“How—”
“A Warrior knows the second they are blinded by a solar ray that they are no longer an asset. They are useless for the future. It is never stated, but implied that you should use whatever power you have left to go out with dignity. They felt that I should have overthrown the autopilot and used my terra angel as a weapon and crashed into the Koron craft.”
“And kill yourself?” Aimee asked, aghast. “My God, you people are not as advanced as I had hoped. You have ridiculously outdated philosophies.”
Corluss’s neck stiffened. He collected himself and continued. “Perhaps that is true, but a good Warrior, a good man died—” clearing the hoarseness from his voice, he added, “and I did not do everything in my power to save him.”
“Bah.” Martyrs. Not Warriors.
Aimee stepped up to the door, and waited until he got out of her way. Arching his brow, he backed up.
“What is your verdict then, Aimee?”
He was too wide for her to go around him, so instead she glared up into the reflective lenses, seeing the blush of anger flaming across her cheeks. “I want a man who is not going to teach me to kill myself at the first sign of trouble.” She eased up. “No disrespect to your disability, but you do not appear impaired to me in any way. Inconvenienced, perhaps. But, from what I can gauge, you are dependable and still formidable, and most importantly...you are intelligent. So yes, I would very much like to have you teach me how to be a Warrior.”
When there was no response, she gently nudged him aside with her shoulder and added, “But please leave out all the martyr lessons.”
“Aimee.” The haunting tone stopped her.
“If you had to sacrifice your life to save Zak’s—would you do it?”
The blood drained from her face. She rounded on him. “That is not a fair comparison.”
“One life is more valuable than another?”
Anger lost its zeal. She searched that silver band that secreted the dead eyes. “You are right.”
She would sacrifice everything to be with Zak.
“Teach me to be a Warrior, Corluss.” In a final act of submission, she added, “Please.”
* * *
“I still haven’t figured out where we are exactly.” Aimee scanned the opalescent walls, frustrated by the vague delineation behind them. For the most part, everything appeared abandoned. Consoles sat idle with no dancing lights to indicate activity. Spherical chairs sat empty. Even the ambiance spoke of a past era. These quarters were not as sophisticated in technology or architecture as the rest of the ship.
“This was the original flight command center of the Horus,” Corluss explained. These chambers used to host our operational managers and our Watchers when they weren’t on duty.”
On second glance, she could see signs of previous inhabitants. Small, suspended cots for off-duty personnel. Dormant diaphanous panels, relics compared to the three-dimensional monitors located on the main flight deck.
Aimee peered back down the corridor. “There aren’t even any JOHs back here.”
“No. Maybe one will swing by from time to time out of boredom, but there is nothing—or no one back here anymore.”
“Except us.”
“Except us,” Corluss echoed. “And two more.”
“Two more?”
Corluss reached the end of the corridor where loomed a large entryway. In the distance she could hear the persistent bang of a...hammer? No, surely not.
With his hand out, Corluss sought to swing open the door, but missed his mark by inches. On his second attempt, Aimee discreetly reached beside him and flicked the panel open.
“I know you did that,” he uttered. “I’m blind, but not clueless.”
Aimee grinned. “And that is why I trust you.”
Entering into a cylindrical tunnel made of an aluminum alloy, Aimee felt like she was traveling through a sewer system. Her heels thudded with a tinny echo as they progressed towards the light several feet ahead. Corluss’s shoulder eclipsed her view, but when they reached the end of the tunnel she was able to step up alongside of him.
“Whoa,” she gaped. “Are you serious?”
“Serious about what?”
Shaking her head she mumbled, “You’re just like talking to JOH.”
Her words echoed back at her and Corluss turned with a stern ridge on his forehead. “I do not sound like JOH.”
His rebuttal went unheeded. She stepped past him, transfixed by the view. They were in a hangar, similar to, but smaller than the magnificent launch bay. Several hundred yards in the distance she could see the gaping mouth of space, waiting to be fed. The concave walls to this lofted chamber appeared tarnished as if a giant fireball once blew up in here, and the bay itself was bereft of any of the advanced equipment found on the modern deck.
