by Paul Tassi
Lucas studied the text. He could make out phrases that Alpha was glossing over in her file. “Resisted High-Level Interrogation” was one of them. Meanwhile, Asha was already thinking ahead.
“This sounds great, but how exactly do we find your girlfriend if she hasn’t been seen in two decades on this planet?”
Alpha was taken aback.
“Girl … friend? That Earth term has no bearing here. If you are implying we were … We were simply interested in the same—” he stammered.
“Alpha!” Lucas course corrected. “How do we find her?”
He nodded and went back on point.
“Long ago, we spoke in secret of the resistance and possible ways to aid them. Minds like ours see no purpose in war, and the desire for change was a seed planted in us during our youth as we witnessed the atrocities of the conflict and the effect it had on our people. She grew up to deliver on her promise, whereas I did not.”
His eyes were downcast.
“You are now,” Lucas said. “That’s what matters.”
Alpha ignored him and continued.
“We developed a communication system lest one of us be captured. It was a deeply encoded frequency only the pair of us would have access to.”
He paused, and let out a sigh.
“Every day after she disappeared, I monitored the frequency to no avail. Either it had been discovered or disabled, or wherever she was being held was blocking the signal. I checked the frequency when I came to Earth. I checked the frequency when I met you. I checked the frequency until the day my signal reader was destroyed when we fought Omicron.”
“You never mentioned this before,” Lucas said.
“It was of no importance to you; why would I?” Alpha said, but Lucas remembered seeing him on the Ark’s security monitor working late in has lab some nights, staring hard at a screen with a resigned look on his face.
“When I saw her name on this list, the first thing I did was to rebuild the device needed to locate the signal.”
He threw up a garble of lines onto the screen that were pulsing with repeating frequency.
“I checked it, and it had been reactivated.”
Lucas’s eyes widened in surprise.
“You talked to her, after all this time?”
Alpha shook his head.
“Though the signal is active, it is too scrambled for anything resembling auditory or visual communication.”
“Then how does that help us?” Asha said, immune to what had been a rather touching story, Lucas thought.
“Though we could not speak, I traced the signal back to its origin point. I found her.”
He cycled through the controls in front of him and brought up a planet streaked with green and brown with only faint hints of blue, identified by indecipherable Xalan symbols. A dot of light was pulsing in one of the greener areas.
“This is the colony planet [garbled]. I leave it to you to invent a Soran or English name for it. Less than half the size of your Earth, it once was mostly covered in a lush jungle, but after being harvested for its water, 92.4 percent of the forests have died out. Only a few still remain, and Zeta is in one of them.”
The blinking light seemed to indicate where exactly they’d find her. Lucas supposed a jungle was an easier place to hide than a desert.
“[Garbled] was the last planet discovered and pillaged before Earth. Its Soran, or human population, if you still prefer the term, was quite primitive, and has since been purged out of existence. The Xalan colony there is the least populous of all our off-world homes, but more arrive every day as refugees from the ever inhospitable Xala. The resistance is rumored to have a strong presence on the surface, though I do not know the full extent of the operation.”
“Fantastic,” said Asha with now genuine enthusiasm. “So we go there, find your girl, give her your father’s message, and spread it to the resistance to mobilize the population?”
“She is not my …” started a flustered Alpha. “But yes, that is something resembling the plan I have devised. If we can incite open revolt on [garbled], something the message could achieve, it would buy Sora time as the Council is forced to deal with an uprising. With any luck, the message would spread across all the colonies shortly after. Mass rebellion across the entire population may itself be enough to end the war once and for all, though I fear swift and bloody retribution from the Council.”
“In any case,” Lucas said, “this sounds like our best option. Our only option, really.”
“Indeed it is, as direct military strikes against Xalan forces will only result in further stagnation and depletion of resources, something both sides should have learned by now.”
“Then what are we waiting for?” Asha said. “Let’s get on the Spear and head out there.”
Alpha fell silent, and the hovering screen went blank.
“As elated as I am to find [garbled], to find Zeta alive, it is not all good news I have discovered inside this core.”
“What do you mean?” Lucas asked cautiously.
Alpha flung up another document. Lucas quickly translated the title. ORDER FOR EXTERMINATION. As he kept reading, a knot began to tie in his stomach.
“Alpha, what is this?” he asked breathlessly.
“It appears the threats of my old mentor were not unfounded. The Council has indeed sent a new party to bring me to justice for my purported crimes. The Desecrator.”
There was an image accompanying the text, but it was blurred beyond recognition, like someone had tried to snap a shot of a car speeding by at a hundred miles an hour.
“The Desecrator?” Asha asked skeptically. “Who, or what, the hell is that?”
“I only know the stories I was told as a child. The Desecrator was a monster of alleged Soran origin. With the help of their ancient, wrathful gods, they created a being to terrorize the population of Xala without quarter, without mercy. To desecrate our homeworld to its very core. If your allegiance to Xala was anything but steadfast, he would prey on your weakness and consume your soul. The Sorans bred him to look like us, but he wielded unholy powers that could tear apart any foe.”
