by Justin Sloan
“Damn,” Valerie interjected. “Let’s hope they don’t try anything stupid, then. You’re not with them, I take it?”
“I am practical. If they had a chance of winning, you bet your ass I’d be in there. The Bandian might seem like the best from the outside, but many of us know better.”
Soon they reached the outskirts of the slums and worked their way up a hill, where the landscape changed drastically. Instead of the desert sands of the rest of this place, up here there were lush gardens with hanging vines, flowers larger than Valerie thought were possible in colors more vibrant than she had ever seen, and strange bird-like creatures with heads that resembled those of insects.
All this surrounded the large houses, and Korak explained that much of the planet had been covered in similar vegetation at one point. Some places still were, but the pollutants of big city life had caused the vegetation to die, and when it left so did everything but the sands.
When they reached a gate of gnarled metal adorned with sculptures of fighters and more out of similar metal, Korak smiled mischievously and said, “This is the place.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Transport Vessel En Route to SEDE
Kalan woke to the sound of the pilot’s tinny voice crackling through the speaker next to his ear.
“Heads up, boys. We’re docking in five.”
Kalan rubbed his eyes, trying to remember where he was and what was happening. For a moment he thought he was back in prison, but he remembered he’d been out of SEDE for five years. Then he remembered he was headed back.
He let out a weary sigh and stretched.
Across from him sat Bob, wide-eyed and his forehead beaded with sweat. “I can’t believe you slept through the whole flight. Especially the pilot’s terrible singing.”
“I heard that!” the pilot barked. “I’ll have you know Karli Rafittian is the greatest singer in the galaxy, and I’ll proudly sing her songs. I won’t be shamed.”
“Yeah, you and every thirteen-year-old girl in the system,” Kalan muttered. He’d never had trouble sleeping, whether he was in a quiet room or in the cargo hold of a transport ship. He figured it was a product of having spent his formative years trying to sleep in the noisy confines of Cellblock Eighteen.
He looked at Bob. “So you didn’t get any sleep?”
Bob shook his head tersely. “Between his singing and your snoring, there was no way.”
“Any idea how long we’ve been travelling?”
The man glanced down at the strange metal and glass device strapped to his wrist. “About seven hours.”
“Seven hours and fourteen minutes, to be exact,” the pilot interjected. “Four minutes to go.”
Kalan did his best to work the blood into his limbs while still strapped into his seat. He needed to be limber in case things went bad quickly, but he wasn’t going to risk unlatching his safety harness. He knew from experience that landings on SEDE could be rough.
A moment later the pilot addressed them again. “The second we land, I want your asses up here in the cockpit. I’ve got a few Shimmers on the payroll who’ll help me unload the contraband, but if they see you they might rethink our arrangement, know what I’m saying?”
“Indeed I do,” Kalan replied.
Bob’s forehead was dripping now. The poor guy was getting more anxious by the minute. “So what’s the plan when we get aboard?”
Kalan shifted in his seat. Strangely, he hadn’t given that much thought. It had been five years since he’d been here, and he had no idea how much things had changed. Once they made their way to the cellblocks he was confident he could get to the isolation block, but he’d have to pass through a lot of guard areas to do that. His best bet at this point was to play it by ear.
“The plan is for me to find us the best route to get us there quickly and silently,” Kalan explained. “That ‘quickly and silently’ part is essential. If we dawdle or make a racket, the Shimmers will rip our arms off our bodies before we know they’re there.”
“I understand.”
“Do you really? Because the ‘ripping the arms off’ thing isn’t hyperbole. I’ve seen them do it.” He softened his tone when he saw the fear in Bob’s eyes, but just a little. “Look, I’m going to do everything I can to get us through this safely, but you have to follow my lead. Understand?”
Bob nodded.
The whine of the engine changed to a low rumble, and Kalan was jarred in his seat as the transport touched down and attached to SEDE.
The Grayhewn had his safety harness unfastened before the pilot shouted at them through the speaker.
“Welcome to the Swarthian Extended Detention Environment, or as those of us who work here call it, ‘the galaxy’s armpit.’ Now get up here so I can let the damn Shimmers aboard.”
Kalan stood up, and waited for Bob to do the same. He noticed that the tech already had his hand on the pistol hanging from his belt.
“Bob, keep that weapon holstered unless I say otherwise. Got it?”
The man grimaced. “Who put you in charge of this mission anyway? I thought we were a team.”
Kalan grabbed him by the arm and spoke in a low, menacing tone. “On Tol or shooting through the void, maybe we’re a team. Here on SEDE, I’m in charge. You do what I say, when I say. It’s the only way we’ll make it through this. Understand?”
Bob paused a minute, then nodded. “Yeah, fine, you’re in charge.”
“What’s the hold-up?” the pilot snapped.
Kalan gave Bob one more hard look, then let go of his arm and headed for the cockpit.
The transport’s cockpit had seating for four. The pilot gestured toward a monitor that showed the cargo hold. “I’m going to go back and get things going with the Shimmers. You two have a seat and keep your mouths shut. Shimmers can hear through concrete walls.”