“Where are we?”
“This was the original launch bay when the Horus was first built.”
Something in his voice drew Aimee’s glance from the rustic magnitude to his face. The scarred head tipped back as if he was looking at the view with her, but she realized he was angling his head and listening to the reverberation of their voices, as if through that din he could visualize his memory.
“This is the bay I launched from,” he explained. “I have never seen the new one. But, after that first epic battle with the Korons, it was clear that we were sorely deficient in defense. We needed more Warriors. We needed more terra angels, and we needed more room to accommodate both.”
Extended before her were the familiar platforms that served as runways. The stillness of the bay was disturbing. Normally, the flight deck would bustle with activity. Even when there were no Korons to battle, Warriors were busy with their traditional missions to retrieve plant life from foreign lands. Though their plague had been eradicated, they were not so arrogant as to believe another would not someday develop. Preparation was a way of life for these Anthuniams—these passengers of the Horus.
“They gutted out the compartments behind this wall and continued to bore their way through to the opposite end of the ship, and that is the giant flight deck that you are accustomed to.”
“So this bay was just left here to go to waste?”
“Quite literally,” Corluss remarked. “They use this deck to jettison trash. Aside from that, it is left untouched.”
A clamor of metal clashing against metal drew her attention. The percussion volleyed off the walls like a chorus of cymbals.
“What is that?” Was it the amplified echo of a JOH’s new feet?
“That is the reason we are here.” Corluss tilted his head, listening to the banging, using the sound to gauge his steps.
Following the blind man again.
As she drew closer Aimee realized there was a partition in the middle of the runways. From behind that wall the clatter grew louder, and in between each beat was the subtle murmur of conversation. A few steps closer and it was not conversation, but rather, yelling.
“In what galaxy is this going—” The rest of the outburst was obliterated by the strike of a hammer.
To her right, Aimee realized that Corluss sported a full-fledged smile. It made her uneasy.
“If you would just wait a—”
“Wait?” Bang. “Waiting—” Bang. “—is not—” Bang. “—going to fix this.”Bang.
Reaching the partition, Aimee bent at the waist to peek around it.
“What in God’s name is that?”
Gordeelum swung around, a short metal staff jutting out of his clenched fist. His shoulders slumped.
“I told you I wanted to get this finished before you brought her here,” he berated Corluss with a frown.
“I am told that you can’t keep a woman waiting.”
Aimee looked past Gordy’s red face at the heap of metal he had undoubtedly been hammering away at. It looked like an elephant taking a nap—with its front feet extended before it, and the rear feet dragging behind. Instead of giant elephant paws though, it had what she s
urmised were engines. The round hump of the elephant’s body was dented and dinged and riddled with blackened scorch marks. A wraparound windshield sat on top like the turret of a tank.
“Gordy, what is this contraption?”
“Con-trapp-shun?” He cocked his head waiting for the translation to feed in from his suit. “Oh,” he smiled. “This is my ship.”
Ship? It was a fat, limp mastodon.
“That is capable of flying?”
Gordy followed her glance and his smile fell. “Well—it will be.” He held up the hammer. “After some work.”
Glancing over her shoulder at Corluss for insight, Aimee sighed when she found him staring down the runway. “Was this your idea? she called, arresting his attention.
Corluss crossed his arms. “I used to operate one of these. They aren’t as bad as your tone implies.”
“Yeah,” Gordy inserted, “but the new terra angels can withstand the firepower of a Koron spacecraft. This—this—piece of—” His arm flailed in search of the right analogy. “Well, whatever—we have to work on this windshield, and—” dejected, he added, “—the body.”
“Not to mention these plasma engines. Archaic, I tell you. How am I going to simulate these old magnetic fields?” A small man emerged from the other side of the ship to kick the rear foot of the elephant.
