by Chris Fox
She was beautiful, oddly enough. Khar knew she was alien, yet she wasn’t so very different from a Tigris. She had delicate purple fur, about the same length as Khar’s own. Her body was shaped like a Tigris’s, and had the curves of a warrior. Her lack of a tail was disturbing, though.
Khar realized she was studying him the same way he was studying her. Then the elite stumbled to Khar’s side of the platform, blocking his view. The elite swung his axe in a wide arc, severing a Saurian in two. The axe continued forward, and the elite adjusted the arc to catch a Ganog just above the shoulder. The headless corpse toppled to the deck near Khar.
“No,” Khar snarled, climbing back to his feet. His power reserves were down to 22 percent, but the worst of the damage had been repaired.
Khar circled behind the elite, staying in its blind spot. He took several moments to scan the other combatants, trying to identify anyone of use. The Ganog monk who’d first spoken to Khar was still up. He rolled nimbly away from an axe strike, leaping to safety. The Saurian next to him wasn’t so lucky; the flat side of the axe caught him, launching him off the disk. He screeched, toppling out of view.
Khar sprang onto the Ganog’s back, digging his claws into a joint in the armor. He flung himself up again, landing on the back of the Ganog’s neck. He buried his plasma blade at the base of the Ganog’s spine, and the Ganog roared. Its fur blackened, and an armored hand shot toward Khar, who rolled backwards off the Ganog’s neck, barely avoiding the grasping fingers.
The elite whirled, slamming a gigantic knee into Khar’s chest. He was flung backwards, tumbling toward the abyss. Khar plunged his plasma blade into the deck, jerking to a sudden halt half a meter from the edge of the island. The elite started for him, but paused when the monk landed on his shoulder.
The elite swatted at the monk, but the monk rolled safely away. Khar used the time to climb to his feet, charging the elite again. This thing was strong, but if he kept stabbing it, it would die eventually.
“Stop.” A clear voice rang out, dropping a veil of silence over every onlooker. The elite snapped his axe into a guard position, darting glances between Khar and the woman who’d spoken.
Khar risked a glance up, unsurprised that it was the purple-furred Ganog.
She was staring down at the elite. “You have allowed them to wound you, Kokar.”
“This? It is less than an arachnis bite,” the elite boasted. “These last two opponents are slippery, but they are no threat to me.” He puffed out his chest, standing to his full height. “Give me leave to slay them, Empress. Please, do not rob me of my honor.”
“Better that than these warriors rob you of your life. Your father would not thank me for that,” the woman countered. She waved a hand, and a pair of disks descended toward Khar and the surviving monk. “This adept and the strange alien are now my property. Have them cleaned and fed. This ceremony is over.”
“But, Empress—” Kokar protested.
“Enough.” The empress glared down at him.
Khar was certain she was angry, but unlike the other Ganog he’d seen, her fur color didn’t seem affected by her emotions.
“Kokar, I wished to spare you public humiliation, but you’ve left me no choice. That alien”—she pointed at Khar—“has more courage than you. He is a better warrior than you. His first blow nearly took your eye. His second could have paralyzed you. He went for the kill, both times. If he is able to do so again, there is a real chance you will die. Real enough that I am ending this farce. Your ketira is done, Kokar. They are my property now. Do you wish to dispute that claim?”
“No, Your Majesty.” Kokar gave a long, deep bow. When he straightened, his eyes were focused on Khar. “These two are your property, and I will not harm them.” The unspoken yet lingered.
Khar tensed, unsure how to react. He’d just drawn the attention of the enemy ruler. Should he leap to his death to avoid capture? Or take his chances? Khar peered into the abyss, steeling himself.
The empress waved regally. “Escort them to comfortable quarters. I will summon them at my leisure.”
Khar froze. He would have direct access to this ruler. The opportunity might arise to slay her.
If it did, he would take it.
11
Ro'kan
Nolan’s hand strayed to his pistol again, and once again he forced it back to his side. He and T’kon walked through a wide corridor, entering the lowest level of a spire that wouldn’t have occasioned much comment back in London or New York. He guessed it stood two hundred stories, though the estimate was rough.
