Fatal Accord

by Trevor Scott

  “That’s why I was late. I was able to warn the Dinari in the spire to get out by sending a signal from our ship.”

  “What about the Ansarans?”

  “They’ll be guarding weapons depots and the hangars. This is Vidu’s spire and my intel says he’ll be out for a short time. He never leaves. We won’t get this opportunity again. With any luck, the Ansarans will be spread thin.”

  Ju-Long set another charge and asked, “And if we’re unlucky?”

  “You’re always looking for a fight, aren’t you?”

  Ju-Long smiled and picked up his pace. Sometimes Astrid wondered how he had such boundless energy. They’d been climbing for what seemed an awful long time and he wasn’t showing any signs of fatigue. In fact, the thought of a good fight seemed to energize him, keeping him engaged on their mission. It inspired her to see someone so focused. Ansaran men who’d been handed everything in life bored her.

  Astrid looked out a window as they passed. She was having trouble making out the features on the ground now. Everything looked to be one big blur, the sand dashing any hope of determining their altitude. Surely they were approaching the top. The muscles in her legs burned and she tightened her grip on Nix’s bag to change focus, her leather gloves making a distinctive creaking noise.

  Nix set the last charge at the base of a pillar and stood back to admire his work. His smug face was hard to look at, but Astrid swallowed her pride and smiled back pleasantly.

  “What now?” she asked.

  “Now we get out of here while our luck holds.”

  “We’re not going down all of those stairs, are we?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Nix berated her. “We have a ride.”

  Nix continued up the staircase and approached a dead end, a rock wall blocking their path. It looked thick like it was a part of the very stone that supported the structure. Neither Ju-Long nor Nix appeared surprised or disturbed. If she wasn’t so winded, she might have voiced her concern. Instead, Astrid’s hands found their way to her hips and she sucked in the stale air in big gusts, letting it out just as quickly.

  The Dinari wasn’t sweating but his tongue hung from his mouth, dripping in a clear froth. Whatever made that trait desirable to pass on rather than sweat glands Astrid would never know. Despite her feelings about her own species’ habits in genetic meddling, at least they’d gotten that bit right.

  Nix placed the palm of his scaly hand against the stone, running it along the surface until his fingers grazed a small notch, imperceptible unless one knew where it was. With a single claw he pushed it in and the stone slowly retreated toward the center of the spire.

  Nix drew his Ansaran laser pistol and held it out in front of him. “Whatever happens, keep moving toward the main chamber.”

  Ju-Long retrieved his crescent-shaped Dinari energy weapon and Astrid followed suit. She gripped the handle of her pistol tight, her heart pumping and thumping faster than ever.

  •

  Toras spun in a slow circle, making eye contact with each member of the Ansaran High Council and rendering a slight bow of the head, as was customary. When he finished the greeting ritual, his gaze fell on Chancellor Nala, a rather effeminate man whose demeanor could flip with little effort. One moment he was on your side, the next you’d wonder if he was ever truly so. He was the smallest of the council members, a whole head shorter than Toras, but his projection was magnified to make him appear much larger than life.

  Chancellor Nala cleared his throat and lowered his gaze on Toras. The Caretaker knelt down on one knee, his tattered cape brushing against the stone floor. Toras hated this part. Even before he was the Caretaker, he despised acting in deference to anyone. The members of the proud House Zumora were saddled with his same aversion to submissiveness. There was a time when House Zumora had almost overtaken House Ansara, but that was long before the war. Now his house was of a much lower station and every account of the events that led to their demise varied. Still, there were stories told to him as a child that filled his head with pride to that very day.

  His father used to tell him and his cousin Ryle about Sylas Zumora, General of the Ansaran Fleet during the darkest years of the war. It was Sylas that led the assault against the Corsairs; Sylas that led his people to safety. Not a member of House Ansara. And yet they took the credit. Toras feared he too would be cast aside like the rest of his family. He’d gained too much power.

  “Your calling is unexpected,” Toras began hesitantly. “How may I assist you?”

  “Toras of House Zumora. You have served honorably in the place of Ragnar during these times of strife. For that, this Council recognizes you.”

