by Chris Fox
He slowed long enough for T’kon to catch up. “Do you really think it’s a good idea to antagonize the captain? He was given control of the ship.”
“We could take back that control at any time, and Sissus is well aware of that fact. He watched you kill Krekon. He understands that his people have no chance in battle.” T’kon fell into step with Nolan as they approached the cargo bay. “Fear is the most effective motivator, and something Sissus has been bred to respond to.”
“He saw me kill Krekon in a mech. Outside a mech is a whole different story, and sooner or later he’ll figure that out. My world has a philosopher you’d like, guy by the name of Machiavelli. The ends sometimes justify the means, but intimidation isn’t always the right tactic. Sissus could be in a position to save our asses in the near future. What if he and his people decide to leave with the ship while we’re out meeting with your clan?”
T’kon looked troubled. His fur brightened to a shade of blue. “Perhaps there is merit to your words, yet it goes against our ways. Ganog are the rightful masters of our empire. We conquered the Saurians, because they are weak. Treating them as equals, it feels…inaccurate.”
“Every species has its own merits,” Nolan countered. “The Primo considered both humans and Tigris primitive—and in a lot of ways they were right—but in the end they needed our help to beat the Void Wraith and their Gorthian masters. The Saurians are risking their lives, just like we are. I think that entitles them to my respect.”
They’d entered the cargo bay, where Hannan was prepping the rest of the squad. Burke was helping Annie into her armor, while Nuchik checked the action on her new particle rifle.
Hannan turned to the rest of the squad. “Captain on deck.”
They snapped to attention, pivoting to face him.
Nolan saluted. “At ease.”
He wasn’t a fan of the formality, but Nuchik thrived on it. Hannan seemed to enjoy it as well, though for different reasons. She liked giving Nuchik orders, especially now that the scarlet-haired sniper snapped to when Hannan barked.
“Escort mission, sir?” Hannan asked.
“Not yet. T’kon is going to contact his man at a local restaurant. If it checks out, we’ll probably meet up for a face to face. T’kon, give us the word when you’re ready.” Nolan walked over to join the squad, leaving T’kon plenty of room in the corner.
Presumably, the man wanted privacy. Nolan certainly would have, were their roles reversed.
“Why is T’kon all ornery?” Annie asked, though she kept her voice low.
“Takkar’s clan assaulted this world,” Nolan explained in low tones. “From what I gather, they lost, and his clan has fallen on hard times.”
“It’s more complex than that, Captain,” T’kon called from the corner. He rose, turning to face the squad. “It will help you all to understand why we are here, and what I hope to achieve. Captain, do I have your leave to explain?”
“Of course, T’kon.” Nolan nodded his ascent.
“It is true that the Azi lost a great battle with the Vkash. Takkar disabled our only planetstrider, and when the storm to the south clears you will see it still standing there. We still possess our dreadnoughts, but one suffered significant damage in the battle for our world. We pushed them back, but they broke the back of our military. The empress has refused to repair our ships, something only she can do.” T’kon’s voice was pained, and his fur shifted to an oily purple, roiling and changing as he spoke. “I was the commander that day—leadership caste, our highest. After I lost that battle, I was banished to the warrior caste. The Azi clan would not have me, so I was forced to become a hunter. That is what led me to Ganog 7, where I hoped to injure Takkar.”
“Ah,” Annie said, nodding knowingly, “that explains why you got such a hard-on for Takkar.” She spit a gob of black into the bucket near the foot of her mech.
Hannan’s eyes had gone cold. “We’ll get payback. I can promise you that. We have different reasons to hate that bastard, but the end is the same. Dead. Whatever it takes.”
“Your fervor is reassuring, Lieutenant.” T’kon nodded gratefully in her direction, his fur finally stopping at a soft brown. His nostrils flared, and he rose to his full height. “We are here to see if I can reclaim my position. I offer the means to repair our planetstrider, a gift of incalculable worth.”
“You’re talking about the core we gave you.” Lena’s eyes widened and she gave a toothy smile. “You want to revive the strider. How extensive is the damage? I’d be eager to see how the striders are made. I mean, if you want a little assistance. I don’t mean to intrude on your work.”
