by Trevor Scott
“Hold on,” Nix told the others, cutting the power to the console and running through the ignition sequence to reboot the system.
A grumble from deep within the ship startled him. Over the years, The Garuda had made a number of interesting noises. From the random creaks to the phantom drips, the ship had its problems. However, Nix had never heard that sound before. It was guttural, primal even. The energy which flowed overhead sped from a relative crawl to a gushing flood of the bright purple substance.
“What’s happening?” Astrid asked, fingers grasping at her chair’s armrests.
Ju-Long turned to Nix and asked, concerned, “It’s her, isn’t it?”
Astrid was in full panic mode. “Who? Nix, what’s going on? Why won’t the console come back?”
The ship started to descend at a steeper angle, laser blasts continuing to light up the storm around them. At least, Nix thought, it had been a lucky strike. The Ansarans still couldn’t see them through the storm. Not yet, anyway.
Nix’s eyes traveled up the length of the channel of energy. The gushing flow of the plasma-like energy persisted. That was it. She was too far gone. Nix pulled his arm out of the copper rung.
“It’s no use,” Nix told the crew. “The Garuda has us now.”
The groan that emanated up through the grated metal floors turned into a mechanical roar, the cry of an ancient beast that had finally tasted freedom. Every light in the cockpit flashed and went haywire, languages foreign even to Nix scrolling through the many screens. An orange hologram of the planet projected up and out of the console, spinning at an impossible rate.
“Get the controls back!” Ju-Long cried.
He didn’t understand. He could never understand.
“I can’t,” Nix admitted. He hated the feeling of not being in control. It reminded him just how dangerous the Corsairs were. At the very least, they were a double-edged sword. They held massive power that was devastating when directed toward an enemy, but in their core, they were still wild. Some beasts could never be fully tamed. He continued, “We’re all just passengers, now.”
“How can that be?” Astrid asked, her expression a mix of disbelief and fear. To herself she said, “This isn’t happening.”
Astrid continued to echo her last statement under her breath, as though somehow saying it out loud would make it true. Nix remembered his first reaction when he found out just what the ship really was. It had taken weeks to fully accept. How does someone accept that the stories they heard as a child were all true? The only way Nix knew was time.
Nix told Astrid, “It can, and it is. All we can do now is trust her instincts.”
Nix felt the port engine fire and the added thrust pushed him back against his seat. Maybe it was the wiring, or the very nature of the steel, but the beast felt pain. It felt a great many things. Over the years Nix had seen his fair share of her capabilities. Right then, he knew without a doubt. The Garuda was furious.
“How can you be so cavalier about it?” Astrid asked. “Has this happened before?”
Nix watched the controls move on their own as the ship banked to the left and opened fire into the sand, lighting it up with thousands of blue pellets. In the distance an explosion shined through the dust. It had finished the first of its prey in mere seconds.
“Not exactly,” Nix said. “But, when you fly around in the belly of a ship inhabited by the soul of a beast of legend, your notion of what is and isn’t possible kind of goes out the window.”
Realization finally came over Astrid’s face. “Wait, you mean to tell me this piece of crap is a Corsair?”
The ship let out a growling noise and the control handle turned hard, forcing the ship into a continuous barrel-roll.
“She didn’t know!” Nix yelled over the noises of the ship.
The Garuda came out of the roll at a steep starboard angle, forcing itself through the wall of sand and opening fire once more into the wall of obscurity.
Nix turned and looked over his shoulder, berating Astrid, “Please, don’t call her ‘it,’ she doesn’t like that.”
Astrid scoffed, “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.”
A second explosion lit up the storm with a flurry of orange flames. The Garuda had found its second victim. Nix stroked the console with his scaly hands, moving gently over the surface in a rhythmic fashion. Though there’d never be any way to really know for sure, Nix liked to think she enjoyed it.
Ju-Long peered at Astrid over his shoulder and commented, “A living ship, souls of legendary beasts; give it a while, you’ll get used to the idea.”
26
Elder Bartle used his cane to support his frail body as he made his way up the last few steps. The Sand’s Edge was never a place for elders, but duty called no matter the circumstance. He had been called a healer, a medicine man, a witch doctor and a charlatan in his lengthy span of years, but most Dinari still revered him for the part he played in the demise of the Phage. A part so small Elder Bartle had forgotten the details in his old age. Perhaps, more likely, he did not want to remember. No one should be forced to remember such things.
He turned the door handle and entered Liam’s room. Sand whipped by the window on the other side of the wall of plastic. Though the storm was not traveling in the direction of Liam’s window, sand still poured through the gap, sprinkling down to the floor. The man in the Death Shroud had a thin layer of the coarse grains lodged in every nook. He reminded the elder of the countless bodies that had been forgotten, covered by sand, never to be seen again. Those were dark times.
