader.

  “See you in hell, Ajon,” he murmured.

  Nodding to Mandie and Fusar, Jake headed for the drop shaft.

  “One more thing,” Ajon said, his body almost completely obscured by the galactic projection. “You might want to stop by the Archive on your way through. We have fresh intel on the current Jaj regime.”

  Jake paused - such information might be useful, particularly if Fusar was still uncertain about heading home.

  “Alright then,” he said quietly.

  “The mind is a flower, Jake.”

  Jake turned to face Ajon one last time.

  “Not ours, Prime,” he said. “Not anymore.”

  Jake felt numb as he stepped into the drop shaft. Verity and Sweet Jean hung back.

  “We’ll see you in the shuttle,” Jean said.

  But Jake was oblivious, processing his confrontation with Ajon. The situation was hopeless. What would happen to the many thousands of Nostroma who had returned to the Caravan of Light? Would Ajon submit to the Cava05 or fight? Judging from his current mood, it would be the former. Which was an incredibly bad result for the galaxy at large.

  He would be forced to go to war against his own kind should they agree to become Cavan minions. That would be a sorry chapter in the history of the Nostroma. Darkly ironic also, considering how fiercely independent his people thought they were.

  Jake was half inclined to march back to Ajon and demand that he fight, even if the odds were astronomically bad. But the moment had passed. Now he needed to focus on Fusar. To her credit, the Jaj was taking everything in her stride. She was probably still reeling from being able to walk and talk freely.

  On reflection, her resilience was remarkable, but nothing he didn’t already know about the Jaj. They may have had a reputation for being backward and somewhat provincial, but there was no doubting their toughness.

  The drop shaft pinged as they came to a halt at one of the Archive floors. This entrance was exclusively allocated to senior officials and they encountered minimal security on the way through. Jake’s heart skipped a beat as they padded across a jade walkway into the Archive’s central spindle.

  The massive, cylindrical room truly deserved its status as one of the modern wonders of the galaxy. The spindle was a circular dais that could shift up and down the cavernous space, depositing the user to his desired level of data. Countless banks of quantum intelligence caches lined the walls, each of them blinking green in the muted light.

  Every now and again an ornate artwork interrupted the ordered pattern of data. Some bore the faces of famous Nostroma, long dead. There were distinguished scholars of Aegisi, Jaj, Cavan, Irian, even human origin.

  Each looked on sternly as Jake approached the central dais. Swirls of green data enveloped him like serpents. Only he could see the menu log that opened before him - to Mandie and Fusar he would look like a shimmering mirage. Jake had only used the Archive twice before and despite the despair that gripped his heart, a tingle ran down his spine.

  “Come forward, Fusar,” he said. The Jaj stepped uncertainly into the shimmering data field. Jake showed her how to engage recent data strings, smiling reassuringly when the spindle began sliding upward. Filaments of orange light flicked between the dais and the data troves. The spindle eventually slowed to a halt and data began piling around their legs. Fresh menu logs were presented for engagement, and Jake selected items relating to recent Jaj activity.

  Reams of coded information revealed themselves, suggesting the information was highly classified. Ajon Prime had leveraged his power into allowing Fusar access to the data she needed.

  Assuming Fusar needed to be alone, Jake exited the data hut and waited with Mandie. A emerald-plated guard cruised past on a roaming levi-disc. Considering the Archive’s systems were automated, such security measures were for ceremonial purposes only. Visitors enjoyed seeing the imposing guards watching over the precious data.

  “Does she really need to do this?” Mandie asked. “We should already be on that shuttle.”

  “Absolutely it needs to happen,” Jake said. “I don’t just want Fusar in the flesh, I need her fully committed.”

  “To what?”

  Jake frowned. “I could be wrong, but I think she can fulfill her destiny by bringing her people into this war.”r />
  “You’re kidding, right?” Mandie asked. “She’s been chained in a pit for a decade. She has no family, no contacts, no royal connections.”

  “But she is a woman,” Jake said. “I have a feeling that’s increasingly important in their society.”

  Mandie looked doubtful.

  “I was hoping for a little more time,” Jake said. “You know, to -”

  “Take advantage of me?” Mandie asked.

  “Exactly,” Jake said. “To put you up against the wall, to be specific.”

  Mandie squeezed his hand. It filled him with euphoria. He still couldn’t quite believe how this relationship was progressing. Still, he’d been around long enough to know a good thing when he saw it.