“Lena, you are what we’d call a techsmith.” T’kon approached the Tigris scientist, giving a low bow. “We consider your kind the holy servants of the seekers. You are sacred—and even if you were not, you are useful. My people could never repair this strider, yet I suspect you could accomplish it with ease.”
Nolan’s respect for the Ganog continued to rise. “I appreciate you explaining the situation, T’kon.”
“If I had not, there would have been a risk of confusion or animosity. The squad has already helped me inflict incalculable damage on Takkar. You killed Krekon, Nolan. I will never be able to repay that. Yet still, you help me further. The least I can do is convey what it is I ask you to fight for.”
6
Grotto
T’kon took deep, even breaths through his lower nostrils. His fur was a soft chestnut brown, its natural state. He kept tight reign on his emotions, bracing himself for the meeting.
“That cave over there leads to the grotto. It’s a place for dining and relaxation, but there is a great deal of etiquette surrounding such activities. Captain, would you be willing to ask the rest of your squad to wait here while we dine?” T’kon asked. The captain had been more than accommodating, and he was reluctant to ask yet another favor.
“I don’t like it, but I suppose it’s workable. Hannan, set up the squad half a click back up the road,” Nolan ordered.
“Nuchik, find yourself a perch,” Hannan ordered, already striding briskly back the way they’d come. “Annie and I will take up firing positions on either side of the road.”
“Thank you, Captain,” T’kon murmured. “I understand you have little reason to trust me. I wear the same face as your enemy, after all.” He’d dropped his voice, and now walked slowly toward the wide slash in the mountain.
“This is your show, T’kon. I’m willing to bend where I have to. You’re right that I don’t trust you, at least not fully. Trust comes from understanding—and the more I learn about who you are and where you come from, the more I’ll trust you. So I guess this is the best way, really.”
T’kon strode into the cave mouth, forcing even breaths. It had been two years since he’d walked these halls. The hallway grew wider, finally spilling them into the grotto. Wide grey stone curved around azure pools. The water trickled through the open wall, then over a cliff on the south side of the room.
“My god, that view is incredible.” Nolan walked toward the gap, pausing near the cliff.
“It is magnificent.” T’kon gave a low chuckle. “It’s called the Gap of Sho’rive, so named by our ancestors when they first discovered this place.”
T’kon took a moment to enjoy the view as well. The gap overlooked a waterfall that spilled into the bluest lake any world had ever boasted. Beyond that lake lay the holdings of the Azi clan, tak orchards covering the rows of hills.
“T’kon, I did not believe it. Not until I laid eyes on you myself.”
The voice was familiar, and T’kon turned slowly to face a man he’d never thought to see again. Fek was flanked by his attendants, both Saurians wearing the traditional jet black armor that marked them as sho’ka. He eyed T’kon curiously.
“You are no fool, T’kon. You know what returning to this world means for you. Yet I will not press you about your reasons. Have you eaten?”
“No, my friend.” T’kon gestured at N
olan. “This is Nolan, a human.”
“I’m not familiar with the species.” Fek gave Nolan an appraising look. “He is armed, but doesn’t look like a terribly effective body guard. Do you use him to scout?”
“He killed Krekon.”
Fek’s jaw worked, and his fur shifted to scarlet, then lightened to a warm orange. “He is an ally, then, I see. Welcome, Nolan. I am Fek of the Azi, and you are safe here. Please, remove your boots and enter the house of Fek. We will feast and drink to the death of the defiler.”
T’kon removed his boots, then his gauntlets. He placed the gauntlets inside the boots, then pushed them against the wall in one of the empty spots between two other sets of boots. The floor was warm against the soles of his feet, and drew a contented sigh from him.
“Come, please,” Fek offered. He walked with Nolan, letting T’kon trail behind. Such a move accorded Nolan much honor, while simultaneously snubbing T’kon. Since T’kon was a wo’kur now, he expected no less. He was clanless; what right did he have to stand beside Fek?
