by Chris Fox
“Just a moment.” Halut tapped the metal hull, and a panel slid open. His stubby fingers flew across a keyboard, and a door slid open a few meters to their right. Halut typed one more sequence, then waddled toward the door. “I set it to close in a few moments. Inside, quickly.”
Khar followed Halut through the doorway, so Zakanna did the same. Her lower nostrils clenched shut involuntarily as the stench hit her in a palpable wave. She stepped inside a dark corridor, suppressing a gag, and hunched her shoulders to prevent her fur from touching the glistening ceiling. The sludge coating the surface appeared to be the source of the terrible stench, which grew immeasurably worse when the door slid shut behind her.
“This is, quite literally, the worst situation I can imagine,” she choked out, futilely covering her mouth and nose with a hand.
“Mmm, these are sanitation ducts. All waste flows through here, from every part of the ship. The ducts had to be made large enough for cleaning, so we will be able to follow them directly to the cargo bay,” Halut explained. He began moving cheerfully up the crouched corridor. “Not even techsmiths come here—only ka’tok. Even my people avoid them, because of the smell.”
Zakanna followed, using the considerable grace she’d learned from Yulo to avoid touching any of the walls. The stench was almost a physical thing, and she longed to flee. But she forced herself to follow Khar, who in turn followed Halut. She didn’t want to appear weak in front of either. Especially Khar.
They passed through corridor after corridor, each passage emitting the same abhorrent stench.
Khar looked over his shoulder in her direction. “This is one more example of the things I find puzzling about your military. My people would never allow such a design flaw.”
“It cannot be that great a flaw,” Zakanna pointed out. “These vessels have served the Ganog for over two dozen millennia—perhaps even longer—and during that time I’ve never heard of these ducts being exploited.”
“Mmm, do you really believe such things would be recorded?” Halut asked, keeping his tone deferential. “We ka’tok have become very good at avoiding the notice of the leadership caste. There are all sorts of things going on right underneath your feet, but since we are beneath your notice you are unaware of them.”
Zakanna found the Whalorian’s words troubling, because they contained an alarming amount of sense. She’d never given ka’tok a second thought. She even ignored lower noble families, and certainly ignored techsmiths. How many signs had she missed? How many wayposts that could have warned her about her imminent fall?
“Perhaps that will work in our favor here,” she said, lamely. What must Khar think of her, and her people?
They continued in silence, eventually reaching a metal catwalk that passed over a river of sludge. If the stench had been bad before, it was overpowering now. Zakanna’s chest tightened, and spots danced across her vision as they crossed the bridge. She moved mechanically, forcing herself forward. Neither Khar nor Halut seemed to be suffering, and she fiercely envied them.
On the other side, the stench lessened and became almost bearable as they left it behind them. She paused, sucking in lungfuls of air.
“What’s that?” Khar asked suddenly.
Zakanna froze, listening. She heard a faint thrumming roar in the background. “That’s a transport thruster. We must be near the docking bays.”
They hurried forward with renewed enthusiasm, finally entering a corridor with a metal grating above. Sludge leaked down the walls, apparently dropped from above. At least it was less foul than that in the sewer. She could hear voices now—Saurians calling out to each other in their harsh tongue.
“Mmm, we are here,” Halut said. “This is the docking bay you wanted. Forgive me, but I will wait here while you ensure the way is safe.”
Khar nodded, climbing up a row of rungs set into the wall. He reached the grate at the top and peered through.
Zakanna ascended after him, but couldn’t make out much. “What do you see?” she called softly.
“The cruiser is there, and a group of Saurians are trying to get inside.” He looked down at her with those slitted eyes, whiskers twitching. “There are six of them, but they do not know we are here. I believe we can surprise them.”
“I’m ready,” Zakanna said, eager for the coming conflict. “These poor Saurians are about to get all the aggression and frustration I’ve built up today.”
Khar gave her a feral smile. “I almost pity them.”