The inside was hollow, and half a dozen islands floated above. They looked forlorn and small, barely touching the interior of the cavernous spire.
“Keep moving,” one of the guards growled.
Nolan and T’kon were flanked by four Ganog elites, each carrying a war staff. Their armor was identical, much more so than the elites Nolan had fought back on Ganog 7. T’kon’s head was held high, his posture rigid as he walked. If he heard the snidely whispered comments, he didn’t show it.
He said nothing as they were escorted to the middle of the chamber. Several Ganog stood atop a raised dais, about a meter off the ground. Two of the Ganog were dressed in elaborate finery, while the rest wore black robes trimmed with scarlet runes.
“So it is true, then,” boomed a large Ganog, one of the ones in elaborate finery. He walked to the edge of the dais, glaring down at T’kon. “I gave you your life, yet clearly you do not value it. Why have you returned, T’kon?”
The Ganog’s fur was dull red. Anger? Annoyance? Nolan was still piecing together exactly how that worked.
“I will speak plainly, Ro’kan,” T’kon said. “I have come with an ally from a newly discovered empire. This is Nolan, of clan Nolan. He is a member of the Coalition of United Races.”
“What is that to me, T’kon?” The red in Ro’kan’s fur deepened. “Thanks to you, we are in no position to conquer this…Coalition. So what do I care if they exist, or don’t?”
“Because they freely offer new technology, Clan Leader. Technology that could restore the Azi to greatness.” T’kon pointed at Nolan. “Show him.”
Nolan opened the box he’d been carrying, exposing the glowing cube to the entire room. One of the black-robed Ganog rushed to Ro’kan’s side, whispering in his ear.
Ro’kan’s eyes tightened, and his fur faded to a dark, neutral grey. “My seeker tells me that this object is holy. Yet you claim that this…Coalition, they can manufacture them?” Ro’kan eyed T’kon closely.
“In great quantity,” Nolan said. He stepped forward, raising the core for all to see. He stared up at the clan leader. “We’re willing to share that technology, to help you get your planetstrider up and running.”
“Why?” Ro’kan asked, dubiously.
“Because T’kon tells me that we have a common enemy.” Nolan glanced at T’kon, continuing when the Ganog nodded at him. “If you will help us against the Vkash clan, we will help the Azi take back the worlds you’ve lost to them.”
“You wish to challenge the Vkash?” Ro’kan laughed uproariously. “I’d forgotten both your temerity and your arrogance, T’kon. A nasty combination, those. Tell me, Nolan of the Coalition: are you making a gift of this holy relic?”
“I am.” Nolan walked toward the clan leader, pausing when an elite interposed himself. Nolan handed him the box, then stepped back to join T’kon. “Consider it a gesture of goodwill. Consider also that we can provide more, and other types of weapons. We can help you get revenge.”
The black-robed Ganog closed his eyes, and purple pulses began flowing from his temple, down a cable Nolan hadn’t noticed until then. The pulses carried it to an object in the Ganog’s robes, cradled between his arms. It looked like the arcanotome they’d recovered from the dead techsmith when they took the planetstrider, but the circuitry on this one was far more elaborate. He bent to whisper in Ro’kan’s ear again.
Ro’kan finally nodded. “Your word
s are of interest; I cannot lie. Yet no matter what I ultimately decide, I will not do it hastily. I must know more about this Coalition, and exactly what it is you’re offering. In the meantime, I offer you sanctuary here. You are welcome beneath my roof, until I reach a final decision.”
Nolan cleared his throat. “Forgive me, Clan Leader, but my friends and I did not come alone. With your permission, I’d prefer to stay with our ship.”
“Very well. What of you, T’kon? I’m certain Jehanna would wish to see you.” Ro’kan’s fur brightened to a smug yellow.
T’kon recoiled as if slapped, and took several deep breaths before answering. “Your hospitality is appreciated, Clan Leader. However, I must decline. I will be staying with our new allies.” T’kon gave the shallowest bow still worthy of the name.
