Once outside and away from the fumes of the running ships, Torrak breathed in deeply, and immediately started to cough.
“I’d forgotten how clean the air is here,” he said sarcastically. Not much cleaner than inside the polluted docking bay, the sooty air of the city came from the non-existent vehicle exhaust and environmental enforcement laws.
Kalil laughed. “That’s what you get for trying to speed me out of the hangar.”
“You noticed, huh?” Torrak asked, smiling despite his dying coughs. The two of them headed toward the main square of Ponsunila. While they walked, Torrak took in the sights of his old hometown. Banners of all different lengths and colors waved from each store front, advertising the store’s name and its merchandise: a silver building designated as a cultural developmental center, a run-down Manach-owned store that sold spare ship parts, a busy Grassuwerian restaurant. Lang’s store sat on the other side of the square. Torrak wondered if it looked the same.
“So what’s this Lang guy like?” Kalil asked.
“Generous. And fat.” Torrak laughed. “Well, at least when I knew him he was. The first time I met him I’d been working for the C-Nine authorities and assigned to apprehend a criminal named Hallia, who’d been connected with several illegal transactions involving shipments of twig. Hallia fled into Lang’s store, taking him and several others hostage. She tried using him as a shield, but couldn’t get her arm around him because he was so wide.” Torrak laughed.
“How did he get out of there?”
“On the third day, our sniper had a clear shot.” Torrak shrugged. “I never did care for that part of the job. I liked solving cases.”
“So that’s how you met Lang?”
“Uh-huh. I went back to Lang’s store to talk about damages and we hit it off. He’s got a great sense of humor and tells the best stories…” Torrak trailed off as they approached the main square. Tents and stands covered the square’s perimeter, while portable sleeping-units littered the middle. It looked as if the entire city had crammed itself into a six-block radius. Different types of music played loudly from alternate corners as individuals walked by sampling cuisine from sellers that had erected temporary store fronts in every available space.
“Whoa. Is this usual?” Kalil asked.
“Not that I remember.” Torrak tapped a nearby Garken, a lumpy grey mass whose blank face sported nothing but a very wide mouth. “Excuse me. Could you tell me what’s going on in the square?”
“Sa-Ding Festival of Moons,” the Garken gurgled. “Once every three thousand glicks, moons merge. Stars crash. Rocks burst. Explosions. This is last night.” The corners of its mouth curved outward in a sign of glee.
“I completely forgot that took place this year,” Torrak said as the Garken waddled away.
“What is the Sa-Ding Festival?”
“It celebrates the merging of moons.”
Kalil furrowed his brow.
“Let’s see. How can I explain this? Okay. So C-Sector Nine’s origin theory is that a gravitational rift in the middle of the galaxy pulled other planets and moons to this area. When the rift collapsed, the moons began to orbit the closest large mass. Once they settled, the planets and moons were split into sectors: the Arl's sector, the Brl's sector, and the Crl's sector. C-Sector Nine is the ninth planet in the Crl's sector, which explains how it got named.” Torrak gestured to the black flags sported by many of the booths—three circles in a row, the first red, the second blue, and the third, larger, green. The green circle contained nine black dots inside the center, to indicate the ninth planet in the third sector.
“Great flag.”
“I’ve always liked it.”
Kalil watched the Garken park itself in front of a stand and order some food. “Okay, so then what’s the festival all about?”
“C-Nine’s orbit lasts around six hundred years. Once during that time it comes close to another planet from the Brl’s sector called Ding. Ding is small, surrounded by rings made of cosmic dust and debris. The debris gets pulled by C-Nine’s gravity and showers the planet for about two weeks.
“The first time this happened, the original colonizers had no idea what to expect. Meteorites pummeled the planet, killing over half the population. Afterwards, the planet’s government built and installed planetary atmospheric defense systems, or PADS, which act as energy fields, blocking falling fragments and dust.” Torrak pointed to a large, spherical building in the distance. Every so often an energy arc built up from the bottom of the sphere and pulsed upward toward the sky.
