Sword of Blue (Tales of a Dying Star Book 3)

by David Kristoph

  "Charlie probably only wanted to go because she was there," Finn mumbled.

  "Shut up!"

  "Oh?" mother asked, eyebrows raised. "And who is she? Another student?"

  "She's nobody," Charlie said.

  Finn grinned. "She's not a student. She works with the maintenance crew in the building. I've seen them together."

  "Shut up!"

  "Oh," mother said. "A civilian?"

  "I don't want to talk about it."

  The table was quiet. Finn was scraping bits of fish together, but their mother just pushed food around on her plate.

  "Aren't there plenty of girls in your class?" she finally asked. "Other steadfasts?"

  Finn sniggered. "None with gold hair like this girl."

  Mother sighed. "I can't imagine why you'd fancy a civilian if there are plenty of other..."

  I don't want to talk about this. Not about Katy. She's mine, private, not yours to discuss and discard. Mother was still talking, rambling on about the daughter of another pilot who was Charlie's age. He knew the questioning wouldn't end. He pushed back from the table, banged his plate down in the kitchen, and went to his room.

  Chapter 3

  Mother was veiled in her usual cheerfulness as she made breakfast the next morning. Charlie didn't want to suffer through it so he dressed quickly before slipping out the front door. He didn't wait for Finn.

  He wore the bomb beneath his clothes again, though with a different purpose. He was not going to the Academy today.

  The weather was more pleasant, but did little to improve his mood as he walked deeper into the city. Any excitement for Onero's new plan had disappeared while he slept. Yesterday he'd woken with purpose. Today he felt lost, useless again. His only excitement resided at the prospect of seeing Katy.

  The bomb was anything but useless. He pictured himself doing the deed in the auditorium, again and again. Walking to the stage and depressing the trigger, killing the famous pilot Jayce. It would have been an attack for the ages. An attack for which he'd be remembered.

  The daily crowd of hurried steadfasts pushed shoulder-to-shoulder as he neared the Terminal. I could kill dozens here, he thought idly. All of them walking around, wrapped-up in their own lives, oblivious to their danger. None of them knew. The invisible power gave Charlie a rush of adrenaline.

  The Terminal stood in the center of the city, a huge cube of glass at the base of the great Chain. A monstrous, perfectly-square mountain with the Chain growing out of it. Rails criss-crossed above the city like spiderwebs, but they all met back at the Terminal. People pushed by him, hurrying to reach the next trains. They rushed along without looking at one-another.

  He took the staircase from the street to the Terminal's ground floor slowly, aware of the bomb still strapped to his back. The space inside was like a massive cave; sound was both muffled and echoing at the same time, and the air felt artificially conditioned.

  He stepped away from the throng to take a moment to collect himself, to gather his nerve. He found a support pillar to stand beside, an island of stillness surrounded by the rush of people. A few deep breaths would settle his stomach. He looked around.

  The Chain got its name because of the enormous interlocking links that comprised it, each the size of a building, thousands of them continuing up into space. He followed its black shape until it diminished, disappearing into the tiny, geostationary moon Latea. It was just a speck from this distance, barely visible between two puffy clouds. The Chain was anchored into Latea to prevent it from drifting or falling back to Melis due to the rotational force of the planet.

  He could stare at the Chain for hours, picking out new details along its length. It still held a mysticism to Charlie, an impossibility his brain couldn't justify.

  Eight tracks ran vertically along the Chain for the immense motorized cars to climb. More than thirty cars were scattered along its length at any time; five switching stations were spaced along the Chain, where cars could move from one track to another, so none blocked the path of another at any time. He could barely see the first switching station, a bulbous shape marring the Chain's length several miles above.

  Charlie lowered his eyes to the Terminal. One of the cars was coming in now, long and rectangular, slowing down as it approached the ground. Charlie squinted, trying to make out the figures within the glass before the car disappeared from view deeper within the Terminal.

