by Trevor Scott
Saturn thought a moment. The generator. Did the elder mean the source of that purple energy that sometimes encased the colony? Saturn remembered that the Dinari couldn’t bear to be outside when it was active. If it was destroyed, then…
“It’s a signal.”
Elder Bartle smiled.
“The Dinari will rise, Saturn. Do you know which side you’ll be on when they do?”
Saturn thought a moment. She used to think she would do anything for a fast ship and enough credits to last her several lifetimes over. Now, she couldn’t imagine being without her crew. Without Liam.
“I am on Liam’s side, always.”
The elder closed his bulbous eyes and nodded. He seemed pleased with her answer, as if that was all he needed to know.
28
Elder Vurn hushed the other twenty-two present council members, who’d begun branching off into their own conversations. The raging storm blew gusts of sand through the long corridor to the great chamber. The cavern seemed to suck the grains through the tunnels, but the sand still wouldn’t be able to reach them atop the elevated platform. Regardless, a storm that powerful hadn’t hit the colony directly in decades. That had the elder worried.
“Silence,” Elder Vurn commanded. “We need to focus our attention on the matter of Council Member Zega. He has already demonstrated a lack of respect for the other elders and deems his own pursuits more important than the collective whole. What is to be done with him?”
Elder Rane was looking paler than ever, his thick cloak masking what was surely a pile of ribs underneath. The elder was once far more prominent, but in his old age had become almost too frail to function. Sometimes he seemed lucid enough, but others it was clear just how much his mind was slipping. Still, it wouldn’t do well for the colony to know of his condition. He raised a single claw into the air and said, “The Phage is no more!”
Elder Vurn shook his head and said wearily, “That matter is settled Elder Rane. Would anyone else care to speak?”
Elder Loren nodded his head. He was one of the younger members of the council, well past middle age but with many good years left in him. Elder Loren spoke with conviction, “It pains me to render such a judgment on any member of the council, let alone one not present. But what choice do we have? I move that Zega be removed from this council immediately.”
“Seconded,” Elder Jul agreed. “We can’t have this kind of blatant corruption from within the council. Our authority will be questioned if we are not united in this.”
Heads nodded and aged voices mumbled their affirmations down the length of the long stone table. Elder Vurn wanted to smile but repressed the urge. He had to maintain his professionalism. He’d longed for the day when Zega would no longer be among their ranks. His election was a farce from the start. Citizens strong-armed into seeing things Zega’s way. He was a despicable man, with no respect for the laws that the council was sworn to uphold. This day would long be remembered.
“I call for a vote,” Elder Vurn announced. “Will this council remove Zega as the emissary from Sector Seven?”
Every hand raised into the air. After each elder had cast their vote, Elder Vurn raised his hand as well. “Let it be recorded in the tomes of our people that Zega is no longer a part of this council. From this day forth he is stripped of all titles and privileges—”
Elder Vurn stopped. To his left a flashing silver disc attached itself to the stone table, clamping down mechanically. He turned to his right and another disc dropped down from somewhere behind them, its small red and green lights flashing like jittering bugs in the Suryan night.
Elder Rane stood, reaching forward to touch the disc.
“Stop!” Elder Vurn cried out.
He was too late. The discs exploded in quick succession, sending the bodies of the aging Dinari elders flying in all directions. Elder Vurn was thrust into a large pillar, where he slid down, losing control of his feet. He heard laser blasts ring out in the echoing chamber. The bright blue light rushed past him and crumbled any surface it touched.
Elder Vurn’s back must have been broken. He couldn’t move at all. His already frail body was rent. The flashing blue lights reminded him of the dark times following the Long War. The Ansarans had forced him and his family into servitude, whipping him until he relented any modicum of dignity. He could still remember the piercing cracks and feel the slashes across his back, always seeming to find their way between his soft, youthful scales. But the pain was only a memory. Elder Vurn found himself wishing he could feel something, anything. Even the snaps of the Ansaran whips. He was not ready to die.