“Since then,” Torrak continued, “C-Nine celebrates with the Sa-Ding Moon Festival—to rejoice in the beauty of chaos.”
“Can we come back later and watch?”
“I’d really like to. I remember being so excited when I was little that the festival would take place during my lifetime and—”
Torrak pulled up short half a block from Lang’s store. He saw its sign lying broken on the ground. He ran to the door, banging on it, but no one answered. Desperate yanks on the handle yielded no results. His throat tightened with panic. “There’s a cellar entrance in the back,” he said. The two of them sprinted toward the rear and found the entry to the cellar, bolted, but Torrak managed to wrench it open. Torrak and Kalil climbed inside and down the ladder into the dimness. Meter-long brown shapes ran by, scuttling away from the light.
“I don’t even want to know what those were,” Kalil muttered. Torrak ignored him and made his way to the stairs. Kalil followed right on his heels. Torrak pushed open the door at the top of the steps and stumbled into the well-lit room. Squinting, he heard Kalil shut the door behind them. The enclosed area, full of stocked supplies, muffled the partying outside.
“This doesn’t look like he’s gone out of business,” Kalil said. All the boxes in the room had recent dates of delivery.
“Pierze?” Torrak called out as he entered the front of the store. No answer. Torrak looked around, identifying the surrounding clues as he slipped back into his old investigative habits. He took in the soot left over from scorch marks on a chair, the smell of burnt skin, and the ACCESS DENIED phrase that ran across the computer screen at the desk.
“Um, Torrak?” Kalil stood in front of an open closet door. “I think I found Pierze Lang.”
“Enter.”
Daith walked in, her lips pursed. “I need to know more about the Controllers.” She stood tall and looked down upon Trey, who sat at his desk.
Trey tilted his head. His jaw tightened at her impudence. He knew the dream-deflector pills and circumstances made her more irritable, but she shouldn’t barge in here demanding things from him. He quickly secured his mental block, so Daith couldn’t access his thoughts, and forced a smile on his face. “Won’t you take a seat?”
Daith sat across from him, glaring.
“I’m not sure what more I can tell you, but I’ll go over it again with you. They are a faction fighting against the former leader of the Aleet Army and what he represented. They call themselves the Liberators. They feared our leader’s abilities and that he used them to help change the course of history for the better. Most of them are war mongrels or profiteers from governmental conflict and wanted to reinstate those conditions across the Eomix Galaxy. That’s when we started calling them the Controllers, since it became clear they only wanted to reestablish their former power.
“When our leader died,” Trey continued, “they went after anyone else with abilities like his, which includes you. They wanted to make sure no one could follow in his footsteps. I’m not sure what else there is for you to know.”
“I don’t know either, but there must be something: news articles, statements, communications. I’d like access to the ship’s communications so I can research the group.” She crossed her legs and arms in the chair.
“That’s not possible.”
Her eyes narrowed. “No? Why not? I’ve agreed to help you with your mission. Clearly I’m on your side. So why can’t I have the same priv
ileges as any other crewmember?”
“You misunderstand,” he said, keeping his tone light. “Even crewmembers can’t access information about the Controllers.”
Daith’s voice rose in pitch as her foot tapped the floor. “I can’t believe that. They must want to know things. How do they know what’s going on outside this ship?”
Daith’s anxiety manifested itself in the room—the air shimmered with ill ease. “Please, let me show you what I mean.” Trey booted up his computer system. The cursor blinked as he punched in his access code. When the system became alert, he turned the screen toward her. “The ship’s systems deal only with matters of the ship.” A schematic came up of each of the five ship’s levels. “Crew members can check their shift arrangements, menu specials in the mess hall, simulation room activities, and so forth.” With each of these statements a new screen emerged with the pertinent information. “That’s all. Outside access could be traced or penetrated.”
Daith’s tongue darted out of the corner of her mouth while she watched the images.