  A sense of smallness came over Charlie. Grand structures were built to the glory of the immortal Emperor. Carbon chains that lifted men into the sky, fleets of battleships to quell dissidents, space stations and bases throughout their system. Charlie was one boy with a bomb. The futility of his mission overwhelmed him. If he died and killed a few soldiers, what difference would it make? Would anyone even know, except his parents and Finn, the people who loved him? Would Katy remember him?

  He thought of his father, patrolling Latea's surface in his Riverhawk. Toiling for the Empire for years without reward, without acknowledgement, without advance. Finn resented their father for never being promoted, but Charlie knew. Father resented killing, avoided it whenever possible. He'd chosen shifts on Latea to stay out of danger, preferring to be paired-up with rookies fresh out of the Academy. He was more teacher than soldier. Charlie thought he would have done well as an Academy instructor, but those positions required tours with active combat.

  Finally Charlie peeled his eyes away from the Chain. He drifted back into the crowd, following the flow until he reached the south-west railway. A train already waited with its doors open; Charlie strode inside. Computers clicked at the doorway, recording his entrance. It didn't much matter. The Academy would record his absence too. It was all part of a student's record; the Academy expected a certain number of absences and only took action if that number grew too large. Instructor Karrana might take a personal interest in his truancy if she were concerned, but she'd already contacted his mother yesterday about the presentation. Charlie didn't think she would do so two days in a row.

  Charlie scanned the train from the walkway. Pairs of seats lined the aisle, and plenty were available, but he walked to the middle of the train to sit in an empty row by himself. Outside the window people rushed to board their trains before they departed. Charlie wondered if he would ever become one of those people. Better to be remembered, to go out famously. He thought of his mission at the Academy. Would people be remembering him today if he'd gone through with it? Would these people be talking about him?

  The doors closed. The train moved forward smoothly, quickly picking up speed. Soon the view outside the window blurred, so he focused on objects farther away: the Luccar Archives filled with artifacts from throughout the Sarian system; the gap in buildings where the city's park rested, low and out of sight. The general city skyline, each tall structure with a rooftop garden, giving a vibrant, tree-top look to the city.

  And there, in the distance, the Wall that surrounded the inner city.

  Buildings within the inner city were demolished and reconstructed often, always giving it an appearance of newness. Even buildings with no structural faults were destroyed and replaced when they grew outdated in appearance. The Emperor emphasized aesthetics.

  Not so with the Wall. Dull metal comprised it, grey and unchanged in the centuries since the Empire's militarization. It stood only twenty or thirty stories tall, smaller than some of the inner city buildings within its perimeter. But size wasn't necessary. The Wall was more ceremonial than anything, lines drawn on a map to separate the military steadfasts from the civilians.

  Most civilians, anyways, he thought. He pictured Katy, standing in the ventilation closet, dark and beautiful.

  The wall grew closer as the train sped on, stopping at stations along the way so people could come and go. More people exited than entered, and by the time he reached the city's perimeter Charlie was one of the few steadfasts seated. They were permitted to visit the outer city, though it would be recorded like everything else. This makes the fifth
time, he thought. How many until I'm flagged as suspicious? Will this be the time they stop me at the searchpoint?

  He felt the civilians' glances, the continuous curiosity at his presence. One passenger dressed in the plain brown civilian's uniform stared openly at him, suspicious. Charlie kept his eyes glued to the window.

  The south-west rail ended at a station built into the Wall, a jutting rectangular structure marring the wall's otherwise featureless surface. The train slowed as it approached, the sky disappearing as it came to a complete stop within the station. It took his eyes several moments to adjust to the relative darkness. Charlie waited for the civilians to leave the train before exiting himself. The doors immediately slid shut behind him and the train zipped away, leaving him there.

  He walked along the platform, following the handful of people deeper into the Wall. The light from Saria dimmed behind him, replaced by the yellow lights recessed in the ceiling, pale and dirty. Inner city structures like the Academy were brightly-lit and open; here the ceiling seemed too low, the hallway dark and foreboding. It felt like traveling into a deep tunnel far below the planet's surface.

