12
Whispers of War
King Harris reviewed the map overlays of his kingdom on his three-dimensional projector. He still felt unresolved on how to facilitate improved relationships between several of his Holding Companies and a now-scattered tribe they'd had to relocate. The unfortunate result of discovering a priceless deposit of chrystum. Unfortunate, but unavoidable. Now he also had an intelliNet insurgency on his hands. Messy. All sorts of messes to deal with lately, he scowled.
The demands of war prevailed upon Harris to do what was necessary for the economy. He couldn't always slow down to maintain the cultural continuity of every tribe and community that had decided to squat on his undeveloped worlds. He closed his eyes, unable to see the best solution to this dilemma. He didn't see it yet, he corrected himself, going back to the maps. This kind of thing had earned him his gray hairs in the first place.
“Harris,” a familiar voice interrupted. The weary monarch steeled himself not to jump at the surprise, and turned regally to greet the High King. He fell to one knee, hand over his heart.
“My liege,” he responded, “how may I serve the people?”
John Phoenix walked over to the table and looked at it. “Good to see the Highreach Citadel in good repair as I came in. But it seems we have a problem to address.” Phoenix fixed his gaze on the king, his ancient clear blue eyes exuding calm authority. Harris nodded somberly, and the High King signaled to the projector. “Fill me in.”
“Yes, majesty,” he nodded, and signaled his earbud to display a file from one of the meta-chip rings he wore as part of his office. “Here it is,” he said as the file executed on the projector.
Satellite footage of the explosion of Regent Varion's tower appeared, and then it was rewound, zooming in to a close-up of the Regent receiving an alert right before the attack. It continued to show Varion's speech, and the polls he'd been accessing during it. John closed his eyes, pained by what appeared to be a betrayal of the trust he'd placed in his Regent. “Do we have audio for that call?”
“No, majesty,” Harris replied. “However, one of my sources logged an automated alert sent from a private number to a proxy that pinged at exactly the right moment and location for that transmission. It seems highly unusual, don't you think?”
“This is serious.” The High King looked at the footage, his face grim. “I have to take care of this. Blast,” he cursed. “He's playing with fire! He doesn't even understand!”
“He's too young to remember the last time we were really at war with the dragons, majesty.”
The High King gave a solemn nod. “So are you, Harris. Nevertheless, I know what you mean. War is hell, and why he would want to visit that upon my people...it's unconscionable.” He shook his head, clearly frustrated. “We may find ourselves thrust into war despite our strong desires for peace, and if that happens, we must prepare ourselves.” Commander Tobias entered, and John spoke without turning. “Tobias, inform the Knights of the first company that their presence is requested at the Prime Citadel in one month.” Tobias nodded and sent out the dispatches.
As John turned to leave, King Harris asked, “Why in a month? Why not now?”
The High King raised an eyebrow. “There's more to this than even you are aware of, my young friend.”
With that, the High King John Phoenix turned, and was gone.
Harris looked at the table, shaking his head with concern about what lay ahead. For the High King had returned, and he was committed to setting his house in order.
“We'll see,” Harris smiled. Things would begin moving quickly now.
Regent Varion stood at the speaking podium in front of the assembled House of Lords, ready to lead the debate on whether to declare open war on the dragons, and what to do about the draconian sympathizers. He'd been working toward this for three years, and nothing was going to stand in the way of fulfilling his vision. Not today. This day...it belonged to him. With a smile, he began by addressing the assembly with his arms outstretched in a welcoming embrace of everyone in the great hall.
“Brothers and sisters of the Brigadier Empire...this vote will be remembered in history as the defining moment when we come together to ensure that our children and the future of civilization as we know it shall not be stamped out in the night by the creatures of darkness, nor by those who would serve them!” There was a rumble through the crowd, and he continued. “Who here will join me in passing legislation to preserve our way of life, and guarantee that we shall not go silently into that dark abyss, but that we will search out and destroy all those who would do us harm?” He pumped his fist for emphasis, his expression as determined as cold steel. More cheers, louder this time. Good. He kept going.