  “Soon,” was all he said. “Soon.”

  “You can count on that,” she purred.

  Jake’s attention shifted to the forlorn figure emerging from a data hut that was already unpacking itself. Fusar was blinking furiously, her brow furrowed with sadness. Jake fell in alongside, unsure what to say.

  “Tell me what I need to do,” he said. “Anything, Fusar. I’m here for you.”

  The Jaj looked at the duellist, her eyes secreting a pale blue liquid.

  “Just come with me, Jake,” she said. “That’s all.”

  Jake nodded as they stepped into the drop shaft. Fusar didn’t seem ready to offer more information, and Jake didn’t want to push it.

  Mandie configured the shaft to take them directly to the main hangar. The general air of alert had escalated in the time they’d spent in the Archive. Hundreds of duellists and cybomancers hurried through the various corridors they passed. For Jake, the sight was promising - was Ajon Prime refusing to bow to the Cava05?

  The chaotic scene in the hangar bay answered that question emphatically. The floor was thick with eagle fighters, a sea of emerald green. Engineers and mechanics busily prepped the lethal machines for action. Already squadrons were launching from the catapults at the starboard force field. A cheer rose from the waiting pilots and ground staff each time the powerful catapults sent a new batch of intrepid warriors into the deep black.

  Jake was swept up in the excited throng, happy for Mandie to lead the way. The Cavan shuttle was conspicuous among the eagle fighters, its folded planes rising elegantly above the general clutter. The aft ramp lowered as they approached.

  The shuttle was a lean, svelte piece of work. It was the kind of vessel that transported high-ranking officers between warships. As such, it wasn’t much of a fighter. Still, all it had to do was fool one of the Cavan warships. If the codes were good, they would at least get a head start on their pursuers.

  Jake, Fusar and Mandie hustled through an empty stasis chamber, then the galley. Verity was flicking her way through the projected schematic of a large ship. She spoke into her wrist pad when she saw Jake.

  “Up ramp, Jean,” she said, returning to her work. Jake and the others headed through to the cockpit. Sweet Jean wasn’t alone in the nose of the craft. A familiar, blue-skinned man was watching the hangar floor intently.

  “Michael,” Jake blurted.

  The Aegisi turned. He seemed wholly unmoved by Jake’s presence.

  “You got through Fidelis Prime,” he said in a flat voice. “Impressive.”

  Some strange compulsion, grief perhaps, made Jake lean in close to his barely recognizable friend.

  “Did you die on Cerulean?” he asked. “I gotta know.”

  At first Michael seemed confused, then, much to Jake’s relief, he smiled.

  “I’m here, Jake,” he said. “And very glad to be.”

  “You’ve developed the nasty habit of savin’ my life,” Jake said dryly. “What made you come all the way to Tranda?”

  “Let’s just say we’re on the same side,” Michael said.

  “Are you in contact with the Milkmen?”

  “Ever since they got to me on the Tranquility,” Michael replied. “I don’t know what happened, Jake. I’m connected to them somehow. I met with the Brawler on Vista after I was fished out of the med tank. Don’t ask me why, but it feels right to work for them. Like I’m part of a collective. Might have something to do with the altered chemistry.”

  Michael motioned to his chest - Jake knew all too well what had happened there. The Brawler had altered the boy’s flesh before Jake’s eyes. The duellist had been sure the boy was doomed. In hindsight, the injuries were only renovations. Michael’s body had morphed into something not even he recognized or understood.

  “Can you still breathe underwater?” Jake asked, feeling a little stupid. For some reason he feared for the boy’s Aegisi heritage.

  Michael nodded, smiling. “Already tested it,” he said.

  “I’m glad,” Jake said, extending his hand. Michael ignored it and wrapped the duellist in a bear hug. Jake was flushed with overwhelming relief. The Milkmen he’d known were severe, detached characters.

  “They’re here,” Jean said from the nav console. Everyone looked out into the hangar bay. A conspicuous group of pale-skinned men were wandering through the rows of eagles.

  Milkmen - maybe a dozen of them. Jake had never seen so many in one place.

  “What’s going on?” he asked Michael.

  “The Nostroma have agreed to defend the Caravan while my brothers secure it.”

