Iástron

by James C. Dunn

Breathing deeply, he lingered a short time, bringing a hand to his chin and stroking the small amount of dark stubble that had built up in the past two weeks. The assignment Lesper had given him hadn’t gone exactly to plan. He hadn’t anticipated for a second that they would encounter as much resistance as they did. The setback meant his craft had only just made it away from Aurora, but not before receiving some damage of its own; and so he had made the decision to head for Enustine-controlled Chiro, a small, unterraformed world. They’d kept their captives alive and hidden there for five days. But five days at a complete standstill was five days too many.

  So many thoughts and worries filled his sorely strung-out mind. Gravest of all, and constantly at the forefront of his cares, was the distressing message they’d received whilst on Chiro. They’d left as soon as the message had arrived, repairs unfinished.

  The pilots realised that Justus had been stood behind them and so jumped up, dragging their feet from the dash, and at once they began checking dials and various protocols, pressing buttons superfluously.

  ‘Relax, fellas’,’ Justus said, and the two slowed with relief. ‘Any more word from Erebus station?’

  ‘No, Captain. Nothing.’

  ‘Communication?’

  ‘None, sir.’

  Justus sighed. ‘Play the message again.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  Most of the transmission was missing, which was to be expected given Erebus’ proximity to the communication outposts, but the panicked voice of Araman Alwar broke through the incoming garble of hisses, clicks, and a whole load of static.

  ‘Captain Just— . . . disaster has . . . they escaped . . . —our help . . . —ast as you— . . . pass . . . we hope you— . . . it looks . . . dead.’

  The unnerving tone of the signal made Justus’ heartbeat accelerate; as though an alarm were racing through his entire body and no one else could hear it. Two words stuck with him:

  ‘They escaped.’

  A shiver flew down his spine.

  None of those now with him knew what he knew about the creatures Lesper and Kramer had been experimenting with. If one of those things had gotten loose then he didn’t much fancy returning with a ship anything less than one-hundred percent. Without another option and despite his qualms, he maintained the Chaos’ course for return to Erebus and mentioned to no one what was, or may no longer be, contained in Section Six.

  * * *

  Anna looked deep into Antal Justus’ eyes.

  ‘Your sister is doing well,’ he told her on his fourth visit since Aurora. ‘Her condition is steady. She’s coping fine.’

  ‘Can I see her?’ she asked.

  His eyebrows rose a little, his strong jaw slumped somewhat; as though he understood, as though he wanted nothing more than to say yes.

  ‘I’m afraid I can’t allow it.’

  Anna swallowed. Her eyes welled with tears. The third time he had come to see the young girl, they spoke a little, though she noticed he was very good at avoiding parting with any real information. Justus was an unusual man. How could somebody do what he had done so cruelly and yet appear to care for her? Time passed and very soon she felt no fear of him at all.

  After almost an hour in silence he said, unexpectedly, ‘I feel as though I know you, Anna.’

  ‘Wh . . . What do you mean?’

  He edged closer and breathed deeply. ‘Do you believe in premonitions, Anna?’

  ‘You mean like visions? Dreams?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Well, actually—’

  ‘It’s a stupid question,’ he said. ‘Forget it.’ And he knelt nearby for some time with a sad, silent struggle in his eyes. His teeth gritted; his expression foreboding.

  ‘Are we going to Crilshar?’ Anna dared to ask.

  He looked up, concerned. ‘Crilshar? Why would you think that? Do I look Crilshan to you?’

  ‘No you don’t. I just . . . I—’

  ‘What’s your full name? Anna what?’

  ‘Driad,’ she said, instinctively, remembering her uncle’s words: if ever they were captured or found themselves in danger, they were not to use their true names. Anna Driad was her assumed title. These people were not Crilshan, and she had no idea who they could be.

  ‘Driad,’ Justus repeated. ‘From Titan?’

  ‘No,’ she said, without thinking. ‘We stowed away . . . me and my sister . . . when the soldiers from Titan landed on Rotavar. The Crilshans attacked us.’

  ‘I know.’ Justus stood, frowning. ‘I was there.’

  ‘You said you’re not working for Crilshar!’

  ‘I’m not. Or, at least I don’t think I am.’

