“Sit,” ordered Gruff as he took up station along the wall next to the door. Halloran decided to play along and lowered himself into one of the chairs, which were made of a dull metal that was surprisingly warm to the touch. Grillo shot him a last warning glare and turned his huge back on Halloran, stomping out of the room and turning to the right in the corridor outside.
Halloran looked around; other than the table, chairs and several cameras mounted up high there was nothing. Obviously an interrogation room. He crossed his arms and looked at Gruff without saying anything.
“You’re a tough one, aren’t you?” Gruff shifted his feet, the thick parka pants making a rustling sound as he did.
Halloran smiled but said nothing. Clearly, they were waiting for something.
“Do not push me like that!” Kendra’s voice.
The woman herself followed the voice moments later, led in by Grillo. He towered over her and had his hand on her shoulder, keeping her moving at an arm’s length. Halloran immediately picked up it; the hulking man was trying to show her respect. A good sign. Not that Kendra liked it much.
He couldn’t help himself; his mouth turned up in the slightest of grins and a part of his heart warmed suddenly, without urging. I’m relieved to see her okay, he told himself.
Her eyes met Halloran’s as Grillo propelled her all the way to another seat at the table, then held her there expectantly. Her hair was down again; that stuff sure had a hard time staying in place.
“Morning,” Halloran offered, letting the grin stay. “I think.”
Kendra shrugged off the now-slack hand of Grillo and dropped into the seat. “Is it?” Halloran could tell she was still ticked off about being handled.
“I suspect we’ll know in a few minutes.”
Gruff stepped forward. “No talking.”
Grillo looked at Halloran and his eyes said “that means you, too.” Then he turned and loped out of the room without another glance.
An uneasy silence descended on the room and Halloran closed his eyes, feeling his aches and sores and taking stock of the situation. Everything depended on the superior officer who was coming to interrogate them being open to reason. Halloran wanted to be ready. As part of his training over the years was resisting interrogation techniques. Breathing and focus were two of the top things he remembered about it.
Kendra stirred in her seat. “My head is screaming at me.”
Halloran didn’t open his eyes. “We were stunned by some sort of weapon.”
A low chuckle came from the other side of the room. “A nice, locally developed way of keeping the peace,” answered Gruff.
Kendra fidgeted. “How long are you going to keep us locked up?”
“That depends, my friend, on how forthright you plan on being with me about your clandestine visit to our planet.”
Halloran’s eyes came open at the new, in-charge voice in the room. A powerful-looking man with a bald head and clean-shaven features looked down at him from the doorway. His expression was carefully guarded and obviously adept at not showing emotion. His voice had been pleasant with an undertone of resolve. The eyes were a steel-gray. Halloran was impressed. “My I assume I have the pleasure of speaking to the man in charge?”
The bald man cocked his head to one side, eyes widening fractionally. “You are speaking English. I had thought I heard that in the hall, but didn’t believe it.” And his lips were forming the words in the same language, not the translator speaking in Halloran’s head.
Halloran started; no one he’d yet encountered in this time spoke English.
The man smiled and stepped into the room, deliberately choosing a seat and settling into it. He fixed Halloran with an icy stare. “I see you’re impressed.”
“No one here speaks English.”
The man leaned forward. “No one anywhere speaks English. How is it that you do?”
Halloran shrugged slightly. “It’s our native language.”
The man’s face betrayed his confusion—for a moment. Then the mask of civility returned and he leaned back again, glancing over at Gruff. “Leave us,” he said in the new language used by humans called Standard.
“But, Governor…” The translator worked for Gruff, who apparently didn’t speak English.
The bald man—the ‘Governor,’ apparently—waved. “Go. I’ll be safe.”
With a hesitant nod, Gruff stalked out.
“And close the door.”
Without turning, Gruff shut the door behind him.
“He and his team may be rough around the edges, but they are loyal.” The man’s eyes went hard. “And that is everything on Tavar.”
“So you’re the Governor? Of this planet?” Halloran said.
“I am indeed. And I do speak your language. What I am most interested in is how you speak it. It is an ancestral language of our forefathers here on Tavar, now only used by those descended from the original settlers.”
“Where I come from, like I said, it’s the primary language.”
The man looked unconvinced and glanced at Kendra. “And you?”
She replied in Standard. “I don’t speak that language.”
The man nodded. “Interesting. You’re Fleet, aren’t you?”
Kendra’s eyes narrowed, but she said nothing.
The man turned back to Halloran. “Fleet. But you, you’re not Fleet. But military. And I understand that men report to you.”
“Yes, and they are being unfairly imprisoned near here. I’d like—.”
The man tapped the table with a finger. “What you’d like is irrelevant. Your party was caught attempting to infiltrate our facility, armed with advanced weapons with Prax markings on them. I have good reason to just lock you up for a month and see who cracks first among your group.” The tone and body language brooked no misunderstanding; this man wasn’t playing games.
Halloran was impressed again with the man’s skills. “I appreciate the gravity of our situation, Governor. All I ask is a few minutes to outline the reasons for our visit and the low-profile approach.”