Elder Bartle calmly pushed his way through the slit in the plastic and used a roughly hewn blanket to block off most of the window. He leaned his cane against the clay wall and, with great effort, knelt beside the still man. Elder Bartle used his clawed hand to wipe some of the sand off his garments and the crevices of his strange ears. A set of brilliant blue eyes turned to him, visibly frightened behind the horrid shroud.
“I can’t move,” Liam said. “My muscles—”
“A side effect. It will pass.”
Elder Bartle moved into a sitting position and leaned back against the wall. He could feel grains of sand still sprinkling down from the window above, grazing his neck and plinking off his rough skin. There was something comforting about the desert that Elder Bartle couldn’t put his claw on. He hadn’t left Akaru Colony since the remnants of the Dinari Resistance were routed. He was in a unique position. The Ansarans let him live to prevent a renewed conflict, but their eyes had never left him even countless decades later. The elder was a prisoner, but his chains were invisible. He supposed they were all prisoners there.
“This might pinch a bit.”
The elder reached into his cloak and retrieved a glass syringe, filled with a green liquid of an unnatural shade. He jabbed the needle into Liam’s shoulder and depressed the plunger, filling him with every drop. Liam protested, but didn’t move. When the liquid was gone, he pulled out the needle and placed the syringe off to the side. No matter what happened now, he’d done all he could.
“This is the final phase.”
He began to wipe Liam’s forehead with the dry cloth that lay by his side, brushing away the grit. Paralysis was not usually a good sign. It meant his body was rejecting the medicine. One way or another, by morning it would be over. The elder only hoped he wouldn’t see the other symptoms. It was impossible to tell how the Phage would transmogrify itself in a human. The human’s eyes had not begun to bleed, nor was his skin covered in grotesque lesions. Strange.
Elder Bartle put down the cloth and leaned his head against the clay wall, looking up toward the ceiling.
“Do you know the story of the Corsairs?”
Liam shifted his eyes away hurriedly. The elder smiled to himself. Even outsiders now knew the tales. He supposed that was a good thing. The more people who knew the stories the better. No amount of brainwashing and reeducation would diminish the truth for those willing to listen.
“I’ve
heard things,” Liam finally relented.
“I used to think about the story in all its various forms when I was younger. At its core it’s a story about hope, even when hoping seems futile.”
Liam remained silent, breathing in slow and shallow breaths and exhaling through his nose. Elder Bartle liked to think the Corsairs would never really be gone, so long as they lived on in the stories of his people. It was a fanciful notion. Sometimes hope really was lost. Still, the elder knew the power of hope in the process of healing. Even if he didn’t believe it, Elder Bartle had put on a brave face for countless patients.
He continued, “There is a version I like. It is a dirge, a sad song. Still, if you truly listen to the words, hope remains.”
Elder Bartle cleared his throat. The storm continued to rage in the background as he began to sing in a voice deeper than his normal register.
One thousand years
All must bear burdens
Taken from their beds
All bear their burdens
The Corsairs ride
The Beasts will fly
Aether sings tonight
The Aether sings
Four dozen fell
Two lost by time itself
Two lost by time
The Beasts of myth cry tears of souls
Lost by the dark in-between
Corsairs live to kill their foes
Dinari rising free
This war won’t end
This message send
One thousand years
One thousand more
One thousand more…
Elder Bartle’s globe-like eyes welled up with tears. The Ansarans had forbidden the song from being sung or written down. Only a few still remembered it.
“Elder, what really happened to the Corsairs?” Liam asked.
That was a complicated question and not one easily answered. Elder Bartle supposed it would depend on who was doing the asking. Could he trust this foreigner? Nix seemed to think so.
“I expect no one knows for sure. There are many who wish to cover up the fact that there ever was a war. But the scars left by the War of a Thousand Years are not so easily scrubbed away. You of all people must know that.”
“What do you mean?” Liam asked, eyes returning to the elder.
Elder Bartle smiled. “I am nobody’s fool, boy. Whether you’re in Zega’s hand or working with that new Caretaker, Toras, it matters not. You’ve seen the tension, haven’t you? War is coming, the people say. Nay, the Long War never ended. Not really. Wise men know this.”
Elder Bartle reached for the thin blade attached to his hip. He was in no hurry as he leaned in and pressed the cold metal against Liam’s exposed throat. His heart raced. Memories of the Long War came rushing back to him. A large part of him yearned for those days. It was easier back then. Kill the Ansarans. Kill the Kurazon. Save the Dinari.
But what of Humans?
“What are you doing?” Liam stammered, unable to move his lifeless limbs.
“Liam Kidd,” Elder Bartle began, his voice serene, “Zega says you’ve served him well, even killed a Kurazon Lord in your short time here. There are rumors, though. Dark words that few speak ill of the band of Outsiders in our midst. Tell me, whose side are you really on?”
“No one’s side. We just want to go home.”
“Dangerous is the man who would cast aside three species for the sake of three humans. Tell me I’m wrong.”
“Zega planned the relationship with Toras; Vidu too.”
“So, Zega is your master.”
“No! Zega is filth; a means to an end.”
