Iástron

by James C. Dunn

  —Help! If you’re there, help us! came a young girl’s voice. Return to the vessel! Return to the v—

  The line went dead.

  * * *

  ‘Stupid girl!’ Gordian threw Anna out of the way and lifted Gílana with one hand, launching her across the room and into the wall. She landed, unmoving, beside the old, wheezing man.

  ‘They’ll come for you now!’ Anna shouted from behind the panel. Soldiers’ replies could be heard on the receiver, confirming their return to the vessel and acknowledging that something was wrong. ‘The two of you can’t take on everyone!’

  To her surprise Gordian simply laughed, as did the large Crilshan stood at the room’s entrance. ‘I am in command of this vessel now, little girl,’ he said. ‘And to defend her from my enemies, full defences have been enabled. They will not get back on board.’ The scar-stretching smile filled his face, and he raised his blade until the cold, ridge-coiled metal stroked her skin. ‘But you two—’

  ‘Leave them alone!’ shrieked the old man.

  Gordian spun as the other Crilshan held his blade to the man’s neck. ‘Order me once more,’ he said, ‘and Pultzer will tear you a new breathing tube. I’ll find another way into the engine.’

  The old man gulped, struggling to breathe in the cumbersome position he was held in. Gílana still wasn’t moving.

  ‘How are you going to get off the planet?’ Anna asked, hoping to distract him, or at least keep him talking and give the Guard a chance to get back inside. Surely there was something she could do. ‘If you destroy this ship and the surrounding city, what then?’

  ‘I wouldn’t worry about that, little girl.’

  ‘You can’t think you would get away. They’ll find you before you escape!’ She glanced down at the control panel, searching for something. Anything.

  ‘I wouldn’t count on it.’ Gordian smiled. ‘Look how easily I took this vessel!’

  She looked down again. Nothing she could use. ‘It’s not yours yet,’ she said. ‘And there’ll be no point if you can’t get inside the engine room.’

  ‘A fair argument,’ he said with another uncomfortable sneer.

  Just when she was about to give up, Anna’s hand found what she had been looking for. A marker flashed up on the screen before her.

  :::: SERENITY COACHING ::::

  :::: PREFERENCES ::::

  She scrolled through the available options, and found exactly what she wanted:

  :::: ACTIVATE ::::

  She looked back up into the face of her would-be killer. This had better work . . .

  ‘But,’ Gordian said, pulling a blaster from his coat and pointing it at her, ‘you’re missing one vital point. Right now, at this very moment, there is no one here to stop me, but you.’ His finger touched the trigger.

  ‘And me!’

  Anna’s heart leapt.

  Everyone turned to see the body of the large Crilshan fall to the ground, a knife protruding from the back of his neck. Behind him, staggering, weak, and pale, stood Jon.

  ‘Impressive,’ Gordian said, watching Pultzer fall and aiming the blaster in Jon’s direction.

  ‘I don’t think so!’ Anna pushed the switch before her.

  At once the brightest burst of light appeared from behind her. Streaks of burning sunlight surged throughout the room. Gordian cried aloud and staggered back, blinded and covering his face. Anna seized her moment and threw herself at the Crilshan, driving him backward over the central control panel and slamming onto the ground behind it with him. She reached back for the dropped firearm, but could not reach. Gordian struck out at her, but the old man nearby grasped the blade and slammed the hilt into Gordian’s skull, knocking him out cold.

  Without thinking Anna charged across the room and held Jon as he lay on his back, staring into the light. He had come for her; he had saved her life and the lives of everybody out there. But there was nobody to save him. He struggled to speak as he lingered on the brink. The dazzling sunrise, a projection of the serenity coaching program, appeared across the wall over a deserted horizon. The light reflected in his eyes as they gazed into Anna’s. And there she saw it: the calm, the same blissful silence as there had always been between them. Anna didn’t need to say anything, caught in that instant which lasted forever.

  His face was white, his lips blue, and he spoke. ‘Gílana . . . I . . . we . . .’

  ‘What?’ she said, sobbing. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Gílana . . .’

