Oblivion's Peril

by M. H. Johnson

  The inquisitor stared dumbfounded at the destruction, too stunned even to move, when screams could be heard from a second battle-mech as deadly pulses of crackling energy fried the pilot inside before the top half of the mecha abruptly exploded in a shower of super-heated shrapnel and shredded body parts.

  “Run!” Dimitry abruptly screamed, fleeing the chamber in panic, the disorganized soldiers not far behind as a third battle-mech met a similar horrific end before the remaining pilots had the sense to cut off all initiation sequences, fleeing their booby-trapped mechs in a far more orderly fashion than the inquisitor had, just moments ago.

  “What is the meaning of this?” screamed a panicked Dimitry, Psiblade catalyzed before a terrified-looking captain of the guards facing him, helmet removed, terrified eyes gazing into the inquisitor's own, knowing death was just a heartbeat away.

  The man slowly dropped several cubes into the inquisitor’s gloved fist. “Cubes from Captain Luotsi’s quarters! We found it along with the Vicebloom and Blackbliss.”

  Shadow hissed to hear that the poison had been successfully planted by his enemies, after all his efforts to assure it would be switched out. What had happened to the plan?

  Dimitry froze, raising his hand, and Val could all but feel tendrils of fear and hate crawling through the ether, taking a deep, calming breath of his own. For his forte was shadow, and he would feel no fury—only the deadly wrath of the storm that would one day wipe all his enemies from the board.

  Dimitry spun around, red eyes glaring.

  Then frowned, sensing only shadows and despair, eyes widening as Dimitry was forced to fix his features for the seventeen surviving pilots charging down the hallway, former expressions of fear replaced by outrage and anger, more than half pointing guns his way.

  “What the hell was that, inquisitor? Trying to set us up for a quick death? We won’t go down that easily, you bastard!” roared one of the pilots charging forward, blaster ready, slowing down only upon seeing a dozen Dominion carbines pointed back his way.

  “Hold! You all will hold!” roared Dimitry as the entire hallway was lit by blaster fire. The pilots charging forward and the Dominion soldiers on all sides were abruptly slammed to the ground, crying out and holding their skulls, Dimitry's Psionic Blast stunning everyone within thirty feet of him.

  He glared down at the groaning pilots, those who were not completely unconscious, or dead from Dominion blaster fire. “Are you all fools? Do you really think I would have gone to such trouble to hire you only to destroy my prizes and the few men able to pilot them? Don’t be idiots!” The inquisitor’s eyes crackled almost as much as his deadly blade, but he settled for kicking several pilots before turning to glare at his own men, groaning as a few stumbled to their feet.

  “Squad Leader Henz! Captain Luotsi is your responsibility and I want him brought here immediately! He will answer for this act of treachery, and when he’s finished, I’ll see his head in a vat for what he’s done!”

  The squad leader gazed back at the inquisitor with terrified eyes. “I regret to report that Captain Luotsi is dead, sir.”

  "What?" roared the inquisitor, his own crackling shaft of darkness held just inches from the frightened man's neck, Squad Leader Henz falling to his knees.

  “He had a holdout blaster, sir! Somehow he freed himself from his cuffs, and he used his blaster to kill Kaylin before she could blink! Bastard fired his holdout right under her helm! Her partner cut the bastard down, but not before taking critical wounds himself.”

  Dimitry spat, but lowered his blade. “You fools are fully armored! Even under the neck, a holdout blaster shouldn’t be penetrating your mesh. Let alone in a firefight!”

  “It was overclocked, sir. Tri-resonance beams. Of course the crystals fragged out after the third shot, but those illegal holdouts are designed for suicide blitzes. The blasters might explode, but not before putting our lives at risk.”

  Dimitry glared furiously at the moaning bodies all around, as well as the handful that were deathly still, whether from blaster fire or not being able to survive his Psionic Blast. “We’ve lost six Dominion soldiers and four pilots over utter stupidity!” He clenched his fist. “Somehow, that bastard knew. Knew to sabotage his mech units! I sensed nothing but fear and confusion from his mind. How the hell did he manage this?”