Fek led them to a private dining balcony covered by a fagu-hide pavilion. The ground was clear stone, giving the feeling of dining in midair. It was Fek’s most expensive table, and denizens from lower tables gave them surprised looks.
“Fetch the best tak wine, and a full order of brous ribs.” Fek waved at his attendants, and both departed swiftly. He waited until they were gone before speaking again. “We are alone now. Unfortunately, our meeting must be brief. I risk much being seen with you, but I do so because I believe you wouldn’t return here simply to die. Tell me my faith is not misplaced, that you do not seek the gaze of the Nameless Ones.”
“I have come to earn a place in the clan,” T’kon began simply. He reached into his pack, removing the tritanium box that President Dryker had presented to him, and opened it to show Fek the contents. “This is no mere trinket to dazzle a techsmith. You are looking at a true core, one powerful enough to resurrect a planetstrider.”
“By their unholy gaze,” Fek whispered. He ran two furry fingers along the cube, then looked up sharply at T’kon. “Returning is still madness, but almost I could understand the risk. This is the one thing—the only thing—that might grant you a station in the clan again. But I must warn you to temper your expectations, T’kon. Things are not as they were when you left.”
T’kon tried to suppress his disappointment, his fear, and his anger. He failed; his fur revealed the truth of things. “Tell me.”
“Ro’kan has taken over, brutally purging warriors once loyal to you. His strength grows daily, mostly because he has the support of the seekers. He and Oako speak with one mind, and the warriors are listening. Yet that is not the worst of it.” Fek stretched out a hand, resting it on T’kon’s forearm. “Jehanna has spoken the words. She and Clan Leader are in union.”
T’kon dropped his eyes in shame, his fur paling to ashen grey.
“What does that mean, T’kon?” Nolan asked.
“It means,” T’kon managed, just barely, “that my wife has married a man who swore to kill me if he ever saw me again.”
7
Arena
Khar followed the blue-scaled Saurian as they left the space dock. The guards hadn’t paid them any further mind, and he relaxed slightly as the dock receded in the distance. The Saurian wove through the crowd ahead, his destination clear.
A large, round building stood across the street. It was ringed by a wire fence, and a stream of patrons flowed through into the yard around the building. Some stood talking in clusters, each drinking from a hollowed-out animal horn. Khar could smell the concoction from here—some sort of fermented fruit. Definitely alcoholic.
A sign swayed above the doors, with a stylized pictogram emblazoned across it in glowing red letters. The pictogram showed a man standing atop a pile of bodies, his fist thrust into the air triumphantly. Interesting.
The Saurian headed directly for the door, slipping inside. Khar followed, pretending to allow his eyes to adjust to the sudden dimness while he scanned the crowd.
There were fifty-seven occupants. The largest concentration was Ganog, followed by Saurian. Most were clustered around the cage dominating the center of the room. It lay at the bottom of several sets of stairs, and rings of stadium seating surrounded it.
Khar plunged into the crowd, working his way toward the first set of stairs. A fight was beginning, and he kept an eye on it as he found a seat in the back row. A Ganog with tan fur was facing off against an alien that appeared to be made entirely from rock.
“I don’t like being followed,” came a hiss from behind him. Khar felt the barrel of a pistol press against the back of his neck. “Now, I asked myself why you might be interested in me. The winnings from our game? Perhaps. You seemed quite interested.”
“I’m not following you,” Khar said, careful not to move. He had no idea what kind of pistol the Saurian was using, and wasn’t eager to find out. “I just happened to come to the same place, is all. I don’t want any trouble. I simply wish to watch the fight.”
“Take off your helmet.” The barrel pressed harder against Khar’s neck.
Khar reached up slowly, keying in the sequence to remove the helmet. It popped off with a hiss, and he pulled it away from his face.
“Turn around so I can look at you,” the Saurian ordered.
Khar sighed, turning to face the Saurian.
The creature’s eyes widened. “You’re one of the aliens the clan leader attacked. They’ll pay thousands of credits for you. Maybe more.”
