by Chris Fox
Decades of training served her well. She veiled her rage, knowing that Utfa must have moved Nyar ships in order to effect repairs on Takkar’s. That was a power that she alone was supposed to wield, yet Utfa had convinced members of her clan to do as he wished, without so much as consulting her.
“Thank you, Utfa. You are so very thoughtful. I will begin making preparations to join my fleet.”
“Empress, if I may. Your reign is…delicate. Leaving Imperalis now of all times is exceedingly dangerous. Takkar, despite his recent loss, is still our finest fleet leader. Give him another chance. Give him charge of your fleets, and allow him to lay this world at your feet.”
Utfa clearly expected her to capitulate. Did she have a choice? The idea of remaining here while her fleets were absent—it invited assassination.
“I will give Takkar command, and I will entrust six of my dreadnoughts to his fleet. The seventh will remain here, as a symbol of my power.”
“Are you certain that is wise, Empress? This Coalition has proven resourceful. Every ship will be needed.”
Utfa didn’t bother to hide his annoyance at her resistance, but in this she had no other choice. She must keep at least a token force here to defend herself. To do otherwise was madness.
“Thank you for your counsel, but in this I know my own mind. My dreadnought remains here, so the people may see it and know I watch over them.” She added a hint of petulance, and a dash of self-entitlement.
“Very well, Empress. If you wish it, of course it shall be so.”
“Was there anything else, Utfa?”
“A minor detail. Given that the Azi clan aided us in the finding of this knowledge, I thought it fitting that their fleet be in the vanguard.” Utfa watched her with his milky eyes, sending a shiver of fear through her.
“Very well.” She waved magnanimously. “It is a minor favor. I grant it.”
“Thank you, Empress.” Utfa stepped atop his disk, zooming away without asking her permission.
She sighed. Games within games, all to stave off her enemies for another day.
22
Empress
Khar had learned the temple gardens well during his enforced stay. He’d endlessly paced each of the winding paths, and while he still appreciated the austere beauty of the flowers, his confinement had begun to wear on him.
A golden tray containing some sort of filleted meat floated up to him, and he sampled a slice. Unfortunately, he had no real sense of taste. His body could break down the proteins into usable repair materials, but the joy of feasting on fresh meat was gone.
The tray followed him as he paced, trying to understand what to do next. In theory, he was supposed to be rewarded for winning his battle, but he had no idea how or when. In the meantime, all he could do was wait and observe his surroundings.
It was something Khar had a great deal of experience with. He’d never forget languishing aboard the Primo carrier, First Light, months rolling by while he and Dryker waited for the Primo to call their conclave. Surely this would be nothing compared to that. Still, he could not stop monitoring his chronometer.
A transport disk zoomed into view, then moved to hover near his feet. Khar looked around, but there was no crowd above. No cheering, or sounds of combat. So, it probably was not carrying him to a fight. Where then? “I suppose it doesn’t really matter, does it?”
Khar stepped atop the disk, crouching to keep his balance as it zipped upward. He wound slowly past several islands, and used the opportunity to study them. Most had clusters of spires, miniature versions of the ones they floated inside.
Ganog adepts walked the gardens between them, moving with no apparent care or worry. They lived a completely monastic lifestyle, one that Khar couldn’t really claim to understand.
He floated past a wider island, which contained a park filled with vibrant blue trees. The disk continued past another island where a dozen Ganog were sparring. It passed more temples, all more elaborate than the one he’d been waiting at.
Nowhere did he see a chair, or a bed. So far as he could tell, the Ganog didn’t use furniture or utensils. Possessions of any kind were rare. Storage devices were built artfully into walls, and were nearly invisible when closed. It was a much different culture, and one Khar admitted he was curious about.
The platform entered a largely empty area, then passed a cluster of more opulent islands. They were filled with fluted spires, pools, and gardens. The disk finally stopped above an island at the edge of the others. A woman stood on the very lip of the island, gazing down at the islands below. Her violet fur ruffled in the breeze, and her hands were clasped behind her back.