  The squad leader stiffened to attention. “I believe I might have figured out the answer, sir.” He stumbled back as the inquisitor’s eyes pinned his own.

  “Explain, soldier.”

  “It’s on the cubes, sir. He had knowingly put in a bid for malfunctioning mecha that the cartels were selling for scrap. His plan was then to resell it here on Jordia to the winner of the auction. He was counting on the fact that it’s illegal for mecha to be activated within two miles of any major city or port to cover for his treachery. Apparently a Blackenthorp agent was supposed to hand deliver forty million in Elementium hard currency the moment the mechs had been safely loaded into the transport vehicles.”

  Dimitry’s eyes narrowed. “Treacherous worm. That bastard and his crew died too easy. Far too easy!” His blade lashed out. The guard gasped as a jagged rent was cleaved through the corridor walls, sparkling circuits and the smell of tortured metal somehow mirroring the inquisitor’s mood perfectly. “Get up and quit shivering, fool! Tell me, did the cubes mention who this agent bringing the Elementium happens to be? And what of the freighter company hired on?”

  The soldier stumbled back. It was all he could do not to raise his hands and beg for mercy. “The cubes made no mention of specific contacts. As for the shipping company, it’s here right now, sir.”

  Dimitry glared at the man before him. “Why did no one say anything earlier?” He turned back to the hangar, a few well-placed kicks bringing most of the soldiers out of their daze. “You two. Disarm those pilots. Confine them, but don’t shoot them. They should still prove useful, even if their assigned mechs were all consigned for the scrap heap!”

  “Yes sir!” said a saluting pair of guards, immediately getting to work.

  Dimitry nodded. “You four. Get to the hangar and remove all evidence of the bodies.”

  “Yes sir!” said another group of guards, saluting before dashing back to the hangar.

  The inquisitor put on his most human-looking smile as he quickly strode for the massive ramp separating the ship from starport pavement, hurrying down to meet a bored-looking man holding a chart, of all things, covered with sigils a certain observer could make neither heads nor tails of.

  “Here for pickup?” the rough-shaven man offered politely enough upon seeing who his contact was.

  Dimitry’s thin lips wormed into an icy smile. The driver swallowed and stepped back. “That’s right. We have seventeen… no, twenty mechs that you have been contracted to carry. However, clarifications need to be made. These are scrap mechs, and they are being sent not to Blackenthorp, but rather to Kentric Province. They are to be salvaged for spare parts unless deemed fixable, and under no circumstances should they be flown unless a master mechanic oversees their repair. Now imprint those words."

  The driver’s brow furrowed. “That’s not what this order here says, sir. Are you sure this is the right commission?”

  Dimitry’s eyes blazed. The man before him instantly lost his surliness, crumpling to his knees, gazing at the inquisitor in horror as he clawed at his own skull. “Please stop, I beg of you!”

  Dimitry nodded, twisted smile never leaving his features as the man before him continued to writhe and scream, other drivers slowly getting out of their vehicles. “Repeat after me. You are all going to Kentric Province. These damaged mechs are to be used only for spare parts unless repaired by a master mechanic. Is that clear, fool?”

  “Yes!” screamed the man, sobbing as he repeated his orders, collapsing in a heap as the inquisitor at last released his grip upon the man’s mind.

  Dimitry turned to the other drivers, near twenty men and women gazing at the inquisitor in horror.
"I trust we have resolved this misunderstanding? Unless you feel further… reinforcement is needed? No? Excellent! And of course you will all receive bonuses, should you make your deliveries on time. Now, one at a time, follow your standard protocols and load the mechs carefully!"

  One driver actually dared Dimitry’s ire, raising his hand.

  "Speak." The barked word jolted the anxious-looking man.

  “Sorry, sir. It’s just… won’t a Dominion squadron be escorting us with the mech haul?”

  Dimitry glared as the man swallowed and tried to hide behind his fellows. He turned to peer at his own men, busy with ship repairs and cleanup, frowning before coming to a decision. “I just told you these mechs were scrap, fool! Anyone who tries to fly them will get the death sentence they deserve. So drive like your life depends upon it, worm, because it does.”