Khar smashed the Saurian in the face with his helmet. Bone crunched, and the Saurian tripped. He tumbled into the wall behind him, and Khar was on him before he could recover. He punched the Saurian in the gut, using all of his enhanced strength. Bone cracked, and the Saurian sagged to the ground, unconscious and likely suffering from internal bleeding.
Khar glanced up, scanning the crowd for a reaction. A few people gave him curious glances, but no one seemed terribly interested. Rough crowd—though, given what they were here to watch, maybe that wasn’t surprising. Khar bent to the Saurian, picking up the pistol. He studied it for a moment and discovered that it didn’t have a safety. He slid it into his pack.
Then he rifled through the Saurian’s jacket, withdrawing a clinking brown bag. He pulled back the drawstring, confirming that it contained currency from the game they’d played on the transport. He tucked that in his pack as well, then began moving away from the Saurian, pulling his helmet back on as he made for the door.
“Hold a moment, friend,” came a pleasant voice from behind.
Khar froze, turning slowly to face the speaker.
The Ganog towered over Khar, grinning down at him. His lower nostrils were closed, and his fur was currently a warm orange-yellow. “I saw what you did to that Saurian.”
“The disagreement was between the Saurian and me.” Khar said, turning to leave.
“I also saw what you looked like without a helmet,” the Ganog added.
Khar paused.
“Yes, I thought that might get your attention.”
“What do you want from me?” Khar rested a hand on his particle pistol, readying himself to fight.
“I’ve got a proposition for you, one that will make us both a pile of credits.”
Khar finally turned back to the Ganog. “Explain.”
“I can get you a spot in the arena. You’re an unknown, and I don’t think anyone else saw how fast you moved. They’ll underestimate you. We bet every chit we’ve got that you’re going to win, and then we split the money. With that kind of money, I might just forget what I saw under that armor.” The Ganog gave him a slow, predatory smile.
“I could simply kill you.” Khar already knew he wasn’t going to do so, but hopefully the Ganog didn’t.
“That wouldn’t be very profitable. In fact, it might get you fined. Or even imprisoned. There’s no reason not to work with me. We both win.”
“What’s your name?�
�� Khar asked.
“Bik. How about you, stranger?” Bik asked.
Khar considered his answer carefully. There was no reason to lie. No one here knew anything about the Tigris. “I am Khar of Pride Leonis.”
“Well Khar of Pride Leonis, I’m going to go speak to the pit lord about getting you into the next match. Uh, before I do, I don’t suppose you have any chits? The entry fee isn’t cheap.”
Khar reached reluctantly into his pack, handing the Saurian’s pouch over.
“Hmm,” Bik murmured, checking the contents. “It isn’t much, but it will cover the entry fee. I’ll use the rest to make bets. Why don’t you just sit back and relax, in the meantime? Maybe have a horn of nectar?”
“All right.” Khar nodded, returning to his seat in the back row of the little stadium. If he was going to be fighting in that cage, he wanted time to study his opponents.
Two Saurians were dragging out the rock alien, who was either unconscious or dead. The Ganog raised both arms triumphantly, roared at the crowd.
Khar smiled. Maybe these Ganog had a bit of Tigris in them. They seemed to value combat, at least. It was a welcome change from working with humanity, who had all these rules about where and when you could kill an opponent. Duels were outlawed. How unthinkably barbaric.
A red-scaled Saurian with a pair of crackling shock batons was led into the cage. He pointed one of the batons at the Ganog, yelling something that was swallowed by the surge of the crowd. The Ganog clearly objected, his fur going red-black.
The Ganog bull rushed the smaller Saurian, slashing at him with a vibro-sword. The Saurian melted back, dodging several wild strikes. The Ganog chased him slowly around the cage, slashing with too much force and not enough control. He was impressively strong, but Khar already knew who was going to win the fight.
The Saurian expended very little energy, only occasionally using a shock baton to knock the Ganog’s sword away. The Ganog, on the other hand, was heaving like a bellows. All four of his nostrils were flared, and his eyes had gone wild. He rushed the Saurian again, and the Saurian finally counterattacked.