  That was it for their fourth encounter. Antal Justus said nothing more; and he simply placed the mask carefully back over her face, imposing upon her the world of nightmares once more. The eternal dwelling of darkness, terror, and Gilaxiad.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

  GENERAL RUBEN BERENGUER looked out at the gusting image of space blazing around him. Here we are, he thought. Word had reached him. They had arrived within Proxima. This is where it begins.

  The scarlet sun of Proxima loomed. The closest planet to the System’s star was Crilshar itself. Save for the capital world, very few bodies orbited Proxima. Some were inhabited. Others were not. One of those inhabited bodies was known as Gobisla. And Gobisla is where the Quasar now arrived.

  The ultimatt engines had been cut two hours earlier, allowing time for the reverse engines to begin deceleration. For all intents and purposes, Ruben was steady, clear-headed, and retained his resilient authority. But in actual fact he was dying. Every long, agonizing moment he spent leaping through space was a moment wasted. Anna and Gílana were out there, and he would tear Crilshar to ruins to find them.

  ‘General?’ A hand gripped his shoulder. ‘General?’

  He snapped himself out of his contemplation. Chief Aleksey Vasily stood beside him, motioned to the image on the viewing centre screen: a foreign planetary system. Directly ahead rose Gobisla.

  ‘I saw what you were reading in the analysis room,’ Vasily said. ‘I know where you’re taking us.’

  ‘You do?’

  ‘We’re going to see the Retanis, aren’t we?’

  Ruben blinked. ‘We are.’

  ‘Are you mad?’

  ‘Evidently.’

  Vasily frowned. ‘I don’t know much about the Retanis,’ he said, ‘and call me misinformed, but I was under the impression that relations between the Retani Dynasty and Titan were less than cordial.’

  ‘You are not misinformed, Chief,’ he said, sighing and folding his arms. ‘Contact between our worlds was cut before the last conflict with Crilshar and the Alignment, over fifty years past. You may be aware the Retani Dynasty possesses a consortium of three moons in the centre of this System.’

  ‘Proxima.’

  ‘Yes, two of which are used solely as prison moons.’

  ‘Hellfire and Tartarus?’

  Ruben bowed his head. ‘They’re powerful, very powerful. But they keep to themselves when it comes to Systemal politics.’

  ‘I read that the Crilshans leave them alone, which is why they aren’t in the Dishan Alliance and why there was never a Retani representative at the Baren Igoth.’

  ‘Again true. The Dishan have long tried to buy the support of the Retanis. But they’ve kept themselves out of important matters. For too long if you ask me. If what we believe is true and this weapon the Crilshans are cultivating can take Titan out of the equation so easily, then I see no reason why they won’t then turn it on every other power that can threaten them. I think the time has come to reopen negotiations with Gobisla.’

  Vasily lingered at Ruben’s side, staring at the large, barren planet ahead. ‘I did some reading of my own,’ he said. ‘They run their prison moons as a business, turning over more profit than any world out there.’

  ‘The galaxy will never run out of criminals. But we do have one slight issue.’

  ‘T
hat being?’

  ‘They will likely only help us if they believe it to be in their interest.’

  ‘Then how do we persuade them helping us is in their interest?’

  ‘Simple,’ Ruben said with a nervous grin. ‘We lie.’

  Vasily could not contain his shock, and backed up, knocking into a passing Guard and tumbling down the sliding ramp, taking down another on the next level. The General would have offered a hand, but the viewing screen in front of them all flashed off. Everyone stopped what they were doing. Vasily remained sat on his backside at the bottom of the ramp.

  In place of the image of Gobisla there burst the large, scarlet face of an overweight man. His strawberry-blond hair reached around his forehead tightly, stretching into a bow at the back. ‘G . . . G . . . G . . . Gweetings!’ the fat man called with a hysterical chortle, ‘fwom the gweatest, most powerful, and supewiowsly affluent Wetani System! Home to the mighty Wetani family.’ He gazed down at the General, puzzled, but continued his obviously-rehearsed introduction regardless. ‘You now have two choices: continue onward and state your intended dealings here, or else turn and wun like snivelling little dogs! Which is it to be?’