  Toras lowered his eyes and replied, “Thank you, Chancellor.”

  “The Kurazon push closer to Ansara every day, and we must ensure every colony remains secure to repel the threat.”

  Toras nodded silently. He didn’t like where this was going.

  “However,” Chancellor Nala said, his high-pitched voice taking on a cutting tone.

  Toras’ eyes moved up the purple hologram of the oversized man, landing on his inscrutable face.

  Chancellor Nala continued, “A more suitable match for the position of Caretaker has drawn our attention. Akaru Colony is on the verge of crumbling and it needs a hand much firmer than yours.”

  There was a scream in the hallway outside, muffled by the thick chamber doors. Toras felt his mouth go dry. He turned to his cousin Ryle, who nodded and drew his weapon, striding confidently toward the entrance. The double-doors burst open and half a dozen crimson lasers lit up the room. Ryle could only fire once before being pierced by multiple beams. Toras watched him fall to his knees, blood trailing down his sandy armor. His gaunt face contorted in pain before he let out one final, bloody cough and collapsed onto his side.

  Toras pounded his hands on the stone floor, rage filling his voice as he screamed. Six Ansarans, his former Guard, surrounded him with their weapons drawn, daring him to move. He heard loud footsteps click and clack outside the door, moving slowly but purposefully. Around the corner ambled Vidu, his head of security.

  When Vidu drew close he said casually, “It seems being head of security is a better stepping stone than either of us expected.”

  Chancellor Nala’s hologram turned to regard Vidu. “I trust the arrangements are in order?”

  Vidu dropped to one knee and replied, “Yes, Chancellor. The transition was as smooth as expected.”

  “Good, see that Toras is shown a cell suitable for his station.”

  “As you command.”

  The guards approached Toras from all sides. He didn’t resist. Power drained from his fists and his arms hung loosely at his sides. What was the point? Without the Council’s blessing, even if he could regain control, his power would be fiat. Akaru Colony would become a target of the Alliance and they would stop receiving aid. A true Caretaker puts the needs of his people first.

  The guards helped him onto his feet and bound his hands together with a wire that snapped around his wrists magnetically. He felt the metal grind into his wrists as the magnetic field grew in its cyclic power. Toras knew from his time in security that if he tried to remove the wire he would be electrocuted. However, he never thought he’d see the day when he himself would be in such a bind.

  They walked him toward Vidu and stopped so they were only a few feet apart from one another. Vidu’s large black eyes searched Toras’ expression. He puffed out his chest, his dazzling white armor almost as reflective as the resplendent chain which connected his shoulder guards. His once pristine white cape had become touched by sand, a fact that did not escape Toras.

  “Are you not surprised?” Vidu asked in his haughty voice.

  Toras regarded the new Caretaker and then turned to the looming figure of Chancellor Nala.

  “I’m never surprised by the lengths to which House Ansara will go in order to retain their power. No matter how foolish.”

  Vidu backhanded him with his spiked white glove
, drawing blood at Toras’ lip, though the proud former Caretaker did not budge from his position.

  “Do not speak ill of your superiors.”

  Toras spat out a glob of blood and replied, “I’m a man of honor. I never would.”

  Vidu wound up to hit him again but stopped. The spire began to sway under their feet. Out the large bay window Toras could see explosions at the base of the adjacent spire, traveling quickly up from the base.

  Chancellor Nala demanded, “What is it? What do you see?”

  “The Sector Eight spire is under attack.”

  Toras didn’t stifle his resounding laugh. Vidu ignored him and ran to the window, gazing out into the sandy mess below. Toras’ stomach turned. He wanted to be sure that no Ansarans had been killed in the blasts, but he found himself laughing even harder regardless, his crazed cackle the only sound which echoed throughout the bewildered chamber.

  24

  Astrid struggled to maintain balance as the blasts began to rise up the spire, making the stone floor crack and splinter. She fired a few more laser blasts at the two remaining Ansarans hiding behind one of the pillars, missing her mark. The bodies of almost a dozen Ansarans were strewn about the main chamber. Their assault had caught them completely off guard. Nix had just triggered the charges and was now fumbling with a circular device in his hand.