“I urge you each to search your conscience and please...do what is needed. For our culture to survive, we must take the war to the dragons! Who is with me? Who will help our people live free among the stars?”
The great hall erupted into wild cheers. There were no dissenters. Not here. No, they'd all been taken care of for today at least, and today was the only day it would matter. Varion smiled as the votes were cast, seeing his glorious future spread out before him.
Thus, it happened that legislation was passed granting wartime authority to the Office of the Regency. The gears of the great machine had begun to move, and all opposition to the stability of their fair civilization would be crushed. There were riots in the streets, and the intelliNet was abuzz with news of war. Indications were that all branches of the military would experience enlistment spikes, which would continue climbing over the next month. Varion was pleased.
Captain Eli saw the news over his earbud, and shook his head. Not good. He'd seen the results of war on the planets he'd delivered aid to in the past. It was dark, sad, and hopeless. Skippy was back at the ship doing maintenance on ol' Slowpoke's ventilation systems, so Eli had decided to catch a drink before heading out.
Eli looked around at some of the other men in the bar. They seemed excited to participate in the carnage ahead, and he suppressed a wince. He didn't raise his glass when they made an obscene toast in support of the war. Not when it made him sick to think about what was coming. Even if it was against the dragons, he had a hard time supporting it. A lot of innocent people would be maimed and worse...children...women. Eli shook his head, frustrated that the House of Lords had done this. One of the men saw him and swayed over, massive and menacing.
He looked at Eli and slurred, “Whas yer problem, man?”
Eli smiled, and looked into his empty glass. He decided to see if he could avoid a fight, and held it up. “I'm out.”
The big bruiser was confused, but burst into a laugh. “Well, why didn' you shay so?” He looked at the bartender and ordered a bottle of brew for Eli, who sighed, not really wanting to drink it. What he needed was to get off this planet. His aunt had warned him that there were people around looking to arrest those who had any sympathy for the dragons, direct or otherwise. That made him uncomfortable, but he'd decided to catch one last drink and real meal before hitting the sky. Turned out that was a bad call, he chuckled to himself.
“Drink up,” the man clapped him heavily on the shoulder, and raised his own mug. “Thish is for all the dragons I'm gonna kill!” he yelled, knocking it back. Eli groaned and let his drink sit where it was, untouched. “They'll all rue the day they met Bluko Dahr, future dragon-killer!” His friends egged him on, and the man kept drinking. Eli decided it was time for him to leave, and stood up, pushing away from the bar.
“Hey, you didn't touch your drink!” Bluko yelled, storming over and getting in Eli's face. “You a dragon-lover?” He was getting suspicious, and seemed like the kind of man who didn't need much provocation to start a fight. He was flexing his fists, still holding the thick mug in his right hand. His eyes glinted even through his drunken haze.
Eli put up his hands. “Look, all I'm doing is leaving,” he said, and put some credit on the counter for his meal and drink. “I don't need any trouble.”
“You don't need it, but you're getting' it anyway,” the big man growled, throwing a punch. Luckily, Eli was quick, and dodged it.
“Stop and think about it!” Eli shouted at Bluko as he deflected a heavy punch from the large man. “Why would we want to go to war right now?” Eli continued, and a few people looked over at him, listening. “The dragons? No! Nothing's changed! War's nothing but a rich man's power play! And people like you are their cannon fodder!”
“Kark you!” Bluko yelled, and swung as hard as he could, but missed, and took out a table behind Eli, drinks spilling everywhere in a spray of glass and shouts from angry patrons.
Bluko Dahr's swarthy friends jumped up to join the fracas, but fortunately for Eli, so did the rest of the bar, and Eli knocked the big lug out with a bottle across the head. The bar devolved into a crazy blur of fists, angry shouts, smashed chairs, and broken glass. The proprietor looked horrified, and put his hand to his ear, probably to call the local patrol. That would be bad for Eli.
Eli ducked a few haymakers, but got knocked in the shoulder a few times before he made it out the front door. He heard sirens approaching, and made a quick turn down the sidewalk just in time to avoid the patrol sweeping in through the front to quell the fray. He pulled his coat collar up against the cold night air, and made his way back to the dock where Slowpoke was harbored.