He was short. Very short. Almost dwarf short. A high forehead was framed with thinning red hair that turned white at the temples. Shaggy red eyebrows capped narrowed green eyes, while a rotund girth was made more evident by the tight silver bodysuit—a fashion statement that did not flatter the figure. All in all, he looked like a cosmic leprechaun.
“I’m Aimee,” she asserted when no one seemed inclined to introduce her.
Sharp eyes snapped away from the elephant’s foot to scrutinize her. “Hmmphf. The engineer?”
“Ummm, well, yes. Back on my planet.”
“Great,” he growled. “Maybe you can make yourself more useful than this idiot with his cynthian wand.”
“I am trying to get some of the dents out,” Gordy defended, his deep voice cracking.
“The only thing that will get the dents out is a pool of liquid alumium,” the leprechaun countered. “Then, we can recycle this relic and build something that will actually fly.”
Aimee recognized the red flare of impatience on Gordy’s cheeks. She stepped up between the men.
“Time-out. Can someone tell me what’s going on here, and—” she turned to the stout red-head glaring at Gordy. “And can you kindly tell me who you are?”
Shoulders drawn back, the man straightened to his full five feet.
“Wando.”
He did not extend his hand and Aimee dropped hers to her side.
“It’s nice to meet you, Wando.”
Wando scratched his nose with the back of his hand and sneezed. “I’m sure it is.”
Whoa. Got a winner here.
“Are you helping Gordy with this vessel?” Remain tolerant.
“No. There is no help with this lump of—”
“Wando.” The deep threat of Corluss’s voice spooked the little man.
Wando scratched his hair, glanced at the floor and then back up at Aimee. In what was either an epileptic seizure, or a battle to conform, his facial muscles hiked into something that could pass for a smile.
“I am the oldest, rather, most-veteran mechanic on the Horus. In my day, I designed state-of-the-art terra dusters on Anthum, and was renowned for my expertise.” He cleared his throat, and his smile was growing painful to watch. “Now, my technology from Anthum is outdated. These new terra angels designed by the Horus engineers put my skills to shame—or so, they tell me. Still, you would think they could have found a role for me here—”
“Will you quit your pouting?” Corluss interrupted. “Aren’t you working on the ion drives for the new line of sky crawlers?”
“Assembly line maintenance!” Wando scoffed. “Plug the square peg into the square hole. A sumpum could do that.”
“Kind of hard with those squishy feet of theirs,” Gordy chimed in.
Wando glared at him.
“Anyway,” Corluss injected, turning towards Aimee, “Wando had some free time. He also has some familiarity with this old craft, the only one of its kind. We can work on it in peace here without anyone knowing what we’re up to. And Wando will not tell because—because he is one of us.”
Vexed, the leprechaun mumbled his contempt as he executed an about-face and hunkered around the other side of the vessel.
Aimee turned towards Corluss and raised her eyebrows in a silent inquiry, and then realized the gesture went unseen.
It didn’t take a rocket scientist to conclude that us was a band of rejects.
Chapter Six
Night brought reprieve to the oppressive heat. But, night on this planet was short-lived. Where one sun disappeared, the other would soon replace it.
Adorned in Zull-skin pants, Zak left the similarly-sewn vest behind in the cave. He did not need it in the desert. Here, under the light of their single moon his arms glowed blue, as did the waves of sand he hunkered down against. Torches burned in the distance. Those of the Koron guards.
Zak traveled alone. Zuttah was waiting for a rendezvous on the other side of the river. His last words before they split up had been to berate Zak for this perceived suicide mission.
Yes, the odds were abysmal at best, but what role did odds play when it came to saving lives? Odds did not matter.
Zak inched closer, tensing when he saw the outline of three rebels tied to posts in the sand. Two men and a woman—prisoners on their own land.
In his palm, the solar ray burned with promise. For what he had planned, though, it was useless until he was in close range. Continuing his methodical approach on all fours, hoping to blend with the ripple of shadows produced by the wind-strewn sand, he aimed for the torches.