  Ruben unfolded his arms; his legs shook beneath him. ‘I ask you give word to the Mater Retani Gobisla and his mistresses—’

  ‘What word?’

  ‘That General Ruben Berenguer of Titan seeks his audience.’

  The portly chap almost fell from his chair. ‘Genewal! Genewal! Titan! Heavens! Hum!’ he shouted to the little man cowering beside him. ‘Hum! Go wun an ewand you sluggish fool! Tell my father—’

  And with that the image disappeared. Ruben turned to the men and women stood around him, and the approaching form of Vasily with a weak, though slightly amused grin, and said, ‘I gather that means yes.’

  * * *

  While the vast, metal body of the Quasar remained in close orbit, the vessel’s shuttlecraft descended through the dense gas clouds of the foremost moons in the Retani Peninsula. Once the signal had been received from Gobislan command and the General prepared his shuttle to embark for the given coordinates, Chief Vasily insisted on going with him, as did the General’s elite personal Guard, which vowed not to leave his side. And so together they descended.

  Vasily knew he had to remember his mission. The Córonat had made his charge quite clear. And so far it was working. He hung his head as he sat beside the General. For him it was too late. There was no stopping the coming events. He had truly surrendered his soul . . .

  ‘The name of the largest and most central moon in the Peninsula changes with each new family head,’ Ruben explained to him as their shuttle weaved its way along the moon’s dark horizon. ‘For several years now it has been known as Gobisla, after the Master Retani Gobisla.’

  ‘And the planet?’ Vasily asked.

  ‘The planet has no name. It is a ruined world—deserted and forgotten. The planet’s three moons make up the Peninsula by themselves. Hellfire and Tartarus are used only as terraformed penal moons. Gobisla is where we’ll find the master.’

  Vasily gulped, doing his very best to contain his worry. ‘Do you think it wise though, General, turning to these scoundrels for help? How do you know they will not kill you on sight . . . or worse?’

  ‘I don’t, my friend, but . . .’ He bowed his head again, taking a moment to overcome some inner malady, before shaking himself alert. ‘Nothing was ever won without risk.’

  ‘Well we’re certainly not short of risk, are we?’

  But it seemed Ruben now paid little attention to his grumblings; the Chief followed his gaze, looking out of the window at the dark shell of a city below. In some way it resembled the domes of Titan, except there was something missing: an air of light or the warmth of civility. It was a shell, but an empty shell.

  Diving closer and closer to the black city one could understand why many of those born into the System of Proxima lived with so much hatred and shadow in their hearts; all there was was darkness. One of the strange domes opened partially as they approached and the General told the craft’s pilots to take them inside. They obeyed without question. They all knew the risk they were taking, but they had faith in their leader. Among them, only Vasily knew the General’s true fate.

  Mere seconds after leaving the craft and entering a small, dark passageway, however, Vasily regretted joining the Titanese on their mission. The twelve Guard halted suddenly as the General, who stood at the front of the group, raised his hand to stop them. He had noticed something in front; a vast red shroud hung ahead, blocking their way, only visible in their torchlight. They continued forward slowly, approaching the shroud which hung, inviting, hungry, and sinister. Ruben held out his hand to touch it, perhaps hoping to sweep the lace aside and continue through. As his fingers stroked the refined cloth, however, the enormous red veil which should not have prevented their passing burst into a sudden, dazzling flame.

  ‘Back!’ Ruben yelled. ‘Go back! Get out!’

  Vasily swore. He’d been right. Their only chance was to get out. It had been a mistake trusting the Proximans. But as they turned, the group found their path blocked by dark figures, numbers hardly discernible in the darkness. The Guard pulled out their coilbolts, ignited blue sparks, and aimed them at the forms. The Chief whipped out his blaster and Ruben ignited his own weapon. But what occurred next they were hardly prepared for.

  A swift blast of air burst in from above, dark brown and overpowering. Vasily coughed and choked. ‘Poison!’ he cried, and he watched as the General and the soldiers around him swooned; in seconds they had all fallen to the ground.