  With those words the inquisitor left the terrified drivers to complete their objective, his pitiless glare and warning squeeze of his hilt making it clear he cared nothing for the misfortunes of the three final drivers tasked with somehow carting the devastated mechs upon the final three beds, though it ultimately took the use of all twenty drivers and the surviving soldiers and pilots to transport the pieces in a timely manner, the inquisitor cursing the delay all the while.

  And finally they were off, a score of massive velimobiles that looked more like tractor-trailers with thousands of shimmering coasters for wheels to Val’s eyes than anything else, slowly making their way out of the spaceport along the road that cut straight through northern Jordia, avoiding the crowded street of the city proper entirely.

  Dimitry glared at the massive velis departing for the horizon for long moments before turning to the soldier standing respectfully at his side. “You and your men will take care of things here, as per protocol.”

  The man saluted. “Yes, sir. But what of the pilots, sir?”

  Dimitry shrugged. “The High Council will have someone pick them up eventually, I’m sure. In the meantime, they have no cause to complain. Make sure they are fed, treat any injuries, and play some damned holotapes for them. Do not strike or insult them unless necessary. As unfortunate as the handful of deaths were, the accords were not breached. It’s that damned Captain Luotsi’s fault that four of them perished, not ours. Now? They get to sit back and relax on our coin.” He smirked. “They signed on for five years, and they can consider this part of their training.”

  “Of course, sir.” The soldier saluted once more, but Dimitry had already spun away, heading for the velimobile that had just pulled up beside the ramp.

  The driver gave a stiff salute. “The High Council requests your presence immediately, Lord Inquisitor.”

  Dimitry snorted. “Of course they do. Well, fool? Drive! We haven’t got all day.”

  And that strange point of awareness that was simultaneously the wet tarmac smelling of steel and asphalt, the damp mist coating everything in a glossy sheen, as it was the young man smiling coldly at the departing vehicle. Val was quite certain that Inquisitor Dimitry was going to have a very bad day indeed. And if things went according to plan, it would only get worse.

  “Not bad,” commended a voice by Val’s side. “The primary objective was a complete success.”

  Val frowned. “But the captain died. And I know the Vicebloom and Blackbliss were planted, just like his enemies had hoped.”

  “Correct,” declared a suddenly cold voice. “You and I were not the only parties involved, Valor. A third disciple of Shadow was present, who was frightened enough to find that our inquisitor is a madman perfectly happy slaughtering an entire crew. Ruthless orders that must have been approved somewhere in that twisted council whose sufferance we live by.” Val felt a hand squeezing shoulders that moments before had been hidden in Shadow.

  It was all he could do not to draw his blade.

  “Do you understand, lost child who would dare the throne? A young girl was baptized in darkness today. Had anything diverged for her after witnessing that slaughter, she would have been revealed and perhaps butchered. One of our own.” A silent pause. “You and I just witnessed firsthand the savagery and duplicity Jordian inquisitors are capable of. Can you imagine the potential consequences, should Lord Craven suspect for even a single heartbeat that we had deliberately failed in our mission? No, Valor. The risks were too high. Far higher than even I had realized. As it stands, a daughter of Shadow safely completed her first mission, and the High Council has absolutely no reason to suspect us of anything. Not for the destruction of those battle-mechs, nor for the captain finding in his freed hands a blaster and a whispered blessing to strike at his enemies one final time.”

  Val could all but taste the man’s smile. “We spared the poor man eternal hell in a pain vat, and that’s no small thing. And this way, no probing of his mind will contradict the evidence Dimitry is delivering to the High Council even as we speak.”

  Val grimaced, forcing himself to nod. “You’re right. I thought I had every angle covered. But even with the planted log, if the captain was alive and his mind bare before the High Council...” He shook his head and sighed. “I was an idiot.”

  A companionable laugh. “And all the wiser for your folly now, your lesson learned. I can tell you’ve played this game before, though perhaps by different rules?”

  Val couldn’t help but nod at that.