  “Where’s that ride you were talking about?” Astrid called to him.

  “Just a few more seconds.”

  Ju-Long fired a shot at a pillar, sending a large chunk flying off. A single crack began to form along it vertically. The floor shook as he fired again, the laser flying off past its mark and shattering the bay window on the opposite side of the room. Sand swirled into the main chamber in large gusts, the maelstrom’s rage palpable.

  The two remaining Ansaran guards tried to make for the door but Ju-Long and Astrid’s lasers found them first. It was a more merciful death than being crushed by rock, Astrid thought. The floor’s violent shaking intensified and Astrid struggled to make it over to her Dinari crewmate several feet away.

  “How long?”

  “Now,” he yelled.

  Astrid’s eyes widened as she gazed out the window. A shadow approached through the wall of sand. It was closing fast and it didn’t seem to be slowing down. Nix used the metallic control in his hand to force the ship into the remaining bay of windows, its curved underside shattering the glass in all directions. Shards swirled around in an unpredictable cyclone. Astrid covered her face with her arms, her cloak taking the brunt of the flying glass. Still, a few pieces managed to make it through her thick garment and graze her scaled skin. She winced and gritted her teeth, trying not to focus on the wounds.

  Nix’s ship had the appearance of a squat beetle on the bottom, with a nose that came to a menacing point. Its copper color blended in with the wall of sand behind it. A pair of metallic wings were folded back, ready to open at a moment’s notice. The hodgepodge of repair pieces that were welded onto the frame reminded Astrid of The Long War, where every ship was used and reused long after it should have been retired.

  The ship’s ramp clanked down on the marble floor and Nix yelled over the ruckus, “Go!”

  Ju-Long was the closest to the ramp and climbed aboard, hugging the metal piston at the bottom of the platform and holding out his hand for Astrid to grab hold. She could see the building move and quake independently of the ship and grew woozy. Nix pushed her forward and she found her legs, struggling to the ramp. The rushing sand pelted her exposed face as Ju-Long helped her up into the bowels of the ship. At the top of the ramp, Nix hit a red button to his left and the ramp’s pistons went to work, closing the hatch and leaving an inch of sand in the hold for several feet in every direction. The grains began sifting down into the cracks of the grated floor plates, with thin lines of sand mounded atop the lattices.

  Nix yelled throughout the cargo bay, “Get us out of here!”

  Along the walls and ceiling Astrid saw channels of purple energy flow toward the engine room. Without further warning, the ship shot forward. Astrid locked her fingers into the floor grates and held on as her body slipped on the layer of shifting sand. Nix couldn’t keep his balance and fell into a side wall as the ship turned sharply. Ju-Long held onto Astrid’s hand, fighting to remain by her side.

  Over the noise of the engines, Astrid could hear the collapsing rock behind them. The way they’d set the charges, the spire should have crumbled in on itself, imploding down into a pile of stone and glass and metal. She imagined the sand swallowing the flames and pulverizing the remaining bits. If only she could have seen it with her own eyes. Her heart pumped with exhilaration. She’d never done anything so reckless before.

  The ship rose up above the sandstorm and spread its wings, slowing to a glide and pulling back power from the engines. The relative calm was enough for Astrid and the others to collect themselves. Nix brushed a swath of sand off his brown cloak and dabbed gingerly at a cut on his forehead, examining his bloody fingers.

  Astrid stood and coughed up sand from her mouth, pulling off a leather glove and shaking it out, using her finger to wipe grains from her gritty tongue. Now that they were out of danger, something occurred to her.

  She asked the Dinari, “Nix, who’s driving the ship?”

  Nix looked first to Ju-Long, who was still picking himself up off the floor, and then to her. The Dinari still seemed skeptical of her, even though she’d just helped blow up an Ansaran Spire. Old prejudices were the hardest to break.

  Nix sighed and relented, “Given everything that’s happened, maybe it is time you knew the truth.”

  25

  The ship rocked to the left, throwing Nix and the others off kilter. At first, Nix thought it was a sudden blast of turbulence, but the dull sound of an explosion outside the ship quickly made him think otherwise. Astrid and Ju-long held onto one another, planting their feet to maintain balance.