  And he was gone. His eyes remained open, staring past Anna at the sun-drenched ceiling, vacant and frozen like the gap between worlds. Anna threw herself against his blood-covered chest, holding him close, and sobbing uncontrollably. It was all her fault. She had killed the man she loved.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  THE DISTURBING GONG of a dull and aching bell rang four times. In the haunting darkness, and paired with the blasting rhythm of a serene string orchestra, it would have been inaudible but for Constantine Lesper’s unmatched sense of hearing. The commander loved nothing more than relaxing in the pitch-black and playing the music which was so adored back on Earth. The New Renaissance there had uncovered so many wonderful joys of humanity’s past; and he found nothing beckoned him home more than such little comforts as the mood and tone of a cunning concerto.

  Arising from his large chair he turned off the music and walked across the room to kneel before his master. He should have known better than to relax so heavily knowing today was the day his Córonat called. He never missed a meeting and he was certainly never late. Lesper didn’t look at the image which now projected into the room with him. It was better if he didn’t look.

  ‘Commander.’ The voice of the Córonat rattled through him. ‘I trust all is well on Erebus.’

  Lesper took a deep breath. ‘All is well, Córonat.’ A shiver flew down his spine.

  ‘Your lack of communication suggests your mission on Rotavar was a success.’

  ‘I obtained the journal, as you asked.’

  ‘And it has been destroyed? You did not read it?’

  ‘I neither read nor opened it,’ Lesper said. ‘It has been burned.’ Again he held his head down and bit his lip. His tone of voice had held firm; the Córonat wouldn’t know it in fact remained intact, sitting on the shelf close by.

  He did not speak Rovaña, but had skimmed through the diary. It truly appeared to be nothing more than a diary. But why didn’t the Córonat want attention drawn to any connection between him and the prime minister of Rotavar? What could Edgar Mokrikov know that would be so threatening to the mighty shade before him?

  ‘And what of your true mission?’ the Córonat uttered. ‘Do you have the boy?’

  Lesper smiled. He knew he’d done well. ‘It was not hard to persuade him to come with me,’ he said. ‘I only had to mention the word threat and he was mine.’ Lesper chose not to tell him that he had also used the boy to take the diary. That would be too great-a-risk.

  ‘So, is it him?’

  ‘There is a certain likeness,’ Lesper replied. ‘But as you wisely considered yourself, he would have been a fool not to reconstruct his appearance, or in fact modify his own memories so as to avoid all possible types of detection. If Peter Mar—’

  Lesper cut the phrase short. He realised his mistake as soon as he had made it. He glanced upward as a dreadfully cold wind seemed to fill the room, and he thought the silver-masked figure would suffocate him with his metallic stare.

  ‘If the Forgotten One were to make himself forget he had the gift, he clearly would be unable to use it,’ he said, attempting to compensate for his error.

  ‘That is my thought,’ answered the masked-creature after the briefest of silences, ‘but also my fear. It would make finding him all the more difficult.’

  ‘Then we are agreed?’

  ‘Yes,’ his Córonat said. ‘Test the boy, and we shall see from there where the path of this one lies.’

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  ROTAVAR
WAS FREE. Or as free as a ruined world could be, for today at least. But one thing above all was as clear as the Kondogopan sky to Aleksey Vasily as he stood at the fire-damaged entrance to ex-Prime Minister Mokrikov’s office. It was not over.

  An orphan from birth, Vasily had always endeavoured to help others. He accepted no reward, nor any advancement up the ranks. Down in the sand with the people of Rotavar is where he belonged. Though not an obvious choice, Edgar Mokrikov had persuaded him to act as a chief of the Defence Force after he’d taken part in several military games. Vasily had only accepted because it was the prime minister who had asked. But his position changed nothing. He was a servant of Rotavar and its people. Nothing more.

  He walked to the broken terrace, past the glass-littered carpet and damaged metal desk, and stared at the city. In the distance he could see the Kondogopan landing strip, by which various crafts had been taking off all morning. Free again. Largest stood the Titanese vessel. The massacre on board had been terrible to hear of, but the Chief had pledged whatever assistance he could deliver to Captain Ferranti. It was the least he could do. Though help from Titan had arrived too late and too few, he appreciated the effort.