The laser blasts ceased. Would the Ansarans be this brash? They’d allowed the Dinari their fiat council for years. No, that wasn’t possible. Elder Vurn’s eyes began to blur, the cavern going in and out of focus. A single figure came around the pillar. He placed his armored boot on the chest of Elder Hale and squeezed the trigger of his weapon, blasting him between the eyes mercilessly. The man’s presence was chilling. Elder Vurn had never felt anything so cold in all of his years.
The man in the blue armor turned his attention to Elder Vurn. His boots clinked and clanked as he closed the distance. The elder couldn’t see the eyes behind the black visor of the man’s oblong helmet. The armor was reminiscent of that worn by the Ansarans, but the plates were too small. When he drew closer, the elder could see the imprint of countless scales in the metal. The small gaps between plates were filled with a dark cloth that clung to his skin. The cruel man leveled his weapon at Elder Vern’s chest.
“W-why?” Elder Vurn managed to breathe out despite his broken and frail body.
The mercenary remained silent. He squeezed the trigger and the blue laser pierced Elder Vurn’s chest. For a moment he felt a searing heat radiating out to the rest of his body, and then nothing. His eyes began to go out of focus. The great cavern started to dim until all he could see was the outline of the man. The wicked aura of his killer.
29
Liam stood on the edge of a precipice, looking down over the side of the clay building to the street several stories below. The setting Suryan sun was blinding with its radiating reds and oranges. Breathlessly, he turned around to face his pursuer. The man in the blue scaled armor held his laser pistol aloft. Liam looked back over the edge. It was only three or four stories. The sand was loose. He might be able to make the leap.
“This is the end,” the man’s dark voice rasped metallically.
Sand wisped by, carried along with the breeze. Liam faced the man and brushed his long blond hair out of the way, blocking out the bright rays of light. The mercenary’s visor negated any chance of making out his face. Liam didn’t trust what he couldn’t see.
“Only a coward would hide their face from the man they’re about to kill.”
The man in blue stepped forward at a leisurely pace. He was in no hurry to deliver the final blow. With his free hand, the mercenary pulled off his helmet. Liam’s eyes widened. He wasn’t a man at all. Her fine black hair fell gracefully down over her shoulders. Cybernetic implants ran the length of her cheek and a slight glow emanated from behind her circuit-laden eyes. Her thin face and feminine features would have been irresistible if not for the machinery that corrupted her.
“That’s not possible,” Liam muttered. “You’re on the other side of the galaxy.”
“I never lose a mark.”
She fired her laser pistol, its blue beam piercing Liam’s chest and burning outward. Liam gasped, unable to scream. There, walking toward him with a look of satisfaction, was Takara, former Yakuza and lead enforcer of Vesta Corporation. Liam felt the white-hot pain build until he was unable to move his limbs. He collapsed to his knees, clawing at the singed material over his chest uselessly. The burning sensation faded to cold and he found his eyelids drooping. The rooftop began to approach his face. Finally, darkness. Release.
•
A sudden noise made Saturn jump. A ray of light pierced the open window and beat down on her, making her squint an
d use her hand to block it. Particles of dust made it difficult to focus on much else. She must have fallen asleep in Liam’s chambers. The plastic sheet reflected the bright light making it difficult to see beyond. Still, she definitely saw movement behind it.
“Liam?”
She pushed up the clay wall, coming to her feet. Saturn kept her hand on the cold surface for balance as she approached the bloodied sheet. Liam’s dark shape rustled there, spasms sending his back up in an arch until he was sitting up and gasping for air, mumbling something under his breath.
“Liam!” Saturn screamed, moving toward the break in the sheet, ready to expose herself and rush to his side.
“No!” a voice ordered.
She turned to see Nix with his hand held up in warning. He wore tactical brown garments that clung to his scaled body and an expression that was equal parts fear and desperation. Nix must have returned during the night, but she hadn’t heard him come in.
“We have to help him,” Saturn pleaded.
“Elder Bartle is downstairs. Wait here and don’t go beyond the veil.”