“That sounds familiar,” Lucas said.
“Indeed it does. Though the legend predates the psionic mutation of the Chosen Shadows. It may be the case that the Desecrator is something else entirely, something new. Or rather, something old.”
“Stronger than Omicron?” Lucas said, almost in a whisper.
“Unknown,” Alpha said. “There is no further information about the Desecrator here. His existence is apparently such a guarded secret even those assigned to handle him may not know the full extent of his origin or abilities.”
“What does this mean for the mission?” Asha asked, undeterred by the new threat.
“Whatever he is, even the Desecrator could likely not reach us on Sora. But offworld? If the Council catches wind of our plan, they will likely dispatch him along with any additional troops needed to secure us. The order you see before you is unmistakably specific in its instructions. I am not only marked for death, but the pair of you are as well.”
An unwanted chill shook Lucas as he stared at the blurred image of the Desecrator. The Council must have acquired full knowledge of their role in the murder of Omicron, and wanted blood in return. And now they were sending … what exactly for them? Lucas was sure he didn’t want to find out.
“How do we know this all isn’t a trap?” Asha asked.
“We do not,” Alpha said. “But if there is a chance Zeta is alive, I must go. And if there is a chance she could help us, we all must go.”
After a painful goodbye from an inconsolable Noah and another visit to the incubation chamber, Lucas and Asha descended back underneath the surface. Down in the hangar, the Spear was being hastily outfitted for another round of travel, and the small Guardian squad that had led the raid to recover Asha and capture Tulwar had doubled in size for the scope of the mission at hand. The existence of the Xalan sub-colonies was a revelation
only a few months old, and due to the Spear’s exceptionally advanced white null core, this was the furthest any Soran would travel out into the galaxy. A historic occasion. Still, there were ripples of discontent through the troops.
“What’s up with them?” Lucas asked Silo when he found him next to Kiati as usual. Both were unarmored, yet still towered over him. She spoke before he could.
“Many Guardians are upset we are being drawn away from helping our brethren on Kollux in pursuit of some scrap of information pulled off a traitor’s data core,” she said, her voice dripping with contempt.
“It’s a scrap of information that could end up turning the entire tide of the war,” Lucas said, annoyed. He no longer had tolerance for Kiati’s attitude. She was beginning to sound like Maston. And speak of the devil.
Maston strode toward them in full uniform. His appearance was meticulous, a far cry from the broken-down man Lucas had encountered outside the interrogation room.
“Get onboard,” he said to all four of them. “We don’t have the time to debate these orders. They are simply that: orders.”
Lucas was surprised he wasn’t raising hell like Kiati. She and Silo nodded and turned to walk onto the entry ramp with dozens of other Guardians.
Asha began to speak, but Maston cut her off.
“Your personal weapons are already in the armory. Get into your fatigues on that ship in the next two minutes or I swear to Kyneth I’ll leave you here, Vale orders aside.”
He did an about-face and left them standing looking at each other before either could even respond. Maston wasn’t messing around today. Lucas wondered how many of the lost on Kollux he had known.
Lucas and Asha stood in the first row of over a hundred Guardians who had assembled in the still-under-repair CIC of the Spear. Maston stood at the foot of the holotable and was issuing instructions for the voyage ahead.
“By now you’ve all read the brief and know where we’re going. They’re calling it ‘Makari,’ which, for the non-Ba’siri speakers, means ‘turning point’ in the old tongue. I don’t know if this place will be the salvation our newly appointed heroes claim,” he said, casting a hard glare toward the pair of them. “But it is our job to find out, and honor the memories of the fallen of Kollux as we do so. Is that clear?”
“Yes, Watchman!” came the cry all around them, one that used Maston’s official title as leader of the Guardians.
“Using this new Xalan hypercore, the trip is a mere sixty-eight days. The majority of you will be in cryo for that time, and will wake up refreshed and ready to serve. If you have been designated otherwise, report to me after this briefing.”
Lucas was not surprised to see that his set of orders had deemed him one of the chosen meant to speak to Maston. Asha had the same notation on her own display.
Sixty-eight days? That meant by the time they returned, if they returned, their child would be ready to be “born”—if the word was still appropriate—even with the additional time in the birthing tank normal on Sora that extended past a human’s nine-month pregnancy. And Noah would grow ever older, another stretch of time away from his surrogate family, with only Malorious Auran to take care of him. It was another reason to ensure that their mission was a success.
Lucas blocked out Maston’s last few points, one of which brought a rousing cheer from the soldiers around him. Upon hearing “dismissed,” he and Asha remained where they were. Most of the soldiers filtered out to the cryo area. The Xalan pods had been stripped out and replaced with ones suited for Soran biology, which didn’t have the unfortunate side-effect of unleashing scarring flashbacks or outright madness.
A few Guardians were filtering toward the front, however, including Kiati and Silo. Lucas counted twenty in total. When they were all assembled, Maston launched into a new set of directives.
“Congratulations. You lucky few have been chosen to stay out of cryosleep in order to help our newest recruits not kill themselves or us once we reach Makari.”