20
Life Debt
Khar heaved at the metal grate, bracing his feet against the rungs set into the wall. It groaned, stuck fast from years of accumulated grime. Khar strained harder, ordering his nanochrons to increase his strength. The grate came loose with a pop, a noise which was fortunately covered by the rush of a cruiser landing in the next docking bay.
He poked his head up, holding the grate above him with both hands. The Saurians were all focused on the ship and seemed unaware of him. He grinned, slowly setting the grate down, and climbed from the sanitation ducts. As he did, he flicked the switch on his stealth belt.
Zakanna did the same, her heat signature rising behind him.
“Take the trio on the right,” he whispered, picking up the grate again, “and I’ll go left.”
“I’ll be swift,” she replied. “You do the same.”
Khar threw the grate with all his considerable strength. The Saurian’s spine broke with a sharp crack, and the creature collapsed to the deck.
The other Saurians spun, seeking a source of the attack. Khar circled wide, padding silently behind his enemies. He waited until Zakanna, still stealthed, snapped a Saurian’s neck, then glided forward. Igniting his plasma blade, he rammed it into the closest Saurian and forced it up through the surprised guard’s chest.
The next Saurian spun, firing a hasty burst from his plasma pistol. The scarlet beam shot into his dying companion, finishing the work Khar’s blade had started. Khar hurled the corpse at the next enemy, his enhanced strength knocking the last Saurian into the wall with enough force to knock him unconscious. Khar glided forward and made certain the Saurian would never rise again.
He rose in time to see Zakanna finish her second opponent, crushing his nose into his brain with a flat-handed strike.
“Khar,” Zakanna called urgently.
He looked toward the wide corridor that led deeper into the dreadnought. Four Ganog elites were charging into the room.
“I see them,” he called back. “We must eliminate them if we wish to get Halut aboard the vessel.”
“I will try,” she called, closer now. “One we could do, perhaps two. But four? I do not see how it can be done.”
“How much energy does your belt have?” Khar asked, attempting to formulate a plan.
“About 30 percent. Plenty for an extended combat. What do you have in mind?”
“We stay cloaked, and harry them,” Khar suggested. “Pick up the pistols the Saurians were using. It will take time, but we can bring them down.” It wasn’t a great plan, but it could be effective if they executed it well.
“All right.”
One of the pistols drifted into the air. It began to fire, a trio of scarlet pulses that shot into the closest elite. The flesh cooked off his cheek, and the last bolt caught him in the eye. He staggered back with a roar, slapping one hand over the wound as he attempted to find a target.
Zakanna dropped the pistol, and her heat signature moved quickly away. Khar leapt up the wall, igniting his wrist blade and ramming it into the rusted metal. He planted his feet and waited for one of the Ganog to pass directly underneath his perch.
Khar dropped onto the unsuspecting Ganog’s back, plunging his blade into the Ganog’s right eye. The Ganog roared and raised a giant arm to swat him away, but Khar extinguished his blade and dove from the Ganog’s shoulder. He rolled silently away, scurrying back into the shadows.
These sorts of guerrilla tactics would kill the Ganog eventually, but a s
ingle mistake would cost him or Zakanna—or both—their lives. The Ganog, on the other hand, could make many mistakes and still survive.
Khar didn’t like the odds or the game, but saw no other way to get Halut onto the ship.
Zakanna cried out, her cloak failing as she was flung into a wall by a random kick. She rolled back to her feet and dodged a follow-up kick from the same elite. The other elites moved in her direction now that they had a visible target.
Khar maneuvered behind them, picking up a rifle that had belonged to one of the dead Saurians. He took careful aim, then shot the one-eyed Ganog in the shoulder. It turned to face him, and Khar gently stroked the trigger. A scarlet pulse caught the Ganog in his remaining eye, blinding him fully. He charged awkwardly in Khar’s direction, roaring as he flailed about with his arms.
The other three Ganog were still focused on Zakanna, and she was out of room to run. Khar thought furiously, but there was nothing he could do directly.
He opened a comm channel to the cruiser. “Aluki, if you can hear me, this is Khar. We’re trying to board, and in need of assistance.”