She didn’t turn or react when the platform stopped a dozen meters behind her. Khar hopped down, making sure to grunt when he landed. If the sound alerted the woman, she didn’t show it. Khar was unsure how to proceed, so he waited.
It gave him time to study the woman more closely. As expected, it was the elegantly furred Ganog from the arena matches. Her ivory-colored robes were immaculate, but her bare toes wriggled in the blue grass that covered much of the island. The artificial wind played across her fur, giving it an iridescent sheen.
He couldn’t accurately judge Ganog age, but she seemed young. Newly come into the responsibilities of adulthood and leadership.
“You sent for me?” Khar finally said. He was positive she knew he was here, so she must be waiting for him to do something.
The woman turned, eyeing him curiously. “You do not use the traditional forms. And your face is covered in my presence.”
Khar realized he’d misstepped, but not how or why. There was so much he didn’t understand. He removed his helmet, tucking it under his arm. His first four words had been damaging, and he assumed the next four would be worse. So he said nothing.
“What species are you?” she asked, approaching slowly. She moved like a dancer, flowing from step to step.
Khar sensed a lifetime of training, despite her apparent youth. “I am Tigris,” he said, simply.
“Yes, I’d assumed so.” She walked a slow circle around him.
“You know of my kind then?” Khar rumbled. His tail swished behind him, until he willed it to stillness.
“I’ve recently become acquainted with them, yes. The Vkash clan says you invaded our space, and that they’ve wiped out several of your fleets.” She paused in front of him, taking his chin gently in one hand. She turned him one way, then the other, as if inspecting a beast of burden. “You are an interesting species. Powerful, clearly. And a predator, like my own species.”
“You’re not concerned to have an enemy in your midst?” Khar thought her demeanor odd. She seemed so…relaxed.
“I am confident in my ability to defend myself.” She pursed her lips, circling him again. “You are larger than I’d been led to expect, but even after seeing you battle an elite I cannot see how your kind overcame Takkar.”
“Good. I hope you continue to underestimate us,” Khar shot back. Since he was here, he wanted answers. “There will be vengeance for your unprovoked assaults upon the Coalition, I can assure you of that. Mighty Fizgig will teach you to fear the Tigris.”
“They were not my unprovoked attacks. I didn’t attack your people, at least not yet. The Vkash did, and Takkar was well within his rights to launch just such an assault. If your species is strong, you will resist. If not, you will be conquered. Your people have a different way?” She stopped behind him.
Khar hesitated. He wanted to say yes, but the truth was both humanity and the Tigris were conquering species. They’d only ended their war because the Primo had threatened both sides.
“No, not so different I suppose. What will you do with me now that you know what I am?” Khar asked.
“Do? I don’t understand.”
“I’m an enemy. Surely you cannot allow me to walk free. You will seek the military secrets of my people, and I will die before giving them up.” Khar folded his arms, staring hard at her.
“I
have offered you bok’sha, and I will feast you for the customary nine days. After that time? You may depart if you wish. What do I care for one enemy warrior from a soon-to-be-conquered species? Surely you cannot believe you are of that much importance.” She gave a musical laugh. “I asked you here so that I might grant you a heart gift, not interrogate you.”
“What is this ‘heart gift’?” Khar asked, dubiously. He forced himself to relax.
“Make the request that is in your heart, and I will do my utmost to see it fulfilled.”
“I wish to be sent home to my people,” Khar said, without hesitation.
“Granted. All I ask is that you adhere to our customs. Nine days, and I will warp you to the location of your choosing.”
23
Sparring
Khar stepped from the transport disk onto one of the wider islands, at the bottom of what he took to be the empress’s cluster. Two dozen Ganog adepts paired off, each launching a flurry of graceful kicks and punches. Every last adept was skilled, though some were clearly masters while others made basic mistakes.