He clucked his tongue, realizing Slowpoke would need some upgrades, and soon. He'd have to check in with an old friend about what they could do there. He'd had to hustle more recently, and he predicted that doing business was about to get even more complicated in the near future.
“How’s that maintenance coming along, Skippy?” he checked in over his earbud.
“B-deep!” the little airbot replied.
“Good, cause we gotta hit the stars as soon as I get back. That cargo's due at Kirlian's Rest by tomorrow, or we're gonna have a mark on us.” Over his earbud, he heard a loud crashing noise, and Skippy buzzed apologetically before cutting the signal. Times were about to get rough, so there wasn't room or time for anything other than their best efforts. “One day at a time,” he muttered, walking deeper into the night.
13
Reunions
Mama Teke leaned on the safety rail and watched her grandson walking down the terminal toward her. When he saw her, his face erupted in a smile and he ran toward her, yelling, “Bado kuimba!” until she held him tight in her big soft arms, the waters of joy falling down her deeply etched face.
“Mtumba!” Mama Teke cried. She was so happy to see him! She gave a silent song of thanks for his safe return, and kissed him gently on the forehead. Her son Kel had joined her when his dock shift ended, and was singing the kusafiri sala, the travelers' prayer song. She and Mtumba joined in the song for a moment, and then pulled apart from one another, laughing.
Right now life didn't seem so broken as it had several weeks ago, and Mama Teke held that feeling there in her heart, reminding herself that sometimes things do change for the better. So easy to forget that, she smiled. She leaned down and spoke to her grandson, her long-nailed hand resting on his young shoulder.
“You, my boy, you have a lot to tell me, no?” she smiled, and Mtumba nodded, eyes wide.
“You won't believe me, Mama Teke,” he said, then noticed his friends were standing next to him. The girl coughed discreetly, and spoke.
“Mtumba?”
Her grandson looked flustered for just an instant, then caught his footing and introduced them both to her and Kel. As he did, she noticed something about the boy, Rok, and it surprised her.
The boy's life-song was strange and loud. Very loud, almost like it was overpowering the songs around him, but somehow it didn't. Instead, it seemed to make them stronger, too. Like his very presence was knitting things back together that she hadn't even known were broken, before. She shook her head. It reminded her of the stories she'd heard about the maisha ya wimbo, the ancient life-giving song. Could that even be possible?
“Mama?” Kel asked, worry in his voice. “You all right? You been standin' there for a long time.”
Mtumba looked concerned too, so she spoke, waving off Kel's question with a puckered frown. “Oh, I'm fine, Kel. Just an old woman lost in her thoughts, is all. Let's get back home,” she said, glancing at Rok, and blinked. “You an' I gonna talk, later,” she informed him, and he smiled.
Then she took Kel's arm, and they walked back to the tram, Mtumba telling her all about how they escaped the doomed ship, the horrible monsters in the cave, and meeting the High King John Phoenix. She listened attentively, nodding and smiling at his amazing story, but part of her deep down realized with sentimental regret that Mtumba's adventure was clearly just beginning. He had already begun the hard journey toward becoming an adult.
Mama Teke let out a weary sigh. How fast the years would pass for him. How quick all children seemed to grow up. If only they could stay like they were for a bit more. If only they could be spared a little longer from the pain of war and poverty and sickness and death. However, for all its size and grandeur, for all its miracles and beauty, this universe was surprisingly short on time for the protection of innocence. Knowledge, she knew, always had its price. She just hoped it wouldn't hurt him too much.
Mtumba gave her a beaming smile from across the tram, and she wondered if he somehow knew what she was thinking. No, she laughed. He's just happy to be here with family, and so am I. She closed her eyes and leaned against the window, letting herself drift off for the rest of the ride home.