  * * *

  Men’s voices and the sound of laughter pulled Vasily from his blackout. Coming around, he realised that he was being heaved along, his hands bound and legs dragging in the dirt behind him. The people around them, dressed in vivid colours and wearing strange and horrifying masks, sang and jeered, cheering a tumultuous chant of their captives:

  Ikri ko ka! The General’s ours!

  He waltzed on in behind cold metal bars,

  They’re ours! He’s ours! And so are his men,

  At one time they marched, but they won’t march again!

  ‘Cos Titan has fallen and Crilshar has more than

  They do!

  Ikri ko ka! The General’s dead!

  If the Master don’t kill him then we’ll take his head,

  We’ll cut and we’ll slice and we’ll make for a meal,

  His Guard for the dogs but my! he will squeal!

  For though he has nil we will take from him still,

  His life and his eyes and his will!

  Ikri! We will!

  Ikri ko ka! The General’s weak!

  Though once he was strong he is far past his peak,

  His people they wander, and dark Saturn’s yonder,

  But who?

  Ikri ko ka! We do!

  It continued for some time, as they were taken on and through tunnel after tunnel; hidden chamber and dark vault after another. Vasily kept his body limp, and only opened his eyes a fraction of an amount, hoping to glimpse movement from the others or at least remember the way they had come. But soon it became impossible.

  The singing and laughing went uninterrupted until they reached another red curtain, similar to that which had trapped them before. This went without flame, and he could make out the image of a tusked beast: a boar or pig. Then, the still-dazed chief heard the sound of a voice. High-pitched and full of a cunning jollity it spoke in the tongue of Crilshar, as all peoples in the System of Proxima were required to.

  ‘Ikri ko kakriaa!’ it screeched. ‘You have the general! Ikri ko kakriaa Berenguer!’ Though not as observable as a Crilshan, his accent displayed vocal tendencies comparable to that of the Dark Race.

  He lifted his head and watched the veil rise as though pinched by a concealed cord; and there stepped through a small, thin morsel of a man. He lifted his own mask, which resembled a dragon breathing fire, and smiled th
rough crooked teeth at his prize.

  ‘Wanam!’ cried the General from beside him, and all of the men jumped back in surprise. ‘Wanam!’ he said again. ‘You have us, my men and I! We are at your mercy, unarmed, and prepared to speak. Whatever will you do with us now, I wonder.’

  The small, thin man stepped forward. ‘Oh, I imagine my master will find a use for the famous general of Titan!’ He licked his lips and snapped his teeth in the dim light.

  Vasily’s heart raced. The General had no idea what he was doing. They could only hope these creatures didn’t kill them before Ruben made it before the Master Retani.

  ‘Speaking of old Gobisla,’ Ruben began, ‘I would much like—’

  Smack! The back of the Retani’s hand found the General’s face. The men around them hooted with laughter. ‘You will not speak of my master, let alone in such disrespectful terms! I am Hum Haraa, and you will address me!’

  ‘Very well, Hum,’ Ruben said, ‘are we to be taken before your most beneficent and gracious master, or not?’

  Hum smiled eerily, pressing his face so close to the General’s that their noses touched. ‘Hmmm . . . NOT!’

  Vasily gasped. ‘What?’

  Smack! A blinding pain shot through his head and he fell again from consciousness.

  CHAPTER SIXTY

  A BITTER CHILL struck Ruben Berenguer’s bones. When he woke it was as though he had been in a long dream of centuries. He could have sworn he had heard Anna’s voice crying for him.

  ‘I’m here,’ he told her. ‘I’m here . . . I’ve come for you. You’re safe now.’

  Another icy stroke hit him. He shivered.

  ‘General . . . General, wake up!’

  He raised his pounding head and turned to see his men chained to the stone wall beside him, displayed in a long row. Most were awake, and bearing fearful expressions they had been stripped of their weapons, armour, and all of their clothing. He looked around the small cell and saw Chief Vasily, hanging in the centre of the room, also unclothed.

  The dungeon door swung open and Hum Haraa entered, and he was joined by the tallest and most stalwart warrior the General had ever seen.

  ‘Hum,’ he pleaded. ‘Hum, listen to me! We came here to warn your master. If you would only—’

  ‘No, no, no!’ Hum dismissed him. ‘Quiet now!’