Their art was different than the Tigris style. Tigris were taught overwhelming force and blinding speed—overcome your enemy through sheer ferocity. The way these Ganog fought was more about control. Control of your own body, and control of momentum. They redirected their opponents, using their own force against them.
One of the Ganog bowed to his opponent, then came trotting over to Khar. He was taller than Khar by a few inches, though less heavily muscled. He wore the same white robe as the rest of the initiates, but where they all had at least one yellow band around the right wrist, his was empty.
“Ahh, I see you’ve been allowed to practice with us.” The Ganog bowed, giving a welcoming smile. “We did not have time to speak before. I am called Meb.”
“You were the Ganog that survived the fight with the elite.” Khar returned the smile. “Rejoicing in shared survival is one of the ways of my people.”
“It is so among the Ganog as well. Perhaps it is that way with all warriors, this rejoicing in survival.” Meb’s feet slid into a combat stance, and he raised a single hand over his shoulder, like a striking serpent. “As you are here, would you like to participate in the sparring? After seeing you fight I do not seek to win, but I’ve no doubt you could teach me.”
“Maybe, but the style would be far different than what you’re learning here.” Khar glanced at some of the more proficient adepts. “Training in multiple styles can be confusing, even for veterans. Yet Mighty Fizgig always teaches that we must never stop learning.”
Khar stepped forward, mimicking Meb’s stance. He watched the Ganog’s body carefully, waiting for the bout to begin. His enhanced sensors mapped every minute movement, from the flaring of Meb’s lower nostrils to the faint perspiration.
Meb glided forward, launching a low kick. Khar hopped backwards, allowing Meb’s foot to pass harmlessly by. He pounced, slamming his knee up toward Meb’s groin. Both of Meb’s arms shot down, his palms pressing against Khar’s knee. He used Khar’s momentum, flinging himself backwards into a showy flip.
Khar tracked his flight, waiting until the last instant to begin his kick. His foot shot up, catching Meb in the chest. The force of the blow sent Meb spinning backward, and the Ganog tumbled across the grass. He quickly regained control, rolling back to his feet.
“Your speed is truly impressive,” Meb called weakly, rubbing at his chest. “What would you suggest I do differently?”
Khar cocked his head, considering. “Your style offers some advantages, but it feels very defensive. That can be a strength, but if you are going to fight defensively you can never allow a moment where you cannot predict what your opponent will do.”
“Ahh.” Meb smiled sheepishly. “So, moving away from you may have been correct, but taking my eye off you was foolish.”
“Something like that. I am no master, though I stand close,” Khar admitted, with more than a touch of pride. He was a skilled fighter, made infinitely more so by his technological marvel of a body. He’d not been recognized as a master, but if he were to return and test now, he knew he would be.
Khar felt eyes upon him, and glanced up. A shock of ice washed through him as he saw Zakanna once again staring down at him. She smiled mischievously, then disappeared from view.
“You intrigue her, I think,” Meb called, circling Khar warily. “I can see why. You fight unlike any of our people. You have the brute strength of an elite, but the finesse of an adept.”
Khar leapt, launching a pair of punches at Meb’s chest. Meb blurred forward, seizing Khar’s wrist. He twisted, flinging Khar across the grass. Khar rolled easily to his feet, scything a kick backward as Meb sought to capitalize. The blow flung Meb back into the grass again.
Khar stared at the metrics flowing past his HUD. “How are you able to move that quickly? It shouldn’t be possible. Not for an un-enhanced person. Do you use cybernetics to enhance your speed?”
“No.” Meb barked a laugh, giving an infectious smile. “What you see is our metabiology. Ganog can, if we study and practice, learn to control our bodies. Elites use this to grow in size and strength, harnessing far more than their bodies would normally be capable of. Adepts seek to master the whole of our bodies, to control everything from our heartbeat to our metabolic rate.”
“I’ve noticed that your fur doesn’t seem to change color. At least, not as dramatically as the elites I’ve encountered,” Khar pointed out.