Nix made for the door but the elder pushed through before he could reach it. His ragged cloak was stained with a dark liquid that smelled suspiciously of Leguma, one of Nix’s specialties which tasted like a mixture of curry and feet.
“By the sound of it, it’s time,” Elder Bartle wheezed, coughing into the crook of his arm.
Liam scratched at his Death Shroud and brushed a coat of sand off his body. He was fidgety, as though he’d been asleep for decades and upon waking up yearned to run a marathon.
“Nix,” the elder continued, “Find Riken and begin preparations for the Purge.”
Nix nodded and brushed past the elderly Dinari. Saturn could hear him as he ran down the stairs and yelled Riken’s name. She crossed her arms, hugging her chest. She didn’t like the sound of what was about to happen. The Dinari had a way of going to extremes.
“What’s the Purge?”
Saturn examined the elder’s countenance and found concern in the many lines of his face. The old Dinari ambled closer to the sheet and looked down on Liam. He might have been happy or perhaps filled with pity. However, his face didn’t betray any inkling as to his true feelings. It was as though Liam’s life either was or wasn’t, and it didn’t much matter to him which. A strange demeanor for a healer.
Elder Bartle’s glazed eyes found hers and he remarked casually, “His body must be cleansed before he is allowed to rejoin the ranks of the living.”
30
Laser blasts rocked the streets, explosions ringing out in every sector of Akaru Colony. Nix bolted shut the door to The Sand’s Edge. He motioned his hands toward the ceiling and two of the three glowing orbs floated toward him as though summoned by an unseen force. Nix plucked them out of the air and walked toward the bar. Sometimes he had to marvel at the tiny creatures inside. Their natural glow could be blinding at times. Nix hid them out of sight behind the bar, dimming the light in the room even though he doubted many Dinari would dare bring their gripes to The Sand’s Edge.
The faintly lit room was beginning to grow crowded. Saturn sat at a small table with the freshly washed Liam. They were sitting close, Saturn’s hands never leaving him for an instant. She was fussing over the grains of sand that could not be washed out of his long hair. Living in the desert, Nix was glad he didn’t have to deal with those kinds of problems.
Astrid and Ju-long occupied the adjacent table along with Elder Bartle. Three species sitting at the same table and not trying to kill each other. That was a sight Nix never thought he’d see in his time. Though he might not have fully trusted Astrid, he recognized that he was in the minority. She’d had plenty of chances to turn on them and hadn’t done so yet. The way she and Ju-Long got along, Nix doubted if the human would even be capable of casting aside his feelings if she turned. He wasn’t a man Nix wanted to fight.
Zega too had returned, but had decided to hide out in the cellar once the explosions began. Nix wasn’t particularly surprised. Zega’s power relied on hundreds of mercenaries, spies, and informants. He would never get his own hands dirty intentionally. The coward had contingencies in place for everything. It was rumored that if he were killed, his murderer would be followed to the ends of the galaxy. They would be broken until they spilled the name of every loved one and every family member or descendent. Not only would they die, it would be like they never existed at all. Of course, Nix thought, it would be hard for Zega to enforce his will from beyond the grave.
Nix paced an open stretch near the bar and spoke under his breath, almost to himself as though collecting his thoughts.
“The storm has passed. The Sector Eight spire lies in ruins, our spies tell us that Toras has lost his seat of power, and outside that door there’s a riot brewing.”
“The masses must be controlled, directed,” Elder Bartle replied in his shaky voice. In the half-light, his leathery skin was cast in shadow, the creases reminiscent of the cracked wasteland to the south of Planet Surya’s great lake.
“Someone’s already controlling them, and he’s downstairs right now,” Saturn scoffed, one hand still firmly grasping Liam’s upper arm.
Astrid chimed in, “I may not bear much love for my people or their actions, but there must be a more peaceful way to do this.”