Aluki’s voice boomed from the loudspeakers. “Mmm, Khar, it is good to hear your voice. I wondered who was attacking the elites, but didn’t want to intervene until I knew who I was dealing with.”
Two turrets on the underside of the cruiser pivoted to take aim, then unleashed a volley of scarlet death. All three elites were riddled with plasma fire. Each tumbled to the ground, and the scent of burnt fur filled the room. Khar was thankful to be insulated from the unpleasantness.
“How many people are we extracting?” Aluki asked over the loudspeaker.
“Myself, Zakanna, and a Whalorian friend named Halut,” Khar said into the comm.
“Halut?” Aluki’s voice rose a half-octave, booming from the speakers.
“I’m coming, wife,” Halut called, huffing his way over the last rung. He rolled to his feet, and waddled with impressive speed toward the cruiser’s docking door. By the time he arrived, the door was sliding open, and Aluki rushed out to embrace him.
“You two know each other?” Khar asked, cocking his head in confusion. It seemed unlikely that the only two Whalorians he’d ever met knew each other—though he supposed stranger things had happened.
“I don’t even care about the stench.” Aluki seized Halut in a fierce hug, crying and giving quick, little hoots of joy. “I’d given up hope of finding you. How did you get here?”
“Mmm, Khar stumbled through my hovel and I helped him escape to the surface,” Halut explained, hugging Aluki just as fiercely. “Then he brought the empress. That’s who we’re saving.”
Aluki disengaged from Halut, blinking up at Zakanna’s muck-spattered form. “Mmm, well, let’s be on our way before more Ganog show up. Once we’re safe, you can tell me the whole story of your escape. Khar, I owe you a life debt for reuniting me with my husband. I will never forget this.”
21
Reunited
Khar leaned against the door, staring out the viewport at the rapidly growing world below. The sun illuminated the rich purple on the daylight side of the planet. The mighty city of Imperalis was invisible from orbit.
“The last time I made the trip,” he rumbled, “if you’d told me that I’d not only be returning, but that circumstances would be even more dire…I’d have named you a liar.”
Zakanna sighed. “I’m happy to be returning, though I wish circumstances were better.” She pressed her face against the port. Her fur was still spattered from the sanitation ducts. “I should be grateful to be alive, but I’m just so frustrated. I have no idea how we’re going to secure the beacon. Our armies are gone. Our fleets have scattered.”
“This mission was never going to be about armies,” Khar said, resting a hand on her shoulder. “It hinges on the success of a small team—and whatever we’ve lost, we still possess that.”
She stared up at him with those wide eyes.
Aluki’s voice over the loudspeaker ended the moment. “Mmm, come up to the cockpit, please. We are about to reach atmosphere.”
Khar watched for a moment longer as the ship zoomed past the edge of the ring of ice and rock orbiting the planet.
“I suppose we’d better go,” Zakanna said. She strode up the corridor leading from the cargo bay to the bridge—if it could be called that. It was a small cockpit, just big enough for the pilot and copilot. Behind that was a room with a table in the center. Benches lined the walls, allowing up to eight people to gather.
Aluki and Halut were already seated, holding hands under the table. It was nauseatingly cute; were Fizgig here, she would retch at the sight of it.
And if she didn’t, the lingering stench from the sanitation ducts would certainly have the same effect.
Zakanna slid onto a bench, and Khar dropped down next to her. Aluki leaned up, peering over the table at them. “You are the empress of the mighty Ganog Imperium. Mmm, you have a plan to deal with our current situation?”
A ripple of scarlet—the first Khar had ever seen—passed briefly through Zakanna’s fur. She glared hard at Aluki. “Do not speak to me that way, ka’tok. Or you will very quickly come to regret it.”
“Do not call her that,” Halut growled, rising to his feet atop the bench. “You have no idea who she is, you ignorant fool.”
“Halut,” Aluki snapped, eyeing him sternly. “Mmm, now is not the time.”