Meb’s fur darkened to a purple-pink, and he glanced away. “I still lack control. That shouldn’t have happened. Our fur should never betray our emotions, unless we are undisciplined. Once I am a full adept, I will never show my feelings this way again.”
Khar nodded as Meb began circling again. He was on the verge of asking another question, but hesitated. He wanted to know more about this metabiology—and while that was good, his reasons for doing so were not. He needed to collect data about the enemy, and return it to Fizgig.
He couldn’t afford to make friends here, not when he’d likely be called upon to kill these people in the very near future. He didn’t have the luxury of curiosity, nor could he afford the burden of friendship.
Khar met Meb’s next attack, knocking the Ganog hard to the ground.
24
Sissus
"Today's shaping up like a bad day took a dump on a worse day, and the whole pile got left out in the sun," Annie groused. She spit a gob of black into the wet dirt, staring up at the roiling sky. "What kind of planet has a purple sky anyway?"
Nolan knew the rest of the squad was even more stressed; they just showed it differently. Nuchik muttered under her breath. Even Hannan wore the kind of frown he only saw when she dressed down raw recruits.
Their mechs were parked in a ravine, sheltered above by a rocky outcrop. Unless someone flew a low pass, it would be nearly impossible for them to be spotted from the air. Once the storm faded, he had no doubt that the Azi would begin hunting for them.
"We have a plan, sir?" Hannan asked.
"I'm working on it." Nolan said, trying to sound confident. The dilemma was intense. They were without a ship, and the only place they might get one was the spire. Unfortunately, they lacked the firepower to take the spire. So what the hell were they going to do?
He surveyed their assets: three mechs and his personnel. He wished he'd gotten his own mech off the ship. Piloting Annie's wasn't the same, and left the squad down a lot of firepower.
"That's it!" Nolan leapt to his feet. "My mech has a quantum transponder."
"By now they could be across the galaxy," Hannan pointed out sourly. "Even if they aren't, the transponder won't work if the cloak is engaged."
"But the communications will," Nolan realized aloud. "Aluki and Lena are still on the ship. Lena, at least, has been trained to seek cover inside of a mech in the event of trouble. Since there's only one mech on the ship, that means she might be inside mine. If we open a channel, she might respond."
<
br /> "That just might work." Annie barked a short, harsh laugh. "One of these days you're going to be out of clever solutions, but I'm damnably glad that day ain't today."
Nolan pulled his comm from his pocket, thumbing the screen open. He tapped the comm icon, requesting a connection with his mech. For a long moment the connecting icon flashed across his screen, then Lena's furry face filled the screen.
"Captain," she whispered, bathed in the soft glow of the cockpit. "Sissus took the ship. The Saurians haven't tried to open the mech yet. They don't have the codes, and they know it, so hopefully they won't try. What should I do if they try to get in?"
"Wake up the core and have Kay take over, but only if they try to get in. Otherwise, sit tight. Can you give me a situation report? Where are you and what's going on around you?"
"The ship has set down, a short distance from the original landing zone. The cruiser definitely took damage, I could feel the ship rattling as it landed," Lena explained. Talking seemed to calm her, and her ears perked up a bit. "Hold on. Yes, it looks like the ramp is going down. The Saurians have moved outside, and are attempting to effect repairs."
"That means the cloaking is down." Nolan laughed. He tapped the locator on his comm, giving a whoop when the screen showed a green ping. "They're only about ten clicks away."
Nolan stared up at the sky, lightning still flashing occasionally in the distance. "They may have set down to wait it out or to fix the engine. Either way, we need to hightail it out there before they have a chance to lift off. Sissus may not realize we can track him, and we could get the drop on him."
"If we leave now, we can cover ten clicks in a couple hours. That would put it after dark when we arrive," Nuchik said, to everyone's surprise. She seemed uncomfortable with the attention, and looked pointedly at the action on her rifle.