Lucas couldn’t contain a look of surprise as all twenty hulking soldiers turned to glower at the pair of them. Asha interrupted Maston.
“Really, we’re fine,” she said. “Wasn’t the Fourth Order raid proof enough we know what we’re doing?”
“How can something so lovely be so dense?” Maston wondered aloud to the snickering Guardians. Flames flashed in Asha’s eyes, but Lucas put his hand on her arm to prevent her from tearing his head off.
“This isn’t just about you and your inexplicable ability to stay alive. The Guardians are a single unit, and only as strong as their weakest. Despite the admittedly adequate combat skill the two of you possess, you know nothing of the tactics, techniques, or training of the Guardians.”
Asha was still fuming from the insult and had likely not heard a word he’d just said.
“Every man and woman here was bred to be a warrior before they were even born. They have strength and intelligence natural biology like yours cannot possibly compete with. You are inferior.”
That did it. Asha lunged at Maston, but he deftly moved to the side, caught her with a haymaker blow, and slammed her down on the holotable. Lucas sprang to her aid but was leveled by a high kick from Maston that landed just under his jaw. He released Asha, shoving her toward Lucas who was struggling back to his feet.
“You know nothing, Earthborn,” he said smugly, his demeanor closer to the time they’d first met. He’d clearly locked Corinthia away in some dark corner of his mind now.
“But we will do you the honor of teaching you as much as you are able to learn.”
Adrenaline was flowing through Lucas like lava, but he restrained himself from further assault, as did Asha, surprisingly. A single trickle of blood streamed from her cut lip. Lucas could now shift one of his molars with his tongue. Maston continued talking as if nothing had just happened.
“You twenty have been chosen as the best possible instructors for these new recruits,” he said the word contemptuously, “and will spend the duration of the trip molding them into something resembling half an actual Guardian.”
More stifled laughter.
“Space and equipment is limited aboard this craft, but most exercises will require only your body, and your mind,” he said, turning back to them.
“Dismissed.”
Asha stormed out of the CIC without a word, and most of the other Guardians followed her. Maston stayed at the holotable and started sifting through data on Makari, ignoring Lucas.
“I don’t understand you, Maston,” Lucas said to him. He didn’t look up.
“That’s probably for the best.”
“All we want to do is help.”
“All I want to do is get this over with,” he replied, scrolling through three-dimensional terrain maps. “Tulwar’s trial starts the week we get back.”
“You realize this mission could change the entire course of the war?” Lucas said emphatically.
Maston turned to glare at him.
“What do you know of our war? What you’ve read in scrolls? What you’ve seen on the Stream? Have you smelled the air after Golgoth? Have you walked through the ruins of Bedlam? Have you heard the screams at Vitalla? You’re a tourist at best, a dangerous distraction at worst.”
“Isn’t it enough that I watched my entire planet burn, along with everyone I loved?” Lucas growled.
“Not everyone,” Maston said.
Lucas realized the conversation had become a recursive loop and began to walk away. A thought stopped him.
“What happened at Vitalla?”
Maston flashed him another look of anger, but as he turned back to the screen before him, Lucas was surprised to see his expression shift into something resembling anguish, if only for a brief moment. The silence said Lucas should press no further, and he was tired of dealing with the man anyway. Lucas rubbed his bruised jaw and winced.
He approached Alpha in the central command chair. Alpha was running through a pre-flight checklist of sorts, and green indica
tors seemed to say the Spear was ready for another galactic journey.
“They do not trust me,” Alpha said with a twinge of sadness as Lucas came to stand beside him.
“They’re here, aren’t they? That’s enough.”
“I cannot understand how they fail to realize the importance of this mission. They think I have set them on, what is the phrase? A ‘fool’s errand.’”
Lucas shook his head.
“It’s not that. They lost a lot of friends today and wish they could be helping. Exploring a planet light-years in the other direction is a hard sell. They probably think we should be attacking this colony, not infiltrating it.”
Alpha revved the engines and the entire ship rumbled.
“That would be an unwise tactical decision.”
“Well, the Vales have faith in you, or else they wouldn’t have greenlit this. And you know Asha and I always have your back.”
“That is appreciated,” Alpha said. His six-fingered mechanical hand was speeding through a control cluster. The viewscreen before them opened to reveal the hangar doors.
“Besides, you’ll get to see Zeta again.”
Alpha’s face brightened instinctively.
“I hope that is indeed the case.”
“Tell me,” Lucas said wryly. “When you said you became … close with her. Were you—”
Alpha sighed.
“You and your kind’s notions of romance. Such things do not exist in Xalan culture. Most pairings are arranged from birth. Zeta was promised to an army commander for the duration of the time I knew her.”
“And who were you promised to, before all this?” Lucas asked.
“Someone I would not deem a suitable match. Being sent to the Earth campaign allowed me to temporarily escape my obligations. My treason freed me from them entirely. I am sure my promised partner was elated.”
“But Zeta?” Lucas asked. “She would have been a ‘suitable match’?”