“Now is exactly the time,” he countered, eyeing her back just as sternly. He planted tiny hands on his wide hips.
Khar started to laugh, a deep booming, freeing laugh. They were all looking at him now. “Our peoples stand at the brink of eradication. We are hopelessly outmatched. We have little chance of success. Yet you are concerned about how we address each other?” He shook his head, still chuckling. “Do we not all seek the same goal? Can we not set aside this petty bickering?”
“You are right.” Aluki gave a surprisingly graceful bow. “Apologies for any offense myself or my husband offered, Empress. My question was genuine. Did you have a plan to approach the world? A destination? Right now we are safely cloaked and orbiting, so there is time to decide, I think.”
“What did you mean?” Zakanna demanded, directing the question at Halut. “Who is she?”
“She is one of our most renowned lore keepers. Mmm, while you Ganog have been busy beating yourselves senseless, we have quietly learned all there is to know about your history. Aluki knows more of your ancestors than you do,” Halut taunted. Aluki glared at him, and he moderated his tone. “You believe yourselves so superior, but for seventeen centuries my people have maintained a government right under your nostrils.”
Khar’s attention was drawn briefly to the viewport. They were passing directly over the capital; its ivory towers reached for the sky. He magnified his vision and the city leapt into sharper focus. Three blue giants, each surrounded by planetstrider mounds, stood in a rough triangle around the city. Countless ranks of Judicators were arrayed at their feet.
Zakanna stared too, horror and disgust blooming on her face. He couldn’t imagine what it was like for her, returning to find her home occupied by enemies.
“I…” She brushed the port with her fingers, face anguished.
Khar recognized the weight of the revelation. He’d undergone the same the first time he’d challenged Fizgig. He’d believed himself the best, and she’d rudely disabused him of the notion. His whole world had shattered, and he’d had to build a new understanding from the pieces.
“I’ve been so blind,” she said. “To everything. Not just Utfa, but…the Whalorians maintained a government? How?”
Aluki gave a wide grin. “Mmm, we are invisible. Your leadership caste cannot even read. You’ve had an oral education, but I can simply pick up a chip reader, or even a scroll. The mystical skill your seekers practice—and some of your techsmiths—is something all of my people are taught from birth. We’ve slowly built a massive data repository, and that is copied as often as p
ossible. It contains not just our history, but everything we’ve learned of you, the Saurians, and every other race we’ve encountered.”
“When you ask if I have a plan, you already know that I do not.” Zakanna’s shoulders slumped, and her fur faded to a wistful blue. She looked up suddenly. “But you do. Don’t you?”
“Of course she does,” Halut muttered under his breath.
Khar fixed him with a baleful eye, casually licking his chops, and Halut scooted back in his seat.
“From our limited understanding of the beginnings of your empire,” Aluki explained, “the Ganog were never literate. Initially, the seekers were your scholar caste. They carried your knowledge. However, they also directly served the Nameless Ones. Mmm, when Nyar led your people against the Nameless Ones, most of the seekers were put to death. Their libraries were destroyed—full planetary bombardment in some cases.”
“This is fascinating,” Khar said, “but what does it have to do with a plan?” He had no patience for this kind of prattling; he’d dealt with enough of it from Tigris scientists, like Lena.
“Mmm, I’m getting there,” Aluki chastised. “Please be patient.”
Khar nodded apologetically.
“The ancient seeker library was in the lava fields south of the Royal Spire. There’s a reason that area is now a lava field—the seekers gathered there to discuss a final defense, and were eradicated by Yog. Not ‘the’ Yog, interestingly. Yog, the singular word.”
“You think this library is still there?” Zakanna asked.
“It could be—and if it is, who knows what it might contain?” Aluki smiled again. “We could learn about the Void Wraith, or about the defenses of the Royal Spire. It is a place to start, to learn more than we currently do.”
“It’s the beginnings of a plan,” Zakanna admitted, “and certainly more than I can offer. Thank you, Aluki. I apologize for denigrating you and your people.”