by Odin Oxthorn
“K. uld.” He groaned and shifted, clearly upset by all the jostling.
“I know, I know. We’re heading out.” She slid him into the passenger seat and strapped him in, pulling down the recliner so that he could rest more comfortably.
After settling into the driver side, she flipped on the control panel switch and revved the machine awake. The bay doors opened behind her, and she backed out of the hangar into the gusts of wind and snow. Cleared from the eyes of any observers, she zoomed off the paths, heading up the mountain. The bumpy ride caused Bellanar to grunt and cringe while she sped around the jagged trail.
She drove up to the drop point, meeting up with Kestra’s docked aircraft. Upon her approach, the bay door opened, waiting to receive her. She parked and pulled out her battered cargo, stepping up on the ramp to the inside of the aircraft.
“Thanks for the pickup,” Nara said as she laid Bellanar on a medical table bolted to the back of the flight deck. The man was long asleep.
“I saw you disconnect, and I moved in,” they replied, warming up the control panel to initiate takeoff procedures. “Another half hour and I would have called for backup.”
She walked over to them, gripping the paneling to steady herself. “Good thing you didn’t.”
“How did you manage that?” Kestra nodded at the vehicle steadily drowning in snow.
“Just waltzed in like I owned the place.” She threw a shrug.
“I see. Well, let’s get out of here before they realize it’s gone.” They hurried their calculations and ushered the plane into the air, moving from the treacherous atmosphere.
Nara settled into the passenger seat, staring vacantly as she reflected on the expedition. Carrying a bleeding body around a high security compound with no cybernetic assistance. That had to have been one of the more obnoxious stunts she had ever pulled in her career, even considering her time in active duty.
Maybe she wasn’t used to the culture this side of the equator, but something about the mechanic’s plight set her off. She had fought against Abberon in the battlefield but never got to engage with his soldiers off duty, never learned what they were like. She had expected them to share some of his more devastating beliefs, but then again, how many actually had the choice?
“Savant, there’s no need to hide it from me.” Kestra burst her thought bubble.
“He let me go.” Nara hung her head. “He knew I would show up, eventually.”
“Then come what may.” Kestra shrugged, initializing the autopilot procedures. “Say the word, and my units will be at your disposal.”
She sighed, staring off into the abyss of the ocean. “I had hoped it wouldn’t come to that.”
“Abberon hoped it would, but here is not where you prove him wrong. Here is where you accept his challenge.”
Kestra had a point, but she wished anyone else could be in her place. Then again, it would be cruel for her to wish it upon someone else.
##7.3##
Back in plainclothes, Nara stepped in the medical bay where Bellanar was recovering. He seemed to be in good spirits despite being covered in bandages and healing polymers. Silver metal plates lined his mandible, hinged at key points to maintain mobility. Tiny dots of colored lights sent off visual signals to indicate the healing timeline to mend flesh and bone.
His arm was similarly coated in a silver cast that assisted regeneration and maintained a healthy positioning while allowing him to perform normal daily tasks. An electronic display showed an image of the bones inside. A seam traced cleanly in the upper arm.
“Ah, Savant. My thanks for the extraction,” Bellanar said, a slight intoxication of painkillers muddling his speech pattern.
Nara folded her arms as she took a seat next to him. “Are you well enough to debrief?”
“Perfectly. Though I did not get much.” He winced as he shifted in bed. “Abberon is most definitely not on the planet. I caught a glimpse of several transmissions from here to GaPFed space. He’s standing by right now. Waiting.”
“For what?”
“Well, you, I would assume.” The twisted smirk he emitted grated against her nerves.
I had my hopes it would be otherwise, Nara thought. Hiding under cover of Fariem’s warehouse was not going to last forever. Especially if he had agents listening to the Council. This extraction most certainly sped up the process. “You called out. I would not be allowed to leave you there.”
“I know. I apologize.” Bellanar rubbed his forehead, at a loss for words. “I may have cost the security of the planet.”
“You were only doing what you thought was right.” Nara released a sigh. If anyone else had pulled this stunt, she would have believed she was being manipulated. But she was just pulled along for the ride. If Bellanar hadn’t gotten the information, she most likely would have herself. “Is there anything else you have to report?”
“Nothing concrete, I’m afraid. I wasn’t able to copy over the transmissions before…” His eyes glazed over.
“Yeah.”
“His techniques are quite fascinating.” Bellanar’s feverish giggle was cut off by a sting in his neck, and it diluted into a feeble whimper. “I wonder what his true persona is like. What he really feels. If anything.”
“That makes one of us.” She stood up and brushed her knees, the question setting her off.
“For what it’s worth, I do appreciate your coming to my aid.” He reached a silver hand to her wrist. “I know it could not have been an easy decision, given our history.”
“Save it.” She turned to leave the med bay. “Don’t do anything foolish until I assess the situation. Or at least until you can stand.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he whispered to the empty room, a wry smile stretching across his lips.