“You don’t believe me,” Trey stated. With quick movements, he flipped his data entry panel over to her side of the desk. “Feel free to type in anything you want.”
Her eyebrows raised. “Seriously?”
Trey nodded. “You are a part of this crew and everything that comes with it. Our computer system is limited, but open to you if you wish. As for contact outside the ship, we do have vidlink communications panels, but communication is limited to prevent detection of any outgoing signals. However, calls can be approved by me, and then transmitted when we are in a safe enough area. Unfortunately, I don’t know when the next safe point might be, not on this current flight path.”
Daith took the datapad and for a moment seemed subdued, but then her lips pursed. Smacking the device on the table, she let out an exasperated breath. “I can’t accept this. I need information outside of this ship. History. Facts. Politics. You can’t expect me to help you fight against this group empty-handed.”
Trey clenched his jaw in irritation. His patience dribbled away. She needed to remember who ran this ship. “You said you made your choice.”
“Yes, but—”
“You chose to stay on this ship rather than leave it and search for answers about your past.”
“I know, but—”
“I rescued you from the assassination attempt that killed your family.” Trey’s clipped accent accentuated in his anger. “I gave you a safe place to stay. I introduced you to a doctor who could help get your memories back. I offered you friendship. And what has happened since I’ve done all that?” Trey ticked off his fingers. “My brother was murdered, Dr. Ludd betrayed us, and you still don’t trust me.”
Daith’s eyes blazed with anger, though the droop in her shoulders told Trey she felt guilty. “I’m trying to help. I didn’t ask to be shot at. I didn’t ask to be brought on board.”
“Maybe not. But it’s better than being dead.” Trey felt tempted to soften, but he needed her to follow his leadership. On the other hand, she probably had the power to blow up the ship if she wanted.
Trey closed his eyes. He had to get hold of himself. He had to turn this into a connection with her. He continued, his words softened. “I’m sorry to lash out. I know this has all happened quickly and with Dru gone...,” he let out a long sigh, “it’s a little bleaker on this ship.”
He felt a warm touch on his fisted hand as Daith’s slender fingers offered their comfort. He bit his tongue to keep the smirk from his face.
“I’m sorry, Trey. You had to take a chance that the Controller was telling the truth about defecting. Any information he had would have been invaluable. But I know Dru’s murder must be hard on you, too…”
An unexpected lump caught in Trey’s throat.
“It’s fine,” he said. The sting of threatening tears burned his eyes. He turned his face toward hers. “I don’t blame you for wanting to know more. I’ll tell you everything I can, about the Controllers, about their missions and tactics, anything I can to help.”
“Thank you.” She squeezed his forearm, the warmth of it raising his heart beat. “I don’t want to let you and the crew down.”
“I don’t believe you will.” Trey’s communications indicator lit up. “Can we schedule a time later to meet? Perhaps tomorrow?”
Daith nodded and exited.
Trey cleared his throat. What was his problem? He didn’t miss his brother. He always knew Dru wouldn’t want to be involved with his plan and would have to be killed. Having it happen sooner rather than later was the only problem.
Perhaps Daith’s grief oozed out into him. Yes, that must be it.
“Yes?” he answered the communication.
“It’s Kircla for you.”
Trey instantly perked up. “Patch her through.” He smoothed the front of his immaculate uniform as the vidlink system connected the call. The screen filled with a seated Orcla female, her aquamarine skin tone a sharp contrast to the greys and black of the cockpit of her ship.
“It’s good to hear from you, Kircla. I assume you have been successful on your mission?”
Kircla sucked at her pointed teeth. “You assume wrong. However, do not be afraid. Though poor, the information you gave me allowed me to narrow down the list to twenty-nine suspects. They will all be eliminated.”
Trey’s breath caught in his throat. “All of them? Is that really necessary?”