  “That wasn’t the sandstorm, was it?” Astrid asked rhetorically. “Who’s flying this thing?”

  “No one,” Nix said, passing her in a sprint toward the cockpit around the curving corridor along the starboard half of the ship. “No person, anyway.”

  The control room was abuzz with flashing red and yellow warning lights. The great bowed window that curved around the front of the cockpit was awash with particles of coarse sand, pugnaciously pelting the glass in a vociferous display. Nix took the pilot’s seat at the front and to the right, a cracked leather seat with a headrest that didn’t match the rest of the chair or the many rustic dials and switches on the console. Nix had made several modifications since their last exploits on the planet Narra and beyond. He slipped his arm through a copper ring, grabbing the handle which was suspended beyond, controlling the ship through the gyrations of his wrist, or perhaps simply his intent, he was never sure which.

  Astrid and Ju-Long filed in after Nix had already taken the controls away from the ship. The Ansaran nearly stumbled over the fifth seat which had been added behind the four established workstations. Nix felt the awkwardness in the room and decided to remain silent.

  “What’s this?” she asked Nix, curiously feeling the scaled leather of the Arondak Lizard, newly sewn onto the frame of The Garuda’s newest addition.

  “Nice,” Ju-Long exclaimed.

  “Don’t mention it.”

  Astrid approached him and placed a warm hand on his shoulder. Nix looked up out of the corner of his globular eyes at the Ansaran’s beaming blue face. In the relative darkness created by the swirling squall, her blue and green eyes glowed with some sort of repressed fervor. He wished she wouldn’t look at him that way. The pit of his stomach suddenly felt hollow and his mind flashed to his time in the spires. To the time he saw the Heiress, Astrid’s homicidal sister. Those eyes haunted him.

  “You didn’t have to,” Astrid said.

  The maelstrom outside the long window lit up with Ansaran laser blasts, reflecting brilliantly off the wall of sand. Nix did his best to
look ahead, avoiding her glowing gaze. Whether she knew it or not, there was a certain power there he couldn’t explain. It felt different than The Heiress, but no less frightening.

  “Really,” Nix said in a serious tone, “Don’t mention it.”

  The underside of the ship took a grazing blow from one of the laser blasts, forcing the crew to brace against the sudden shift in trajectory.

  “Strap in,” Nix commanded.

  Astrid and Ju-Long complied without question, finding the nearest seats and pulling the shoulder straps around them, clicking them together over their chests. Once Nix was satisfied, they were secure, he banked hard to the right until they were headed directly into the storm. The cockpit was alive with the sound of the pelting grit, the din assaulting Nix’s senses.

  Nix couldn’t pinpoint the source of the blasts, occasional flashes of light still penetrating the sand as though the Ansarans were fumbling for them desperately in darkness. Eventually, Nix thought, one of those beams might find its mark. The copper loop tightened around his arm until it was snug. Nix could feel his connection with the ship growing, the familiar motions of The Garuda occurring milliseconds before his muscles had voiced their intent. It was as though he and the ship were old friends who’d picked up right where they’d left off at some point in the past. Though it had only been months since he’d flown her, the beast was wild and sometimes forgot what it truly was, an amalgamation of soul and steel.

  Nix pulled up on the controls and the ship instantly reacted, the rushing sand cascading off the ship’s underbelly. They continued to climb until the sand began to thin out and he could see the yellowed sky once more. The sound of the storm began to die down, leaving Nix with the hum of the engines and the slow procession of purple Aether flowing overhead.

  “Almost too easy,” Nix stated with a smirk curling up his right cheek.

  “Did we lose them?” Astrid asked.

  An explosion rocked the ship and Nix’s console went dead. Nix felt his body yank against his straps and his neck pop with the sudden force. The ship began to lean to the left, the port engine blown by a direct hit. The cockpit was silent but for the flow of the storm outside the curving bay window and the crawl of the Aether overhead, the purple energy wavering. If not for the growing darkness and the feeling of his insides crawling up his throat, it would have been hard for Nix to tell through the wall of sand that they were losing altitude.