Chapter 8
##8.0##
The projection of Abberon addressed the Galactic Peace Federation Council. The fleet of the wolf-like GaPFed ships glittered behind him in the window of the Great Hall. Slick slate paneling coated the floors and walls, making the meeting room resemble a starship bridge rather than a political gathering. Cobalt blue safety lighting traced pathways splitting outside the concentric circles of the booths, providing a regal ambience to the discussions.
The cavernous chamber housed the seats of the major factions of the GaPFed parliament and various human governments and corporations, along with several other races that had influence in the trade negotiation proceedings.
“I hope this will not take long, Ambassador.” The Orchestrator addressed the projection. “We still remember the last time you impressed a state of urgency.”
“I assure you, Councilors, that I have the utmost intention of justifying my summons.” Abberon bowed deeply. “Firstly, there has been a discovery planetside that has come to my attention. This hastens my need for support.”
“May I remind you, Ambassador, that you are here as a refugee, claiming that your faction is in grave danger,” a venerable councilor stated gruffly. “However, despite the tension that is displayed here, we have no reason to believe a war will take place in the near future. Given our history with your culture, we are rather hesitant to impress ourselves further on your workings without concrete evidence of an impending threat.”
“And that, as of now, is here.” Abberon motioned to the screen. It morphed the celestial backdrop into a still image of an armor-clad humanoid. Then the image charged ahead, engaging a heated fist fight between several members in projection suits. Audible gasps babbled from the Council as the unknown being hefted a defender in the air, then violently threw the hapless victim against their comrades in a show of vicious brutality.
The Orchestrator examined the footage with scrutiny. “What are we witnessing, Ambassador?”
“As you can see, Councilors,” they began, folding their hands beneath their chin, “Warlord Elam’Mutavreh has returned. And with their presence, war is inevitable.”
A murmur settled over the councilors as the group discussed the
meaning behind the display.
“Some of you may be familiar with this character. An incident over thirty years ago.” Text from a news article sped over the screen, and Abberon circled the display with a red light. “Please consider the amount of resources lost at the expense of conflict under their order. And also remember the hundreds of lives lost on the prison ship transporting them to a holding facility when expected to be tried for their crimes. Not to mention, a wanted criminal for a long list of atrocities committed on a GaPFed-controlled planet.”
As the Council continued their discussions, the Orchestrator leaned back in their seat, ruminating over the information presented. “And what are you proposing?”
“GaPFed has wanted allegiance for decades.” Abberon gestured to the Council. “As previously established, my faction agrees. We would like assistance in dealing with this aggressor, and after that, I can assure you a smooth transition into treaty discussions.”
Conversation elevated with a cacophony of replies and head shakes, some amicable, hoping to tap into a new font of resources, while others did not share the sentiment. But the Orchestrator called for silence, raising their hand up to the noisy crowd.
“Ambassador Abberon, you present to us an interesting proposition.” The Orchestrator nodded. “Please give us some time to consider it. We will contact you with our decisions and potential resources to offer should we reach an agreement.”
“As you wish, Councilor.” Abberon bowed once more. “I anticipate your reply.”
“If there are no more matters to bring forward, this meeting is adjourned.” Upon the Orchestrator’s declaration, one by one, the councilors faded from the room, their projections lost to the void as each cut off their communication channels. The few who were physically present in the meeting hall exited in a hushed fluttering of stiffened footsteps.
“Warlord Abberon,” a voice called out. A singular human entered the meeting chamber, examining Abberon curiously. He was an older individual. His creased facial features exuded an experienced player in the techno-political gaming arena. Their eyes barely hid the eagerness of an opportunity. A businessman to the core, one who would make costly sacrifices to possess exponential gain in the long run. “A word with you, if you please.”
“Chairman Galavantier.” Abberon smiled politely, displaying a flash of fangs. “Your absence was noted in the meeting.”
“Yes, I had some matters to attend to, but I could not help but overhear your predicament.” The human seated himself in one of the council member’s chairs. “I think you and I have mutual interests, if you would kindly hear me out. I assure you, it will be worth your while.”
Abberon tilted his head curiously. “You have my attention.”
##8.1##
Nara sat on the floor of the patio, drink already in hand. She tried to drown the ache in her muscles after the night’s excursion, washing away her thoughts in the pitter patter of rain cascading down the trees.
The pieces were quickly falling into place. While it was what she wanted, she doubted her ability to maintain the pace. She was already exhausted in a multitude of ways even before she stepped on this rock, and the change of environment did not offer her respite. Abberon was at the center of all this chaos, and her focus was only concerned with reaching him. But what could she do once he finally decided to show himself?
The man was patient, yet petty. Even if he were tried and found guilty of treason, a mere title stripping would be insignificant to his plans. It was doubtful that he would even attempt to reclaim citizenship here, and he no doubt had countless contacts amid the GaPFed elite. He could easily make her life hell, chasing her around the galaxy.
Would killing him resolve it? She could live with the blood on her hands, but the peace she insatiably longed for would never come to her.