  Not that it had helped. It was he who had made the sacrifice. It was he who had saved his people. It was he who had purged Rotavar of the Crilshan plague.

  A cold wind drifted through the office. His thoughts raced; his heart beat riotously.

  ‘Aleksey Vasily. I trust all is well on Rotavar.’

  Vasily did not turn. He continued to stare out at the smoke in the distance. ‘All is . . . as you wanted it,’ he replied. The image of the Córonat burned in the back of his mind.

  ‘You did as instructed?’

  He breathed in deep. ‘I . . . did. After your fleet withdrew I . . . found your assassin. He’s onboard the Stellarstream.’

  ‘You freed him?’

  ‘No, I . . . I gave him the tools to free himself . . . when he is ready. It was his idea, his choice.’

  ‘And now your world is free. If you wish for it to remain that way you will carry out one more task.’

  Vasily bowed his head, placed his hands in his pockets. ‘The Stellarstream won’t be leaving for some days yet,’ he said. ‘Once things have been arranged and the bodies of their victims dealt with.’

  ‘But your errand will not wait.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You have saved your people. Crilshar has left your world. Now you will honour your part of the bargain.’

  Vasily pulled his hands from his pockets and unfolded the small, handwritten letter. The letter he had managed to take the night Antal Justus stole Mokrikov’s journal.

  ‘That letter,’ said the Córonat, ‘written by Mokrikov for Ruben Berenguer, will be delivered immediately. Personally. You must bring him to me. Then I will destroy him.’

  Vasily closed his eyes. He was a servant of Rotavar and its people. Nothing more.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  CAPTAIN ANTAL JUSTUS marched through the empty hallway of Erebus Station. He inspected his reflection in every polished surface along the way, straightening his dark jacket and even darker hair.

  ‘Sit down, Captain,’ Lesper said as Justus entered the office.

  He sat, nodding to the one-eyed professor stood with his arms folded in the corner, his usual air of intensity more heightened than the last time he’d witnessed it. Kramer didn’t respond.

  ‘Now,’ Lesper said. ‘I can’t imagine you have any idea why you’re here.’

  ‘Well, I know I slept in the other day, Commander. And the other week. And this morning, in fact—’

  ‘Yes, I know. But this has nothing to do with that.’

  ‘Oh . . . well.’

  ‘We have a proposition for you, Captain.’

  ‘I’m listening.’

  ‘You of course know the reason for your being here.’

  ‘Of course. I am to maintain the security of Erebus station and protect the significance of our mission here. And after what you showed us down in Section Six I understand the need more than ever.’

  ‘Good,’ Lesper said, clenching his fists with the mere mention of Section Six. ‘Well I have news for you, Captain. Your part in our design is about to change. You may not like what you’re about to hear. Your loyalty is going to be tested.’

  Great, he thought; I knew this was too good to be true.

  ‘How much do you want to remain with us, Captain?’

  ‘A great deal more than I want to leave.’

  ‘That’ll have to do,’ Kramer said. ‘Your unit has already been briefed on your mission. The details will be provided to you now.’

  Lesper handed him a data-disc. ‘Watch this in your own quarters. Alone. Contact either of us if you need anything. You will be leaving the station and heading for an outpost known as Aurora.’

  ‘I’m leaving?’

  ‘Yes, Captain. Pack your bag. You’re taking a trip.’

  CHAPTER FORTY

  ‘YOU HAVE DONE well, Captain.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Diego Ferranti replied, bowing his head. The room was dark. The projected figure stood above deserved nothing less than absolute deference.

  ‘For goodness sake though. Don’t bow.’

  Ferranti looked up at General Berenguer. The man had never looked more formidable. ‘You trust me though, General?’

  ‘To watch over my nieces? With my life, Diego.’

  It had been some time since the General had referred to him by his first name. Protecting the man’s family obviously meant more than simple formality and convention. And rightly so.

  ‘I’ll die before anything happens to them,’ Ferranti said.