Kircla’s head cricked to one side, like a flying birna cocking its head. “You provided me with limited intel: male, medium-brown skin, pale yellow hair, attends the Academy for Gifted Students on the planet Fior. As I am not allowed to ask for any other information concerning him or others that may know him, I have reduced the list to twenty-nine candidates. In order to be sure of success, they all must be targeted. Unless there is some other information you can give me?”
Trey slowly shook his head. “I’m afraid not.” His stomach clenched like hard stone. “Do what you must. Let me know when the assignment is complete.”
The conversation ended.
Trey sat rigid in his chair, his gut heavy. Twenty-nine dead so he could make sure to kill one. Trey wasn’t a stranger to killing, he’d seen plenty of death during the civil war on his planet, but he tried to avoid unnecessary casualties. He always felt justified when he had someone eliminated. Their death had purpose, whether it be to protect himself or keep his plan moving forward. But never random innocents.
Sometimes you have to sacrifice the few to save the many. An old mantra, one he adopted years ago when he worked for Jacin Jaxx. He believed it then, as he did now, but it didn’t undo the knot of guilt inside him. The witness who’d seen Daith kidnapped couldn’t be allowed to live. His own crew had already bungled the recovery mission.
Kircla was his last chance.
The assassin was good.
Ness Opute was better.
Sunk low behind a bush, Opute watched the Manach enter its lodgings for the night. Treading softly, Opute made his way behind the building. He slipped a bit as he climbed over slime-covered rocks and cursed when he knelt onto a sharp stone. A light sheen of sweat coated his body while the planet continued to radiate heat, even though second sunset had taken place over a standard hour ago. He pulled on his night-vision goggles. They squeaked against his moistened forehead and he adjusted them to detect thermal signatures. After he located his target on the second floor, Opute pushed the goggles onto the top of his head and analyzed the situation. He would wait until the Manach entered its sleep cycle.
Three standard hours later, Opute crept toward the building. He hoisted himself up by a large tree branch and swung himself onto the balcony attached to the room next to the Manach’s. Opute rubbed his sweaty hands on his pants before he jumped to the Manach’s balcony. One hand slipped on the metal railing and he nearly fell into a thick bush of prickly plants below. He secured his grip and pulled himself up, his arms throbbing from the strain. A brief pause on the b
alcony to catch his breath before he moved toward the plate-glass doors. He slid down, laying on his belly, and peered through.
Two iridescent yellow eyes stared back.
Opute bit back a gasp. Terror gripped him. He tried not to blink. A tail whipped around behind the eyes.
A Nikana.
Vicious guard animals, the 12-kilogram felines were quite rare, costing more money than Opute made in a year, and were thought to be so quick they could dodge direct attacks from most hand-held energy weapons.
The fact that the Manach assassin had one proved his high-quality.
Unbeknownst to his target, Opute had seen a Nikana before. Well, the Nikana had seen him. The creature had been set loose on Opute when a client decided not to pay.
Three weeks later, after intensive surgery to repair the chunks of flesh that had been sheared from his body, Opute’s boss at the time came to visit him in the hospital.
The first words spoken confirmed the death of the client. Then she told Opute, having raised a Nikana, she knew a technique to put the feline in a trance-like state, a state that kept it from responding to any noise or movement for a short period of time. Three rapid flashes of light directly in the Nikana’s eyes.
Simple.
Except at the present moment Opute’s portable light unit sat snug inside its holster, strapped to his thigh and not pointed at the Nikana.
Opute held his breath. He reached back, slowly, and took hold of the light. With a quick flick of his wrist, he flipped the unit around and pointed it toward the Nikana. A low growl came from the feline, loud enough to be heard through the glass, but it still hadn’t moved. Opute’s nerves superseded his concern about the Manach hearing the beast. The Nikana could break through the glass and rip Opute’s throat out before the Manach would even know it had happened.
Opute brought the portable light unit slowly to the center of the Nikana’s face, hoping with each movement the Nikana wouldn’t react. A bead of sweat dripped into his eye. The eye closed. The feline picked up on the movement.
Eomix Galaxy Books: Identity (Book 2 of 2) Page 6