  The searchpoint wasn't far; he reached it in minutes, along with the others from his train. He stepped in line and waited.

  Most of the people in line were civilians returning from night shifts. Although only steadfasts were permitted to live within the inner city, a number of civilians commuted to jobs too complex for electroids. Like Katy. Charlie sensed a weariness among the civilians in line, a deep, silent exhaustion. They shuffled forward, lifeless.

  As the line moved forward Charlie could see the searchpoints, two of them side-by-side with a wall dividing them, like two barrels of a gun. The one in front of him led to the outer city, but next to it was a searchpoint for people coming the opposite way, entering the inner city. That line was far longer with peacekeepers patting and prodding civilians even before being led through computerized scanners, which would search them with invisible waves. Occasionally the peacekeepers pulled someone out of the line, leading them through a windowless doorway off to the side. Charlie tried to glimpse what was inside but couldn't get a good view before the door closed. You don't want to know, he thought.

  Steadfasts weren't given a full scan when exiting the inner city. The guards only cared about what was smuggled in, not the other way around. But if they flag you for suspicious activity...

  The person behind Charlie grunted. It was his turn.

  Two peacekeepers watched as he stepped up to the searchpoint, a standing cylinder with room for one person to stand. Its base was clear like glass, with curving metal walls with openings at each end for a person to enter and exit. The metal was shiny, reflecting Charlie's image. He held out his palm to a scanner built into the glass until it beeped. His name, age, and family tier appeared on the computer above the machine. He held his breath.

  "Keep moving, steadfast," one of the peacekeepers barked. Charlie exhaled and stepped off the platform.

  The lift to descend to the ground floor was still broken, so Charlie followed the others to the staircase. He took the stairs two-at-a-time, passing the exhausted civilians that slumped along, spiraling down the many floors to the bottom. He wanted to put as much distance between himself and the guards as possible. The sunlight was a welcome relief when he exited into the open square at ground level.

  The outer city, home of all civilians, sprawled before him. No aesthetic reconstruction occurred here. Buildings crumbled and cracked, decaying in disrepair. No rooftop gardens bloomed. Everything was built with a cheap plastic composite, which, although easy to make and readily available, didn't last long in the Melisao weather before becoming cracked and warped. A few buildings bordering the Wall were framed with metal, but only a few.

  Despite the condition of the structures, the square pulsed with life as civilians went about their daily routine. Many shuffled into the station, but more stood around conversing. Street vendors pushed carts piled high with the glazed, candied bread that was popular in Luccar's outer city. A woman sold coffee from a lean-to stand built against the base of the wall. There was a buzz in the air as the civilians milled about, enjoying their morning.

  Charlie pushed forward, ignoring the unease that always tingled when he visited the outer city. He had no cause to be afraid, despite the expensive wrist-computer he wore. Steadfasts walked the planet safe wherever they went. Civilians dare not make any trouble with them. The last incident was two months prior, when a steadfast was accidentally trampled by a cart along the river. The Empire's response had been swift. The fires burned for days in the section of the outer city bombed that night.

  No, as Charlie walked along the crowd of civilians looked at him with unease, as if he were a fragile piece of porcelain they feared breaking if they came too close. Charlie knew some students at the Academy relished the attitude, but to him it was only discomfitting. He didn't like standing out.

  I ought to ask Onero for a civilian's uniform. He immediately dismissed the idea. The cameras in the train and searchpoint would still scan his face, and a steadfast dressed as a civilian would surely attract the guards' suspicion. Maybe he could find a place to stash a uniform outside the searchpoint. I could ask for Onero's permission.

  He knew that was a bad idea, too. Onero was thorough in his planning. He became wroth when his men made requests, even legitimate ones. What would he do to Charlie, a steadfast? A boy he despised, a boy he still did not trust?