  Ruben laughed. ‘I can’t imagine a better man for the job. But keep in mind your official task. You are correct: Rotavar’s liberation is a worry as much as a victory.’

  ‘What will you do?’

  ‘Focus on my duties here on Titan,’ he said. ‘Now I know Anna and Gílana are safe with you, the greatest weight has been lifted from my mind. The Council, it seems, is finally listening. Though whether the hour is too late remains to be seen.’

  ‘They are in better hands than they were with Lady Pinzón.’

  ‘Of that,’ Ruben replied, ‘I’m not so sure.’

  ‘Well,’ he said, standing, ‘at least those who matter are safe.’

  Ruben winced. ‘There’s something more, Captain.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘It’s Callista . . .’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I think you had better sit down. I’m afraid it’s not good.’

  * * *

  Captain Diego Ferranti marched along the corridors of his vessel, the Stellarstream, acknowledging passing soldiers’ salutes with a nod and proceeding through several compartments before reaching the holding cells. Following the curious lack of confrontation on Rotavar the majority of cells remained empty. However, held behind clear, reinforced cube-caging, fully exposed on all five visible sides, was the man he had come to see.

  ‘Our friend from Crilshar is unusually talkative, sir,’ the prison guard said.

  ‘Yes, well we’ll see if that’s so when he speaks with me. Open the door.’

  Gordian was too dangerous to be left alone. Not even for a moment. The door slammed behind Ferranti and he walked over to his prisoner, who merely smirked, arms fixed to the seat beneath him.

  ‘Captain,’ he said, ‘I was wondered how long it would take—’

  Ferranti’s fist struck a blow across the Crilshan’s face. Gordian spluttered for a moment, before looking up.

  ‘. . . you to visit me,’ he finished. ‘But I must say—’

  ‘You won’t say anything, Gordian.’ Ferranti sat on the clear plastic seating opposite. ‘Not until I say you can.’

  Gordian smiled again.

  ‘I have spoken with General Berenguer.’

  ‘So he’s still alive?’

  ‘Very clever of you to use a decoy explosive on the Surr
ogate Sun. Your idea?’

  ‘Is that how you see me, Diego? Brawn under brain?’

  ‘I’d say you have plenty of both, hence your new dwelling.’ Ferranti gestured to the clear box in which they were sat. ‘Your efforts to plunge Titan into chaos as on dozens of other worlds have failed. And all you‘ve done there is create a beacon to which the free planets and moons of the Alignment can now rally.’ Gordian smirked. ‘Involving Berenguer’s nieces was poorly judged, if you knew a thing of him.’

  The smile widened across Gordian’s mouth; Ferranti watched the scar stretch across his face with an almost painful elasticity. ‘I can only assume you brought them with us, yes?’ the assassin asked. ‘You wouldn’t leave them back on that pile of rubble. And what of the boy? He did rather well to take out Pultzer like that! Tell me, did he die?’

  Ferranti ignored his agile probing and didn’t react. Gordian would pick up on it without having to think. The blade had been forced through the boy’s ribcage. Of course he had died. He stared at the purple-pink scar on his enemy’s face.

  ‘Twice we’ve met in battle,’ Gordian said. ‘Twice we’ve fought each other, but I’m still ashamed to say I’ve beaten you only once. The next time we stand off, which I believe will be soon, then it is you I think that will fall to me.’

  Ferranti chuckled. ‘And what psychotic brainwave would give you that impression?’

  Gordian leaned in. ‘Circumstance, Captain. Circumstance.’

  ‘Meaning?’

  ‘You have me captive for now, yes, but soon my lord will have destroyed your beloved little world. I doubt you and your . . . dwindling crew would last much longer. And so you will eventually surrender and free me.’ Gordian leaned in ever closer, so far as his restraints would allow. ‘And then I will kill you . . . captain of Titan.’

  Ferranti shrugged off the threat. ‘Your training has certainly increased since we last met. That much is obvious. But there are more important things going on, Gordian. You must realise the effect your Dishan’s bidding is going to have across the Four Systems. The disorder that’s ensued on Rotavar will only bring opposition to your cause.’