Interesting, Elder Bartle thought. Maybe there was more to this outsider than he thought.
“What end?”
Liam hesitated before finally relenting.
“The revolution,” he whispered.
Elder Bartle backed the blade off a few inches, considering the human’s words.
“I thought you weren’t on a side.”
“The Ansarans have no interest in letting us return to our system and the Kurazon are out to kill us.”
“Why not fight with the Dinari?”
“And waste this opportunity?” Liam asked incredulously.
Elder Bartle backed away ever farther and asked, “What opportunity?”
“Until we choose a side, my crew and I are seen as neutral parties; a situation that evades any Dinari.”
The aging Dinari nodded and returned his knife to its sheath at his belt.
“You said you want to get home. How long before the Ansarans or the Kurazon use one of the Three to reach your system?”
“Do you mean the Quantum Trigger?”
“The device that brought you here is only the beginning. There are stories, too young to be legends but potent nevertheless. The strange powers held within the Three are known only to a few. If you survive your ordeal and earn my trust, you just might learn a thing or two. Until then, rest. This night may well be your last.”
27
Saturn put her shoulder into the back entrance of The Sand’s Edge bar, forcing her way through the door and fighting the squall. The rough wooden door slammed against clay wall on the other side and she had to struggle once again to close it behind her. For a moment she rested her back against the door, heaving and removing the beige wrappings that covered her face and letting them drop to the floor.
Her favor was complete, regardless of the outcome, and now she had more important things to do. She thought of Liam, fighting the Phage with all of his strength. Saturn couldn’t imagine dying in such a way. Martian women were a hearty breed. They had to be. Even after many decades of Terraforming efforts, the planet was not much more hospitable to human life than it was before. It would take centuries to complete the process. Her people had created a culture over the first few generations that valued grit above all else. She didn’t want to believe that some sickness was powerful enough to take Liam out. Even if he wasn’t a Martian, he’d held his own pretty well so far.
Saturn remembered Sestra and her vow to the council. Maybe she was part Martian too, she mused. The Dinari had left quickly after the meeting. She’d left her shop unprotected and sandstorms brought out the worst in people, regardless of species. Saturn couldn’t really blame her. Martians also protected what was theirs.
Saturn made her way into the main part of the bar. Elder Bartle was sitting gingerly on a roughly carved chair at the center of the room, only a few globes hovering near the ceiling to light the entire bar area. He bore a contemplative expression on his broken leather face.
When he saw her approaching, the elder asked kindly, “How fares the council?”
“Are they always so crass?”
Elder Bartle let out a small chortle. She was glad someone else saw it too, and a man at that. Saturn had seen a lot of places in the galaxy and met a lot of people, but few were as unevolved.
The elder smiled and said with a nod, “Always.”
Saturn came around the table and placed her hands on the back of a nearby chair. She liked Elder Bartle. He was one of those old men who might have gotten away with saying just about anything. Still, it seemed that he would hardly get on the bad side of anybody.
The elder fiddled with a squat blade, smearing a subtle yellow mash onto a piece of bread. He had the faintest smile as he brought it up to his mouth and took a bite. A distant smell filled her nostrils. She got the sense that the mash was somehow medicinal as even the understated odor made her scrunch her nose.
“How’s Liam?”
Elder Bartle finished chewing and turned serious, placing the rest of his bread on the table.
“We’ll know more by morning. He’s resting now. Please don’t disturb him, sleep may be his best chance.”
Saturn nodded, feeling herself deflate a little. She hated situations she couldn’t control. Her gaze shifted to the edge of the bar, where a bottle of golden liquid rested. She turned back to the elder.
“Drink?”
>
Elder Bartle nodded. “Given the circumstances, a drink seems appropriate.”
Saturn reached behind the bar for two short glasses and snatched the bottle. She returned to the elder’s table and poured a small amount in each glass, sliding one to the old Dinari and taking the seat across from him. Elder Bartle raised the glass up to his mouth and took a sip, wincing at the taste.
“Tell me, did Zega get his way?”
“No,” Saturn said with the hint of a smile. “With the abundance of sand around they found it hard to keep from burying their heads in it. They don’t believe the Phage is back.”
“I see. Do you believe that will stop Zega?”
Saturn sipped at her drink, feeling the liquid burn as it descended to her empty stomach. She hadn’t considered that. When had she known Zega to let something like this stop him?
“What do you mean? You think Zega would act regardless of their ruling?”
Elder Bartle took another hesitant sip of the liquid and nodded grimly.
“Don’t underestimate him, or the will of the Dinari for that matter. You need only look at what Nix has just accomplished to see.”
“What are you talking about?”
“The spire, did you see it?”
Which one was a better question, Saturn thought. There were dozens in the colony. Had something happened to one of them?
“I couldn’t see more than ten feet in front of me outside. What’s happened?”
“The generator is dead. A spire has fallen. When the dust settles and the storm has passed, we will see what this means for the Dinari.”