“Very well. I grant you leave to return to this Coalition vessel. But surely you cannot depart without at least saying hello. Join us for dinner, T’kon. Bring your new ally. I insist.” The clan leader’s tone put the lie to the request. This clearly wasn’t optional.
“Of course, Clan Leader.” T’kon sketched another bow, then turned on his heel.
Nolan followed him out of the chamber, resisting the urge to question him. “That must have been incredibly difficult for you. I’m sorry, T’kon.”
“Thank you, Captain. Your sympathy is appreciated. I did not think it would be so hard to return.” T’kon walked dazedly forward, his eyes far away.
“So who was that Ganog in the black robes? That thing he was carrying looked like an arcanotome.” Nolan’s sunglasses automatically darkened when they stepped back into the reddish light of the sun. He scanned the horizon, relaxing when he saw nothing resembling an ambush. He didn’t see his squad either, which was a testament to their skill.
“That was Oako, a man that I once thought I knew. He was part of the warrior caste, one of my fiercest followers. Almost, I elevated him to the leadership caste. We were as close as non-blood can be,” T’kon explained. He paused, facing Nolan. The wind played across his fur, which slipped a shade darker as he spoke. “Now, Oako is of the seeker caste. They are zealots, and are usually shunned by the leadership caste.”
“Why?” Nolan asked. He started walking back the way they’d come. It was two clicks to the ship, but the gravity was lighter on this world. Walking was a joy after his time on Ganog 7.
“Oako now seeks the gaze of the Nameless Ones.” T’kon shook his head sadly. “I’d never have believed it, had I not seen him in those robes.”
“And that was an arcanotome?” Nolan asked.
“Indeed. All seekers carry them, and some of the techsmiths are allowed to as well.” T’kon shaded his eyes, looking behind him at the spire. “They are not allowed to speak of it, and we have no idea what they do. Speaking of them is considered blasphemy, and outsiders to their caste are forbidden from knowing anything about them—other than that they are a repository of lore.”
“And these seekers worship the Nameless Ones?” Nolan continued up the cobblestones, which had given way to gravel in many places. The road hadn’t been repaired in a decade or more, and clearly saw heavy travel.
“Not precisely. Most people pray to avoid their terrible gaze, but the seekers do exactly the opposite. They believe it is their holy obligation to find the Nameless Ones, to enact their will.” T’kon’s fur lightened toward red. “The fact that Oako would throw away all he knows to take up their mantle is troubling, and for that I blame myself. My final defeat shattered our clan, casting many warriors adrift, spiritually. Oako is a casualty of my making.”
Nolan didn’t have anything comforting to say, so he merely nodded. They walked in silence, and Nolan used the time to consider these Nameless Ones. He already disliked the sound of them, and had the feeling the more he learned, the worse that would get.
As of yet he had no evidence, but he strongly suspected Ganog culture had dealt with the Gorthians in the distant past. Setting up a religion to worship themselves sounded exactly like something the Gorthians would do.
12
Quarters
Nolan frowned at the doorway to their “quarters.” Fek had given them a room, but the Azi Clan didn’t seem to use any doors. There was no way to close off a room, or to get any privacy. That made discussing the kind of thing they needed to talk about doubly dangerous.
The best they could do was run the holodisplay in the corner. Its low drone provided white noise, which covered their voices if they spoke quietly. Right now that holo showed some sort of gladiatorial battle between two Ganog in white ceremonial robes. They resembled the karate gi that many Earth martial artists wore.
“Sir, you sure we shouldn’t be doing this back on the ship?” Hannan whispered. She lounged against the wall, deceptively calm, sharpening her pocket knife.
“I don’t like it, either,” Nolan said, “but you heard T’kon. He said that Fek is the only one he fully trusts here. We need him. We could ask him back to the ship, but I’d rather he not get a look at our cloaking tech. T’kon trusts him, but I have my doubts.” He trailed off as footsteps sounded in the hallway.
T’kon and Fek strode into the room. T’kon gave Nolan a respectful nod, and he and Fek moved to join the squad, who murmured greetings. Fek was shorter than T’kon, and his skin more leathery. Nolan wondered absently how old he was, and how long Ganog lived.