Now close enough to hear the guttural dialect of the stone creatures, Zak studied their hideous silhouettes. Unlike a human form, their bodies possessed no curves. Solid lines formed inflexible abdomens and rigid legs. Segments of rock linked to form arms, and the embryonic sculpture of the head offered a crude resemblance to a human face, but the features were static. Lips did not move. The nose did not inhale. Eyes did not shift. Their faces were lifeless.
Despite these outward appearances, they still possessed a morsel of intelligence. Even now, one craned its head into the wind. Had Zak revealed himself? Anxious, he flattened against the sand and remained immobile for nearly an hour until he felt it was safe to resume his progress.
Drawing near the circle of light cast by the flickering torches, Zak could now distinguish the two men with their wrists and feet bound to solid poles driven deep into the ground. Blood mingled with welts beneath the braided shackles and old blood stains scarred their Zull-skin garb. To the right of them, the woman laid on the ground, either asleep or unconscious.
Zak pressed his lips tight together and tried to blow air out through the taut line of his mouth. It was a trick his sister, Zari, had taught him. He was impersonating the warning call of the Zull.
From this hazardous perspective, he could hear the grate of stone and rock as the Korons marched the perimeter, peering into the night with vacant eyes. There were only three guards stationed near the prisoners. Ahead, sporadic pockets of rock creatures could be seen further down the river. Nocturnal sentinels, communicating in hushed guttural tones.
Zull, the sloth-like creatures of the foothills, roamed the desert at night while it was cool. They needed the sustenance of the river as much as humans, but the Korons ignored the indigenous creatures. Korons did not need meat. They did not have blood to grow cold, so Zull-skin or any other attribute the beast provided was of no benefit. At the sound of the animal, the closest Koron merely cocked his head and then turned away, disinterested.
Zak licked his lips and repeated the call. This time the Korons barely gave it heed.
Good
. Gullible towers of rock.
One more time, Zak mastered the low wail of the Zull, but in this instance he integrated an ancient word of warning from the Ziratak dialect. It was so subtle, it would be impossible for the Korons to detect it. Even the rebels themselves did not pick up on the subliminal inflection. He tried again, challenging the limits of articulation, and this time caught a rebel’s head quirk. Edgily, the man glanced at the Korons and then swung his gaze back towards the dark.
Attempting one more faint call, Zak scored when he saw the frown blossom on the rebel’s face. This rebel was a middle-aged man with a full brown beard and thinning long hair. A leather strap drew the hair back from his face so that Zak could glimpse the eager eyes searching the night, scanning the shadows with a rare blend of unease and hope. Zak rolled onto his side and then back into place. It was a motion, if caught from the corner of an inhuman eye, that could be mistaken for a Zull satisfying an itch. The sharp focus of the rebel was neither bestial, nor casual. Walking to the furthest extent of his bindings, the man cast a cautious glimpse over his shoulder before resuming his scrutiny of the shadows.
Gyrating to his right again, Zak noticed that the second male rebel perked up and joined in the surveillance. Across the dark plain, Zak made eye contact with this elder man. There was something amiss with that connection—a sheen to the eyes that indicated possible fallout from a solar ray blast. Regardless, the man acknowledged his presence and judiciously sat down, leaning back against the very pole that restricted him. These men recognized the need for discretion. Had they both walked to the edge of their ropes it would have drawn attention. Anticipation of escape sharpened their judgment.
The man standing cast a brief glimpse down at the prone woman. With a meaningful look extended into the night, he gave a very discreet shake of his head.
She was either injured or incapacitated.
It was a minor setback. Digging his knee into the cool sand, Zak crawled to the perimeter of the torchlight, still maintaining eye-contact with the unshorn rebel. Zak hauled the solar ray up alongside him and then dug it into the ground, its flared tube aimed at the Korons seated fifteen yards away. For the plan he had in mind, he needed to draw them into close range. The attack was a gamble. He wasn’t even certain the solar ray was going to work. But this was also the only chance he had to free the rebels.
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