“I would enjoy hearing it.” The bald man sat back, looked them both over, crossed his arms and furrowed his brow. “You may begin.”
Chapter 16
Prax Homeworld
Ryax decided to take the walk from his quarters to the guard station outside this morning, instead of through the passageways. The heat was oppressive but tolerable, and he wanted to clear his head with fresh air.
From the moment he stepped outside into the sizzling Prax atmosphere, his center began to radiate a calming effect to his entire being. It was well known to the denizens of this planet how the air cleared the mind and calmed the center of being. Particularly for soldiers; which was why he now saw several exercising in the open square near him. Ryax knew there would be many others scattered about the city at this early hour, preparing their bodies for the long star journeys and battles beyond. As he moved along at a purposefully brisk pace, he focused his mind on what he would say to his Premier.
That the house of Terxan was building a force of its own was obvious. Ysarx had as much as admitted to being on the family’s payroll, despite his claims to the contrary. Ryax had realized that his old comrade was blinded by loyalty—not an uncommon trait among the old soldiers. Or the young ones. Perhaps they are worse. While it was common for clans to have their own security teams, the scope of the tech and pace of construction Ryax had seen at the station had been unprecedented. The house of Terxan had quietly moved in and was using military resources…which meant that officers had been co-opted along the way. And probably ships with their Commanders. It sickened him to even think it.
What all this meant for the Premier or the empire was beyond Ryax. He was well aware of the limitations of his ability for intrigue. His lot was to be a faithful lieutenant in a larger game.
He glanced at his chronometer and realized that he was going to arrive at the gate later than he had planned. It would leave him little time to shuffle his
men off to other stations while he conferred with the Premier. Ryax picked up his pace, breaking into a quicker jog and enjoying the muscle work.
As he approached the complex he decided to enter from the gate rather than the guard’s entrance, which was further away. He changed course and arrived at the gate slightly out of breath, but it had felt good to clear his head. He scanned himself in through the security system portal outside and stepped through the opening door, expecting to surprise his guards with his unorthodox approach.
The passage was empty.
Frowning, Ryax went forward and turned into the guard station with a rebuke prepared for their laxness at this early hour. He had only been away for two shifts; how quick they took advantage!
The first thing that washed over Ryax as he opened the door was the stench of blood. The second was the state of the station walls, which were liberally splashed with the stuff. As his eyes moved over the scene his mind grappled with disbelief at the sudden change in circumstances.
Bodies in various states of dismemberment—and chunks of bodies—were strewn about the space. Ryax reached for his weapon only to remember that he’d had to relinquish it for the journey to the station. It sat in his storage locker only meters away.
“Ah, the Prax himself. I was beginning to wonder where you’d gotten to.”
Ryax’s eyes snapped to the Prax standing to one side of the room, closest to the inside entrance. The one the Premier would be arriving at shortly. It was a Xu assassin, that much was obvious from his attire and stance. Part of a nomadic order of devotees of focused combat, the Xu were rare in the Empire but appeared occasionally at the side of a clan leader. To the military, they were rarely an ally in the Conquest.
That they were skilled in their art of death was unquestioned.
Ryax realized at once that he was severely outmatched, as the bodies of his comrades attested to. He tensed up for the anticipated attack.
Instead, the Xu flicked his longblade in Ryax’s direction and he felt the slap of blood strike his face and clothing. He resisted the urge to wipe at it, eyes focused on his unit’s killer.
“That’s better.” The Xu wiped the longblade on the clothing of a dead soldier at his feet. His hooded head shifted as the folds changed their shape around his face. “I see that you’re ready to fight. It’s not in the plan for you to die, however. I had hoped you could have seen this.” The assassin waved the blade at the corpses. “They fought—if that was the word for it—with gallantry.” He pointed the blade at Ryax. “But the traitor Ryax dispatched them all before assassinating our glorious Premier.”
Ryax forcefully exhaled to clear away the surging emotions within him. The thick smell of blood filled his mind with warlust and an overpowering desire to rush the Xu, to kill him. It was the Prax way and Ryax knew the assassin was counting on it.
The other taunted him. “Come, does your blood not boil within you? Attack me!” With a swift movement he scooped up a dead soldier’s battle knife and tossed it at Ryax, who flinched. But the weapon embedded itself in the wall next to his head. “Take it. Strike me down!” He said.
All the faithful soldier could picture was this Xu falling upon the hapless Premier who’d be arriving unguarded. He saw that this would be the Xu’s plan. And he desperately wanted to withdraw the knife from the wall and fly at the murderer with all the force of his hatred.
But Ryax was no fool. He knew that, in the face of a calculated plan, planning of his own was was required. Fools fail to calculate the cost. If he attacked now he’d be badly injured, deliberately by this killer and left alive to be held up as the assassin. His first duty, however, was to his Premier. He must intervene, warn him somehow.
His comm would be off. He’d come alone or with one trusted guard. It would be no trouble for this Xu to dispatch them both in moments.
The bigger picture splashed across Ryax’s mind; this is a coup, and I am being molded into the instigator.
Terxan.
