Nyxia Unleashed

by Scott Reintgen

  I grin out at him. “I’m expanding the territory of our game.”

  “Just be careful.” Vandemeer glances down the hallway. “I need to go.”

  “No news?”

  “Very little,” Vandemeer says in a rush. “The Genesis crews entered Sevenset. I overheard some of the techies discussing it. They have a hard time surveilling anything in the city. Two decades and they’ve only had a few, temporary windows. But they’ve apparently had better luck now that Emmett and the others are inside the city. Something about dual signals? They seem excited by the new access.”

  I consider that. It makes sense. Babel might have used the invitation to smuggle their tech into the city. Get the right programs and devices behind the city’s barrier and it could be just the thing they need to poke holes big enough for a good long look.

  “Bilal and Roathy?”

  “I don’t have access to them. I—I’m trying.”

  It would have been easy to fight my way to Bilal after I saw him on the video monitor. Easy and stupid. Walk into a detention block, trip a few alarms, and I’d just join him inside the cell. I want to get to him before Babel changes their mind, but it requires more firepower.

  “What about the ships?” I ask. “What’s going on with the personnel?”

  “A lot of preparation,” he answers. “It’s very busy in the Tower. They’re keeping the skeleton crews of each ship in the dark, but it’s not hard to see that something is in the works. It will happen within the next few days, I’d guess. Maybe sooner than that.”

  “Good,” I say. “Time to find a queen for our game.”

  Vandemeer hesitates. “There are food rations for the rest of the week in there. Be careful. The crew’s taken note of you. They think there’s a ghost on board.”

  “There is a ghost on board.”

  “I’d like the ghost to stay alive,” he replies softly. “Stay safe.”

  He slides the panel back in place. It takes a good ear, but I listen closely as he moves down the hallway and toward the nearest air lock. I listen for any other twitches, rustles. There’s nothing. Only the empty drone of Babel’s equipment. He’s alone, unfollowed.

  Eventually they’ll peg him. Defoe and Requin must know that something is afoot in the dark underbelly of their space station. They might not know that it’s me, but they’ll flush the vents before long or send someone after me who’s not a gadget techie. I need to make my first move before they march out the heavies.

  I weave past wires and through the ghostly ways. I tap the flashlight on and let its light spill over the stolen manual. It takes some looking, but I find what I need at the back. The red wire must be plugged in for sensors to detect movement within the room. Two turns, up through the tight pipes, down into another strangled room. I find my wires, and snip-snip goes the red one.

  Shoving the flashlight between my teeth, I run a finger down the page. No cameras in this room. Every other location has pages of instruction, but this one has only three sentences. They read like afterthoughts. It’s a purposeful obscurity. What’s inside? Toys for Anton? I smile.

  The room requires black security access.

  Up through the access chamber. I give myself a shove and catch the door’s handle. Turn and click. It’s a bright corridor. Just like the others, so why no cameras, Babel?

  Gravity establishes itself and I sag to a knee. Deep breaths. Start walking. Twenty meters and a turn. Twenty meters and a turn. I press my back to a wall and proceed with a little more caution. It won’t do to get caught now. There’s still so much fun to be had.

  I dig into the second sack and remove Vandemeer’s prize. An identification card hangs from a black lanyard. “That’s quite a smile, Commander Allen Crocker.”

  The card scans. The door releases.

  Blinding brightness. Spend too long in the dark and every bulb’s the sun. I stand there blinking until shapes form in the white. Sharp things, bright screens, and a man.

  He hangs from the wall, held down by straps. His face is half hooded, and he’s breathing quick and ragged. Tubes run in and out of body parts. Babel has taken from him like they’ve taken from us. Stolen his future, his freedom, his everything.

  I cross the distance carefully. There are burns and scars and more missing things. I drag over the nearest med table, ignoring the awful grinding noise. It takes a second, but I climb up and snatch the hood from his head. A dark face snaps to life, and he struggles against his ropes. Bloodshot eyes blink, then stare.

  I ask, “What’s your name?”

  He starts to pull again. I can feel invisible fingers itching for my nyxia.

  “Hey, none of that.” I hold the knife to his throat.

  He stops, face twisting. “Erone. My name is Erone.”

  “Erone. Look at what they’ve done to you. It’s the worst kind of pride. They can’t imagine a world in which you’re not in their control. It’s what they did to us too. I’m not with Babel. Understand? I’m here to help you.”

  Five slips of the knife and his bindings fall. He sags down to his knees, chest heaving. He’s been hanging for a while. He’s weak, but at least they’ve been feeding him, giving him fluids. I can tell he’s made of iron. It won’t take long to get him up and running.

  I watch as he gets used to his freedom, his movement. I drop the rations on the floor beside him. “You should eat. You’ll need your strength.”

  He does. We sit quietly for a while. I can see the gears turning in his head, but I’ve got a few questions of my own. “How did they capture you? A trick?”

  He throws a broken smile at me.

  “A trick, but not theirs.”

  “One of the other Imago helped them?”

  Erone shakes his head. “They captured me because I let them capture me.”

  I expect him to laugh. He doesn’t. “But they tortured you.”

  “As we knew they would,” Erone says. “But the possibilities were worth the risk. I have lost a great deal. I will admit their security surprised me. I pretended to be weak and expected them to treat me that way. I thought my escape would be easy. It has been…a long journey.”

  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.

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

  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 S
evenset. 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.”