Quinn was unprepared for fatherhood, but was doing his best to make up for the lost time with his son. An impossible task, he knew, but one he found himself enjoying anyway. He'd taken Quincy to buy an airbike, for birthdays he'd forgotten, he claimed, and now they were looking at a blazing red model. Kid had good taste, Quinn noted with pride. Still, Quincy had seemed reluctant to go with him, and probably wouldn't have come unless Kai had insisted.
Quinn wasn't sure what to make of how she was acting. Sure, he understood why she was furious with him. Heck, he'd be angry, too, but the part that confused him was why she was insisting that Quincy spend time with him. Was it just because she wanted him to know his father, or was there something else going on?
Quinn had probed for information, and Quincy had said that Kai owned the Wasted Wagoneer, and had for years, ever since her uncle Yoric had passed away and left it to her in his will. Turned out she'd had a few male companions over the years, but none that had stuck around. Apparently, he wasn't the only one who'd been scorched by her fiery temper. For some reason, that news set him in a good mood, but he couldn't say why. He looked at his son, amazed.
Quincy looked like a straight-down-the-middle amalgamation of Quinn and Kai. It was amazing to see parts of himself in this boy, and he shook his head to bring himself back to what they were doing. The salesman approached, passing by some teenagers and two brawny, nondescript men on the sidewalk chatting beside a black windryder sedan. They stood out by not standing out, he noticed. Hopefully not his problem.
“Hi there, fellas,” the salesman interrupted genially, swooping in for what he undoubtedly hoped would be a smooth sale.
“Hey,” Quinn said as the fluffy man approached, his round face dominated by a large mustache. “How much you asking for this one?” Quinn asked.
The salesman whistled and shook his head. “You really know how to pick 'em, don'tcha,” he smiled. He thrust his hand out and said, “Name's Jimmy. Welcome to my dealership.” They shook, and Jimmy continued, leaning casually on the airbike. “This baby...is a real screamer,” he grinned. “Pickup like a lightning bolt and more power than most guys can handle.” He looked at the two men with a knowing grin, and then seemed to register their impressive physiques. “Not you two, though, I bet. How about a test drive?” He dangled the keys with a grin, and Quinn shrugged, taking them.
“Sure,” he replied. “You wanna follow behind?”
“Nah, just need your credit code in
case you get in a fender-bender,” the salesman grinned, holding out his tablet. “Don't worry, we don't do anything with it unless you decide to purchase or run off with the vehicle,” he chuckled. Satisfied with that, Quinn shrugged and made his mark. He noticed the nondescript men get in and start up their vehicle. Could be trouble, he frowned.
Quinn took the front seat on the airbike, telling Quincy to buckle in behind him. Once his son was securely fastened in, the grizzled Knight gunned the engine, and with a burst of power, took to the air. He smiled with satisfaction. It was exhilarating to feel the wind in his hair again, even if it was the filtered variety pumped through the station's atmospheric systems.
The bike handled smoothly as he guided it to the top traffic tier, reserved for fast travel. As Quinn was checking the mirror, he spotted the black windryder behind them. He cursed his luck, and looked over his shoulder at Quincy.
“Looks like we've got a monkey on our tail. Hold on tight,” he shouted over the roar of the wind. Quincy craned his neck in surprise to look behind them, and then nodded, holding tight to the sidebars. Good kid, Quinn thought as he gunned the engine into a sharp turn. The sedan instantly abandoned its pretense of being out for a casual ride, and broke traffic pattern to pursue them.
Quinn passed between the other vehicles on the top tier, picking up speed. He felt like he was back in his element, living on the edge, but there was a sharp distinction, this time. He had to protect his son, and didn't want to put him in danger. Too late...Best he could hope for now was to minimize the risk. He wished he could drop him off somewhere, but that wasn't an option with the windryder so close behind them.
So he had to shake them somehow. He spotted an abandoned construction area with a large wrecking-ball crane off to the right, and pushed the airbike's engine toward it, a plan forming in his mind. The sedan followed close behind them, and in the mirror, Quinn saw the passenger lean out the window, holding a weapon. “Hold on, kid,” he yelled, and turned hard down to the left, taking them directly toward the unfinished building.
Phoenix Rising (Dragon Legacy) Page 9