  Katy says he trusts you now, he remembered. But no, he still preferred to keep his mouth shut.

  Tall towers gave way to seven-storied apartments, which became three-leveled homes, until finally nearly every building was only one level and poorly built. Industrial buildings became more prevalent, warehouses and mills that billowed smoke. The sound of machinery drifted into the street. The air was acrid, the sun bland. Soon he was the only one on the street.

  He thought of Katy's words again. Had Onero really spoken highly of him? That seemed unlikely. A darker thought occurred to him: what if I failed somehow? What if Katy aborted the mission because Charlie had done something wrong, and Onero was going to punish him? What if Onero was going to kill him? He ran over the plan in his head again but couldn't think of anything--he'd followed the plan perfectly. He had been so close!

  Part of him wanted to turn around, afraid to see what Onero wanted. But his feet kept moving west.

  The street ended at the river levee, a terraced metal wall that was newer than any of the other buildings nearby. It extended along the river's length for miles in either direction, twenty feet tall, keeping the recently-dammed water from flooding the lowland city. I guess the Wall is good for some protection, he thought. If the river ever flooded it would only damage the outer city, keeping the inner clean and dry.

  He turned off the main street a few hundred feet before reaching the levee. He followed a narrow alley that ran between two buildings, parallel to the levee. They were fishing warehouses once, back when the river still teemed, but now they stood empty and abandoned. Their roofs seemed to lean inward, blocking most of the light, keeping the alley dark.

  He entered the third warehouse on the left, through a hole where a door might have once stood.

  He was in an entrance hallway, dark and windowless, the only light from the hole into the alley. He waited for his eyes to adjust. Motes floated through the air. Dust was thick on everything but the floor: there it was shuffled and smeared, disturbed by recent feet. The footprints led down the hallway and through a closed door.

  Charlie proceeded slowly, not bothering to keep his boots from echoing. The light diminished the farther he walked, until the door was hardly discernible before him. He reached forward, pushed the door open, and walked through.

  A knife touched his throat, cold and barbed.

  A hand was on his back, pressing between his shoulder blades, pushing him against the knife. Charlie tried to relax his body. "Spider, it's me."

  Spider grunted
.

  "Let me go," Charlie said. "You know I'm here to see Onero."

  The knife stayed. For a long moment Charlie was afraid this would be the day Spider finally decided to kill him. But then the knife disappeared as he was released. Charlie moved on without looking back, not wanting his fear to be obvious. Behind him Spider mumbled, "Fuckin' steadfast."

  He squinted into the next room, waiting for his eyes to adjust, but the darkness remained. Charlie knew the way though, fumbling around with his hands. Another doorway led to an anteroom, and a final door opened into the main warehouse space.

  He shielded his eyes from the light; most of the far wall was missing, allowing sunlight to pour in. The room itself was cavernous. Cranes ran along tracks suspended from a high ceiling, metal fingers now rusted with disuse. Rows of tables filled the floor where fish had once been sorted and cleaned, fresh off the riverboats. Now it all lay abandoned.

  He walked to the broken wall, where one table was clean and still bore a functioning computer. The two people rose as he approached.

  Katy wore the plain brown civilian's uniform she used every day, baggy and unflattering. Her hair was untied, hanging past her shoulders in thick waves.

  But it was the other man who occupied Charlie's attention. Onero possessed almost no muscle on his slender frame. Though he was hardly older than Charlie he was bald, with wide blue-grey eyes behind a hooked nose that, along with his slimness, gave him the appearance of a bird.

  Those eyes regarded Charlie now. Onero didn't just look at you: he considered you, measured you, like someone inspecting a puzzle piece before deciding if it should be discarded. Charlie controlled his breathing, trying to appear cool under that gaze.

  Slowly, Onero walked toward him. His face was blank. Charlie knew the man hated him, hated all steadfasts. Under that gaze he felt useless. Onero was a man with plans and prospects, and Charlie was just in the way. He began to reconsider why his mission was cancelled.