  Jake looked at Michael in disbelief. Despite the prospect of large-scale devastation and horrendous casualties, the news was strangely welcome. It was far better to fight than kneel before the Cava05. Also, Ajon had pulled one last rabbit from his hat - the Milkmen. If they could somehow secure the Caravan, the Knowledge Archive would be preserved.

  Of course, the Milkmen would have their price, but that was none of Jake’s concern. What mattered was the battle that was about to take place. Hopefully the Cavan shuttle would be able to make it through the crossfire to safety.

  The posse of Milkmen disappeared into a distant drop shaft. The strange, enigmatic humanoids were feared across the galaxy, and with good reason. The Cava05 were in for one hell of a fight.

  “Prop bulb is humming,” Jean reported to no one in particular.

  came a voice over the com.

  “Copy that, Command,” Jean said, engaging the thrusters. Verity entered the cockpit, her engineering schematic following her.

  “Cavan warship,” Jake said, recognizing the symbols.

  Verity exchanged a glance with Michael. Despite losing two family members in one day, she was carrying herself with grim fortitude. Jake saw some of his own bruised emotions mirrored in her eyes.

  “Plan B,” Michael said. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”

  21

  Jake let the matter rest as the shuttle rose into the air. No one bothered to strap themselves in as the craft cruised over the eagle ranks and cleared the purple force field. Fusar disappeared to climb into her new utility suit. Jake took a few moments to drink in the beauty of the Caravan from the rear screens. The shuttle swerved gently to avoid colliding with one of the satellite dodecahedra. Now that the huge vessel was on a war footing, the art installations and holographs had been deactivated.

  The thrum of spacecraft drew Jake’s gaze as several squadrons soared wing-to-wing to a distant melee. The Nostroma forces were engaging the bulk of the Cavan fleet on the Caravan’s port side. The shuttle wheeled to starboard, where three enemy warships had been deployed to prevent escape.

  “Turn around,” Michael said quickly. “We need to run the melee gauntlet if we want to appear legitimate.”

  Jean agreed, dipping low and looping back toward the Caravan. They passed underneath this time, keeping well clear of the eagle squadrons streaming from the hangar bay. The vibe was tense as everyone waited for an enemy hail. None came.

  “Caravan must be scrambling our signal,” Jean said.

  Jake exhaled in relief. He pictured Ajon Prime, surrounded by Milkmen, watching from his command deck. For some reason the mental image
made him sad.

  Fusar returned to the cockpit, looking a little uncomfortable in her tight-fitting new suit.

  “Straight through the melee,” Michael instructed Jean. “What these shuttles lack in offensive weaponry they make up for in shields.”

  Jean rolled the throttle and the shuttle surged with a deep hum. The dashboard suggested an optimal shield configuration as the battle loomed. The dogfight was as depressing as any Jake had witnessed. Wave after wave of eagles were being obliterated by heavy Cavan weaponry. Spitting heavy plasma fire with impunity, the seemingly indestructible cube-shaped warships moved in like hungry sharks.

  The eagles were being channeled into a cone of death, but the defenders had neither the flexibility nor the manpower to fight back. Ajon Prime was merely buying enough time for the Caravan to be saved. Already the wondrous vessel was retreating to aft. Jake thought he spotted three or four white ships before the Caravan blocked his view.

  “Do the Milkmen have fighter units?” Jake asked Michael.

  “We call them bubbles,” the Aegisi replied. “They aren’t good for much but they get us from A to B.”

  Jake didn’t doubt that for a second. The Milkmen didn’t need sophisticated flyers when they had such devastating melee abilities. He’d heard rumors that bombs could separate their bodies but there wasn’t much hard evidence. As long as the Milkmen were on his side it didn’t really matter.

  The shuttle entered the fray at full speed, cutting through the eagle throng with grim purpose. The Nostromic vessels peppered the craft with fire, unaware of the occupants. Luckily the incoming plasma was token at best - the eagles had other things to worry about. The Cavan warships closed out their long beams as the shuttle drew near. The cubes couldn’t be more than four hundred yards ahead.

  “How should I approach?” Jean asked.

  “I don’t know, fly casual,” Jake offered. Mandie raised her eyebrow.

  Jean aimed for a yawning gap between two Cavan warships. The seconds dripped by as the shuttle split the hulking vessels. The enemy seemed intent on mopping up the flailing eagle squadrons and allowed the shuttle to pass unimpeded. Jake dared to believe that they might make it through. Fusar had her head bowed, unable to watch.