“You are not the brave warrior I had heard about when inquiring after you, Ryax,” announced the Xu as he leaned on his longblade, point into the floor. “How disappointing.”
Ryax ignored the insults—and bitter insults they were to his Praxxan soul—and focused on the mess at his feet, without moving his eyes from the enemy. A severed arm. Sections of armor. He’d caught some in the midst of suiting up for duty. Several blades.
There it was. The handle of a plasma rifle butting out from underneath a corpse, several meters to his right. The Xu favored the blade weapons over modern energy ones. Ryax could imagine this one slashing his way through the unit, hardly seeing the guard fall with his duty weapon in his attack. Knowing that the guards carried energy weapons but not fearing them as he should, given his infinitely superior Xu speed.
But Ryax had trained and fought with a plasma rifle since he was a young recruit. He knew the rifle as he would a loved child. And he was an advanced marksman, a minor legend among his men.
As Ryax inhaled, he realized that everything depended on the Premier being accompanied by a guard—a poor soldier who’d pay with his life for that of his master.
In his chamber not far away, clan leader Haryx prepared for the day’s events with grave misgivings. As he dressed he processed the message received from Terxan that he suspected the Premier of a plot to destroy the clans. That his missing son Axxa was in fact behind the effort from the shadows. The encouragement for Haryx to watch his own family security.
Haryx had known The High Family to be loyal to the Conquest for generations and the Premier generous in his dealings with the clans. This threat from Terxan confused him more than anything else, but he’d ordered additional guards up from the garrison near his ship.
His wife called from the outer chamber. “Are you ready to go? I have a meeting with Sar’yana I do not want to be late for.”
“On my way.” Haryx handed his page his coat. “Take this with you.” It was the armored one. He would wear it during the Rite sessions, just in case.
“Yes, Lord.”
Haryx motioned him to move on and followed him into the main rooms.
“Lord,” called his wife from the entryway. “There are new guards here.”
“Yes,” he answered as he picked up his case. “I requested them.”
“But they wear the colors of—.”
Haryx’s blood ran cold as a strangled sound emanated from the front of the residence. Female. He desperately grasped for the pistol tucked in the side of his case.
But it was too late. Several unfamiliar guards dressed in High Family livery burst into the room, firing indiscriminately at the entourage gathered there. In moments all had been cut down by the plasma bursts, save Haryx himself who took down two of them with his own pistol before he felt a barrel jammed against the side of his head.
It was his own page. “It’s better this way, Lord.” He pulled the trigger.
“Ah, we are about to be graced with the presence of your dear leader,” the Xu said as he lifted his longblade casually and spun it in a hand.
Ryax subtly shifted his body position as he said, “I didn’t know the Xu were murderers of their own kind.”
The assassin grasped his blade in mid-spin. “We’re taking cues from our old enemy the humans. They turn on each other at the slightest provocation.” He pointed the blade at Ryax. “And you shall be remembered as one of the most hated of assassins.”
“Show your face.”
The Xu cocked his head to one side, then shook it. “Ah, but that is not in the plan. They come!”
The door to the station from the inner corridor slid open, and a heartbeat passed before the face of a guard appeared in the opening.
Several things happened at once. The guard stepped into the room, his eyes going wide as he saw the blood everywhere. The Xu slashing with his blade from his position next to the doorway. Ryax diving toward the plasma rifle, hands outstretched and ready for the familiarity of the weapon’s grip.
He slammed into the ground, sliding on the blood, as more was added to the wall and the now to the face of the appearing Premier, framed in the door behind the hapless guard.
The Xu brought his blade around in a sweeping arc from his uppercut across the guard’s chest and face to cleanly decapitate him. The burst of blood splattered the Premier as Ryax felt the gun was in his hands, coming up as the Xu pivoted and threw his longblade with precision accuracy toward where he lay. He had lined up the weapon and pulled the trigger.
The plasma bolt and the longblade passed each other in mid-flight. Ryax closed his eyes, knowing that it was over.
An extra heartbeat extended his life a bit longer than Ryax had expected, and he felt it lug a third time in his pounding chest. Cautiously he opened one eye.
The blade had embedded itself in the corpse in front of him on the floor. His eye followed its shaft as it pointed back in the direction of flight.
Beyond, the Xu stood motionless, hooded head turned toward him and hand still outstretched from the throw. As Ryax’s heart beat another several beats of life, the figure toppled forward, revealing a blast mark on the wall behind it with splatters of gray matter surrounding it.
He looked to the Premier and saw the shock and surprise written on his red-stained face. This awoke Ryax from his battle-focus. “Lord!”
The leader’s eyes darted to his face. “Ryax?” His lips formed the name but no sound came out.
Ryax came up, still gripping the weapon and looking for more enemy forces. He slipped on some blood as he made his way quickly to where the Premier stood and pushed past him, checking the hallway.
“What…” The Premier had regained his voice but not his comprehension.
Ryax, who’d had just a little more time than his Lord to process what was likely happening, grasped the man by his bloodstained shoulder. “We must get you away.”
Resolve of Steel (Halloran's War Book 2) Page 12