“You’re telling me,” Kalan muttered. Just about every prisoner in SEDE had been busted at some point for saying something they shouldn’t have when they thought the guards weren’t around, though whether that was because the guards were nearby and no one could see them or because of their excellent hearing, no one really knew. It all added to the mysterious menace of the Shimmers.
Kalan and Bob sat down and fixed their eyes on the monitor, watching as the pilot entered the cargo hold, marched to the airlock, and opened it. A moment later he stepped aside.
His voice came through speakers around them when he spoke. “Pretty much everything goes, gentlemen. If it ain’t bolted down, it’s meant for SEDE.”
It was odd watching him speak to what appeared to be an empty cargo hold, but a moment later the crates began to move as if by their own accord. Crates that would have taken three strong men to carry lifted a foot off the ground and zipped through the airlock at an incredible rate.
“Holy hell,” Bob muttered softly.
Kalan put a figure to his lips and glared at the other man. Bob got the message, and they both watched in silence as the cargo hold rapidly emptied.
The pilot stood off to the side, nearly pressing himself against the bulkhead in his effort to stay out of the way.
The whole operation took less than ten minutes. When all the crates and the boxes were gone, the pilot spoke again. “I appreciate it, boys. As always, I’ll transfer your cut. Shutting the airlock.”
He moved toward the airlock, but didn’t close it. He turned and hurried back to the cockpit instead. “Okay, we should be clear.”
Kalan considered that a moment. “How do we know they aren’t still hanging out in the cargo hold?”
“I guess we don’t, for sure,” the pilot replied, “but they wouldn’t want to get stuck in here with me, so I think it’s a safe bet.”
Bob’s face scrunched in confusion. He started to speak, then stopped himself.
“Now how are we supposed to get past the guards to the cellblocks,” Kalan mused, half to himself.
The pilot scowled. “Does that look like my problem? Duol paid me a good pric
e to haul your asses out here, and that was exactly what I did. What you do on the other side of that airlock is no business of mine.”
Kalan sighed. “Your people skills are really something. It’s a wonder you ended up piloting a lonely prison transport.”
Not that Kalan had much room to talk. At least this guy had a steady job.
“Thanks for the ride,” he added, then slapped Bob on the arm. “Let’s go.”
The pilot crossed his arms and watched them leave.
When they reached the airlock, Bob held up a hand. “Hold on a second.”
There was something very un-Bob-like about his serious tone, so Kalan didn’t question it. He waited silently for the man to speak again.
The beady-eyed tech stuck his head through the hatch and paused a moment, then said, “Okay, let’s go.”
Kalan raised an eyebrow, but his instincts said to trust Bob this time. He followed Bob out of the airlock into a long metal passageway.
Everything about the place, from the antiseptic smell to the odd shade of gray everything was painted, caused eighteen years’ worth of memories to come crashing back for Kalan. As far as he knew he’d never set foot in this specific passageway, but he’d been in hundreds just like it.
The last five years slipped away, and it felt like he’d never left this place.
“We’re clear,” Bob said softly.
“What do you mean we’re—”
“Save it until we get over there,” Bob said gesturing toward an area where the passage widened thirty feet ahead.
Kalan reluctantly nodded, then led the way to the spot Bob had indicated. He moved slowly and carefully, since the Shimmers could be anywhere. The axiom he’d lived by as a kid flashed like a neon sign in his brain: behave like a guard’s watching over your shoulder, because he might be.
When they reached the spot, Bob stopped and turned to Kalan. “Okay, listen. I wanted to wait until we were away from the ship. If that pilot knew what I’m about to tell you, he might have decided to sell us out.”
Every fiber in Kalan’s being told him to keep moving, to get out of this area as quickly as possible, but Bob’s words gave him pause. “Tell me.”
Bob looked to the left and then to the right before saying in a low voice, “It’s the Shimmers. You couldn’t hear what they were saying in the cargo hold?”
“What? No, of course not. We don’t even know if they have a language. If they speak, it’s not on any frequency we can hear.”
Bob smiled slyly. “Maybe you can’t, but I can. I heard every word they said.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Planet Tol: The Upper Manors
“Let me get this straight,” Warlord Palnik said to Valerie as he paced across the wide dining room of his mansion. He lingered by an ornate chair at the head of the table like a king at his throne, and laughed. “I just need to process it. You, a human, show up and want to fight in the most dangerous, most deadly combat arena in the known universe?”
“I’m in exile,” she said, passing him the cover story that she and Robin had been over and over. “My friend and I were forced out of the Etheric Federation, and now we seek a new place to live. I understand that surviving the first round of the fights gets you citizenship, and the second round grants a place to live and food stipends. So here I am.”
He shook his head, not buying it for a moment, but humoring her. “Why? What could you possibly have done to get kicked out?”
“You mean because I’m an attractive female I’m harmless?”
He tilted his head from side to side, much as Korak had done. She assumed this was like shrugging.