A blare of the communicator disrupted her thoughts, and she reached an arm out to reply. The miniaturized image of Councilor Torel stood near her shoulder, arms crossed stiffly at their chest.
“You wanted to speak to me?” Nara gave no effort to hide her disdain, knocking back another swig of her drink.
“I am glad to see your scribe has returned in one piece.” Torel paused, shifting to a wide stance to further project their discontent. “But I am concerned about the backlash we will receive because of your actions.”
“And what actions are those?”
Their eyes narrowed at her evasion. “Ordering a Scribe to gather info on your behalf.”
“I did no such thing. They acted of their own volition.” She pointed the carton at him. “Chief Scribe Prism can verify that. They were present when speaking to my associate.”
“Be that as it may, you did not have to risk your identity pulling them from the fire.”
“I wasn’t going to leave them,” she snapped. “You’ve already admitted to me how much you despise that trait in a leader, so I will hear no more of your protests.”
“You know very well what this will do to negotiations.”
Nara scoffed and swirled her drink around. “So do what the Council always does and use me as a scapegoat. It hasn’t been the first time.”
“I simply cannot believe how callously you are juggling lives down here,” they snapped, their fists clenched. “We have been in discussions with the Separatists for over a decade. Nothing has come of it.”
“You cannot stand in a stalemate forever,” she countered. “Eventually, something will crack. That is the law of nature, Torel.”
“Is that what you believe, or did you let your personal feelings risk the security of the planet again?”
She held her tongue, her back stiffening with the accusation. They weren’t wrong, and she knew it, but even they had to acknowledge that time was running out. The black and white solutions to this chaos were slipping further away.
“You have a responsibility to uphold, Savant,” Torel continued. “Your close friends are just small numbers compared to the forces that live here. I will not stand by while you are willing to risk everything for them.”
Her eyes snapped to the projection. “Is that a threat?”
“A warning.” They raised a palm at her. “If you continue to prod at the opposition without consulting the Council, I will have no choice but to overrule you.”
“Fine. Enjoy your evening.” Nara switched off the channel. She clamped her eyes shut and released the bellow that she had forcibly restrained inside her chest.
She knocked back the remainder of her drink and walked out of the apartment into the wilderness, hoping to have a spark of clarity to decipher the councilor’s intent. She calculated the remaining threads of influence at her disposal, a limited collection of allegiance spread thinly over all three branches of government.
What would come next? Abberon wouldn’t show his face, so GaPFed will probably speak on his behalf. What demands would they make? What had he convinced them that they had? Whatever it was, she had to act quickly.
Her musing brought her back to prison, drifting aimlessly down the corridor. She stopped and slid into the visitor seat, staring blankly at the wall to Garrett’s cell. What would she tell him? Goodbye? She needed to find a place for him to live. Torel wouldn’t release him, but perhaps she could prod someone who would.
Ugh, there’s not enough alcohol in the galaxy, she grumbled as she flipped the switch, revealing the human meticulously prodding away at his NetComm.
“Hi,” she started.
He hardly heard her, concentrating on the functions of the device. “Hi. Fuck!” His NetComm suddenly flew out of his hands. The poor device bounced, hitting the wall with a crackle.
“The guards have obliged me to inform you that if you break another tablet, the blueprint privileges on the printing machine will be revoked.” Nara raised an eye.
“I can’t make head nor tails of this shit.” He angrily hugged his knees to his chest. “The network doesn’t function in linear logic.”
“I am trying to have you released, you kn
ow. And it would be easier to make your case if you didn’t attempt to break out.”
“I am sure of it.”
She pressed her fingers against her temples. “What will you do once you do get out?”
His shoulders drooped sullenly. “I hadn’t thought that far. But if I wanted to be a prisoner, I would have stayed in Arcadia.”
“Then go back” Nara snapped.
Garrett considered the statement. Leaving the planet seemed appealing at this rate. But how would he get there? Nara told him that all ships were drydocked, and even if that were not the case, she wouldn’t be able to find someone willing to take a human elsewhere.
It wouldn’t be so bad if only he knew a friendly face he could trust. But all he could find were stern overseers of a culture that reveled in death and destruction. Even their games had to remind them that they were mortal, despite their seemingly endless lifespan.
Nara had probably killed friends and family in the digital world so often that she became accustomed to it. No wonder Velonir didn’t faze her. The blatant display of apathy would have been considered deplorable at home, but was it still wrong if that was the norm of another society?
He turned to her with a stone-cold expression. “I want to talk about Velonir.”
“Fuck off,” Nara growled.
“Now.”
“No.” She leaned back in her seat, disconcerted by the apprehension and anger radiating around him. “There is nothing to discuss.”
“Like hell. He was my family. You damn well owe me an explanation.”
“You chose to hide your identity from me. I don’t owe you shit.” She jabbed a finger of warning on the desk. “You were a danger to me in Arcadia, and now you are a danger to me here.”
Garrett threw his hands up, disbelief shaking his core. “How? What did Antonin do that made you kill Velonir?”
“You cannot convince me that you have no idea what your father’s business practices were like.”