  “And may I say, the destruction wrought by those battle-mechs in their death throes, the wrench this has thrown into your enemy’s plans? Most impressive.”

  Val shrugged. “And I almost got caught at the end. Spells and Shadowmind don’t always mix, even if you’re trying to specialize in it. We’re lucky the first mechs activated were the ones I had effectively cursed. The last four just had damaged hip sockets.”

  “It was enough.” A curious pause. “Will you really be able to reclaim them successfully?”

  Val grinned, hopping onto the dwarven hover-blade he pulled free of his dimensional rift between one heartbeat and the next, just as easy to bring forth as his dwarven armor was, and much to Val’s pleasure, needing no recalibration after the transfer. “That’s what I aim to find out.”

  Val could sense the man beside him jolt so intensely he almost popped into visibility. “Very impressive.”

  Val grinned. “And a damned sweet pleasure to ride!”

  A soft chuckle. “It will be interesting to see if you have enough tricks to keep your head on your shoulders during your quest for the throne. For what it’s worth? I hope that you do.”

  Val smirked. “So do I.”

  “Shadow guide you.”

  And with a final wave Val squeezed the throttle, his hover-blade’s echoing roar fading to a supersonic pitch that disturbed not a soul even as bike and boy seemed to fade into the heat shimmer glare of the steaming morning tarmac, never really there, just a mirage off in the distance.

  40

  “Blossom to Nightfox. Blossom to Nightfox. The targets are in range. Do you copy?”

  But there was no response from the vast, windswept fields smelling of wildflowers and freedom, stretching as far as the eye could see. The air was alive with the low thrum of massive haulers and the sound of road gravel crunching under tons of weight as thousands of perfectly circular wheels under a score of multi-ton vehicles made their way along the perfectly straight road stretching all the way to the far horizon.

  Sleepy drivers nodded to each other in their shared compartments, ready to switch positions as the miles rolled continuously forward and sharp terror faded to the dull grumbles of another day doing work both draining and monotonous, for far too few credits, they all agreed.

  And then a sudden jolt, sleepy eyes wide with sudden fear as their vehicles abruptly jerked and veered sharply left even as Jordia’s horizon seemed to rise sharply in the same direction before they realized to their horror that it was their transports that were collapsing, with the shrieking sound of hundreds of wheels being sliced completely free of their vehicle’s left side as a blin
dingly fast streak of something, or perhaps nothing, flashed by.

  The sedate journey then became a frantic struggle to keep their vehicles aligned with the road, then just a losing battle to keep from crashing into the thick grassy fields fast approaching, the desperate shifting of gears and panicked screams doing nothing to stop the inevitable crash as first one then another vehicle wiped out alongside the road.

  Then the sound of blasters and a magnified voice roaring for their surrender. Disoriented drivers stumbling free of their vehicles quickly crumpled to the ground in screams and blood as their minds were blasted not once but thrice by hideously potent waves of psionic energy that left the victims unconscious or in seizures, if not outright dead.

  “Copy, Blossom. Striking… now!”

  Heart racing with the howling wind in his ears as he raced ahead to his next target, Val shifted his weight and canted his hover-blade to the right, holding steady with only one hand on the bar, a movement he had been practicing constantly since leaving Newford and tailing his prey, grateful that his blade’s lack of wheels meant no vibration thrumming through his hands, allowing maneuvers otherwise nearly impossible.

  A crackling hiss as a shaft of oblivion was catalyzed by a single act of will.

  Caressing screaming titanium alloy as it effortlessly cleaved through the lip of the massive freighter he roared past, the long shaft of metal and the wheels it supported crashing to the road as the entire overweighted vehicle jerked left, only seconds from tipping over.

  Skillcheck made. You successfully managed to slice open your prey without toppling over and killing yourself. Well done! Blade Riding is now Rank 4!

  A single fierce smile as his mind roared with exhilaration and he gunned his bike, slipping just behind the next massive freighter before him, and before his prey even fully registered what had happened, they too began to tip over and veer sharply left as Val streaked by to the shriek of metal and wheels abruptly tearing free of the canting vessel crashing behind him.