“I assure you I’ll hold my own.” She glanced around, assessing the modified Skulla guards in the room to see whether any would be a real threat if she had to prove herself.
“She took a punch from me and kept fighting,” Korak chimed in. He stood by the tall arched rear wall, which had the likeness of Palnik on it, made from metallic squares and triangles.
“Is that so?” Palnik stood, motioning for her to follow. “You can take a punch, but can you fight?”
“I trained for years. I’ve won my fair share of fights, killed my fair share of enemies.”
He nodded, then held out a hand. After a moment she put hers in it and he practically choked, stepping back in disgust. “No, the ID. You have it, I assume?”
“Ah, sorry.” She pulled out the chip and presented it to him.
He slid it into a slot on the table, scrutinizing the screen on the wall, and nodded. “It’ll pass, but you’re asking me to put myself out there. Why would I?”
“I—”
He held up a hand. “It was a rhetorical question, since I know why I would. It’s because you’re going to help me out.”
“I am?”
“You are.” He gestured to the hall, then led to them to a point where the tall archways stopped. He went through a door into a back room and she started to worry, even though he had pulled away from her hand. She would hate to have to kill him before getting his help to enter the Damu Michezo.
But instead, he led them across the dark room and stopped at a floor-to-ceiling window. He stood there with his hands behind his back, staring at three especially large houses before him.
“The Trilords,” he said in awe. “The ultimate power houses. In the center you have the great Warlord Nibor, the Bandian himself. To the right, my uncle, and to the left, my greatest enemy.” He turned to Valerie and said, “The one on the left, please.”
“Please…what?”
“I would like you to kill the owner of the one on the left and make it look like I did it, so I can take his power. His home. Everything. This is my price.”
“You want me to kill one of the three people in power on this planet?”
He tilted his head back and forth. “I want you to put me in that place. You want to fight and you want a friend, one who has power and information, I’m guessing. For example, I know where your ship is and I have reason to believe you’re not here because of exile at all.”
Valerie glared, though she had to consider that anyone on the transport ship could have overheard something and reported it to him. It wasn’t unlikely.
“Tell me more about this guy.” She wasn’t sure if she was stalling or really considering this, but figured knowing more about the situation couldn’t hurt. “Why is he your enemy?”
“How about I tell you what makes him worth killing instead?”
Palnik leaned in, eyes narrowed. “That manoa licker has had more slaves publicly executed—for entertainment, mind you—than any other warlord. He rose to power purely by forcing others to fight, then taking percentages of their earnings and stakes in their holdings. He’s risen to power on the backs of those beneath him, often breaking those backs along the way.”
“While you and the other warlords haven’t?”
“Let’s just say we’re disgusted by what he’s done and leave it at that.”
“I don’t run around killing for the fun of it,” she replied, “or because someone asks me too.”
He tilted his head. “This isn’t for either of those reasons. This is to bring justice to a murderer, it’s to get you into that fight, so that you might fulfill your mission.”
She considered that, wondering if her translator had accurately translated the word “justice.” That was a soft spot for her, but he couldn’t have any way of knowing that. She sighed, knowing she didn’t really have any other options here. “And when they try to find the killer?”
“When he dies his power goes to the victor, as long as the killer is in the same class. Anyone lower would be publicly executed, naturally.”
“You have a messed-up system here,” Valerie observed dryly. “From what I’ve gathered, people live in absolute poverty unless they earn their spots among the citizens by fighting. Fights, I might add, that result in death more times than not. At a certain point they can earn their way into the upper crust, where you all plot t
o kill each other. If successful, you take everything from the dead with no consequences. Is that about right?”
He nodded. “Messed-up, though? Hardly. It encourages us to be strong, which is why the others in our system and those surrounding us know we’re not to be challenged.”
“Uh huh.” All she could think was how helping him would just put one more lunatic in a higher position of power. Then again, she would have what she needed. Perhaps there would be another way around it, but she had a feeling all the warlords would have similar requests. At least this one presented himself as friendly enough.
“When you’re done with your moral judgments, let me know what you’ve decided.”
“You have a deal.” There was no reason to think about it. Accept, make sure the other guy was evil, and do it. If she found any reason not to kill him, that was the way it would be. She’d start looking at other options then, but for now there was no reason to make him think she would be anything other than compliant.
“Very well.” He motioned to the houses again. “You have your mission. When it’s over, you’ll get your reward.”
She spent the next couple hours lingering in the shadows of the target’s house, learning that Skulla didn’t sleep normal hours. At least these didn’t—the sun had been down for some time and yet the Skulla still meandered about, some cooking, others returning from what appeared to be gambling, stealing, and worse, if their brags could be believed.
Finally she noticed a floating dome approaching—like a palanquin, she supposed. Judging by the surrounding guards it had to be her target, Warlord Charbon.
Working her way up the side of the mansion, she used a sculpture for leverage to push herself to the ledge above. Each step could lead to her falling here, but her senses were alert and she moved with skill. Soon she was at the balcony, but the door was locked.
Using her vampire strength, she pushed the hand-recognition plate and was in.