Ju-Long smiled and flexed his bulging muscles under his tight shirt, his cloak draped over the chair behind him. He’d been amped up ever since returning from the Sector Eight spire. Somehow their mission had only made him thirsty for more. Nix, however, felt like he could use a good drink and a long nap to recover.
“I don’t know, Astrid,” Ju-Long said. “Pounding those Ansaran guards earlier was cathartic. How could something that makes you feel so good be wrong?”
“Enough,” Liam said, standing up from his chair with great effort.
Liam was visibly weak but determined. His pale face was lined with what appeared to be a decade of additional wrinkles due to the stress the Phage placed on his body. Nix had seen it a dozen times before. Dinari wasting away as their body turned on itself. It was never easy to witness, and he could only imagine what he was feeling.
Liam continued, “If Toras was removed from power this soon then our timeframe has moved up.”
A door clanked shut and Zega slithered up the steps to join the group. A foul smell wafted along with him like rotting meat. He must have just had supper.
“Ah, ah,” Zega sneered. “Impressive as your recovery may be, we had a deal.”
Liam retorted, “No deal is worth this, Zega. We’re the only ones that can fix this before it grows beyond our control. Anarchy won’t help either of us.”
An explosion rocked the building next door. Something thumped at the wooden entrance. At first the sound was slight, but the desperate knocks grew in power until they could no longer be ignored. Silent, Nix pointed to Ju-Long and then to the door. Ju-Long drew a laser pistol from his hip and followed Nix to the door, the two of them waiting patiently on either side and ready to act if the situation turned dangerous.
Nix pulled back the bolt and opened the door, a weight forcing it open faster than he’d intended. An elderly Dinari in blood-stained brown robes fell through the entryway, barely able to maintain his balance. In his clawed hand he clutched a small dagger, its squat blade dulled by countless chips.
“Elder Lok?” Nix asked.
“Zega must die,” the ancient Dinari wheezed, hardly able to maintain his breath. “Council—Murdered.”
A small amount of blood began to bleed out from within his robes and down from the corner of his mouth. He snarled and lunged at Zega. Nix and Ju-Long pulled his arms back and held the struggling man at bay. The dull blade fell from his hand and clanked to the roughly cut floorboards.
Elder Lok’s eyes appeared out of focus and he began mumbling under his breath as he collapsed to his knees.
“The killer—The man in blue. Merciless.”
31
Wisps of sand grazed the stone floor of Toras’ cell. Except for the blade of light that fell from the tiny open porthole, there was only darkness. Toras sat with his back up against one of the side walls, picking at the fabric of his tattered cape with nervous energy. It was only a matter of time before they came for him; before he was to be executed. It was small solace to know that they still needed him, if only for one thing.
Toras felt his muscles tighten. It was not like a member of House Zumora to go out so meekly. If he were destined to die anyway, he might as well spare the honor of his brethren. His fingers traveled along his waist to the spiked belt that had holstered his weapon. Toras removed it and wrapped his right hand so that the deadly material crawled up his forearm like a creeping vine, tucking the end and testing it against the skin of his free palm. It would do.
Footsteps echoed in the hallway outside the door, slow and measured. As they drew closer, he heard the clunk of armor plates. Toras rose up and pressed himself against the wall by the door. When the footsteps advanced, the stone faded away and only thick iron bars remained. The floor was illuminated with the intermittent flickers of a torch.
“Fallen far,” a metallic voice observed.
Toras recognized that voice. He closed his eyes and felt the sweat build up on his neck and forehead. Why did it have to be him? It wasn’t smart to speak to that sort of person when in a vulnerable position. He only understood power in its rawest form.
Toras fortified himself and pushed off from the wall, turning to face the man in blue.
“Death Wish, I should have known,” Toras said, attempting to keep his voice from shaking.
The mercenary gripped one of the bars with his armored glove and brought his mask close to one of the gaps.
“The Dinari council is dead.”
The mercenary laughed, his voice transmuting into a deeper register. Toras was horrified. If the council was dead, nothing could stand in the way of a revolution. Vidu would unleash everything on the people. What use was ruling when there was no one left to rule?