“I take it matters in the spire were not to your liking?” Fek asked, eyeing T’kon.
“You knew what I’d find. Why didn’t you warn me?” T’kon demanded. There was little heat to it, though.
“You needed to see it for yourself. I had hoped doing so would convince you to depart this world. Ours is a dying clan, T’kon. All you can accomplish here is to die along with it.”
Fek stared searchingly at T’kon, and Nolan felt a pang of empathy. He recognized that kind of loss.
“Perhaps, but I cannot accept that. Not while I draw breath.” T’kon’s hands clenched to fists. His fur darkened to a muddy brown. “Ro’kan is a prideful fool, even more so than I was at the height of my hubris. Yet he craves power, and we offer power unlike any he has ever tasted. I believe he can be made to see reason.”
“I do not.” Fek shook his head. “Things are bad, T’kon. If you really intend to go to this feast, then you will see for yourself. Ro’kan has given Oako his ear more and more of late. More warriors convert to the seekers daily.”
“Why?” T’kon asked, his tone anguished. His eyes dropped to the stone floor.
“Can you blame them?” Fek snapped. “We cost them everything. They lost faith in the leadership caste. The best of them left is Ro’kan. Prideful, petty Ro’kan. Would you wish to follow? Those who seek the Nameless Ones are really seeking an end to their shame. And Oako does give them that, whatever it might cost.”
“The cost is unbearable.” T’kon thumped the table with his furry fist. “I will go to this feast. I will see for myself.”
“Stand ready for combat then. You’ve shown Ro’kan that you have power he craves, and he may seek to seize it. He is far more likely to capture you and take you to Imperalis than he is to rebel against the empress.” Fek shook his head again. “No, this path is madness. Leave now, T’kon. Find a different end. Takkar still lives. Seek your vengeance upon him.”
“I have had my vengeance,” T’kon snapped. “The empress will likely execute Takkar, and perhaps his entire family. We took one of his planetstriders and crippled his fleet.”
Nolan’s gaze kept straying to the holo, drawn by the movement. The camera zoomed up over another island, showing a different pair of combatants. A Ganog in white robes squared off against a shorter foe in environmental armor.
Familiar armor.
Nolan found himself on his feet, drawn toward the holo. He circled it, watching as the combat unfolded. The Ganog adept delivered a blinding kick, knocking the armored figure down the side of a sloped disk. He nearly rolled off the side, but managed to arrest his momentum.
They exchanged a rapid flurry of blows, and the armored figure was getting the worst of it—until he ignited a blue-white plasma blade on his wrist.
A Void Wraith plasma blade.
The armored figure kicked the adept off the disk, and he tumbled into the depths of a truly massive spire. The armored figure raised his arms triumphantly, and the crowd erupted into applause.
“Hannan, Lena, Annie, get over here,” Nolan ordered. They trotted over, clustering around the holo. “Are you seeing what I’m seeing?” He pointed at the holo.
Lena’s eyes widened. “By the goddess, I know that armor. Captain, that’s Khar. It must be.”
“Fek,” Nolan called, turning to the Ganog, “what is this we’re watching?”
Fek looked irritated by the interruption, as he was still conversing with T’kon in low tones. “Those are the Royal Spire Games, fought on the capital. It’s one of our most popular sports. Why do you ask?”
Nolan face split into a broad grin. “Because one of our people is on Imperalis. Khar is still alive.”
13
Knife's Edge
Fizgig strode through the glass doors, onto the hotel’s shaded veranda. It cut the heat to a manageable level, but Atreas was still too hot for her liking. She moved to the balcony, peering down at the newly rebuilt Alpha Company.
A dozen mechs painted a muted grey and white stood in a precise line, their pilots clustered around a mess table a little ways off. Only their commanding officer was missing.
Behind the mechs stretched an abandoned human city, left empty when the Void Wraith had harvested the entire colony. They’d constructed a massive factory, sprawling around the base of the largest space elevator Fizgig had ever seen. A thick white cable stretched into the sky above, disappearing into space.