Iástron

by James C. Dunn

The door slammed shut and the large man strode over to Ruben, swinging an enormous fist into his chest and sending him into a spasm of splutters, while Hum tottered over to Vasily. With a bony finger he prodded the Chief in the chest, causing him to stir and gaze around at the sight before him. Terrified, he began to struggle.

  ‘No, no, no,’ Hum said again, and he danced around the broad tables nearby, lifting from them pieces of equipment and the clothes and armour of the Guard. He grasped one of the coilbolts and fired in the direction of the hanging prisoners. A blaze of bright light.

  ‘NO!’ Ruben screamed as the booming bolt slammed into one of his Guard, who collapsed unconscious, face burnt and smoking. ‘Hum, please!’ The large man slammed a fist into his chest a second time. Ruben struggled to breathe, spluttering like he’d been pierced with a Crilshan blade.

  Hum Haraa stopped dancing and laughing and placed his large dragon-mask back over his head. ‘If you’ll excuse me,’ he said, ‘I have a feast to attend to! I shall leave you here with my, hum, formidable friend!’ And he danced off, singing, ‘Ikri ko ka! Ikri ko ka! Ikri ko kakriaa, HA, HA, HA!’

  The large Retani turned and smiled with an enormous jawbone, chock-full of black-headed incisors. Ruben stopped struggling and wheezed in sharp gasps. He didn’t know how to get them out of this. He’d fallen at the first hurdle. His girls would not have their uncle to save them now. He closed his eyes and listened to the sound of his men; they were not whimpering, simply watching, silent, as the creature before them made his way through their belongings. Opening his eyes again Ruben watched the man take out another coil and copy Hum, striking the Guard beside him with a deadly bolt. Still his men remained silent.

  The Retani then lifted out of the pile of possessions the General’s black and silver coilbolt. He swung it back and forth but it didn’t work. It activated for him alone. The Retani hammered it several times on the table in frustration, but very soon it was not the coil which found his interest. Ruben cringed as the creature raised a silver, black-orbed necklace from the pile.

  ‘No,’ Ruben said. ‘That’s . . . no, that’s mine.’

  The Retani grinned, drooling saliva down his front. He placed the necklace down upon the table and lifted the coilbolt high above. Slamming the hilt of the coil down, the large man suddenly stopped. His head bobbed askew, and he gazed down at the jewel longingly, as though in a trance. Slowly, he lifted it up and placed it around his neck.

  ‘No,’ he whimpered. Callista had given him the necklace when he was a boy. He had worn it all his life. It was meant to be Anna’s.

  As he bowed his head, a stifled howl came from the witless Retani. Without warning the enormous man seized up, clutching at his throat, shaking and struggling and gasping for air. He writhed and cried, though no sound surfaced. He collapsed to his knees and reached at the table for a nearby dagger; and he struck his own throat with the blade, fighting to free himself.

  A cruel thought struck Ruben as he watched, and he cried, ‘Free me! I’ll help you if you free me! Hurry!’

  The large man dropped the blade and stumbled over, his face aflame a sickening purple. He slammed his hand onto the wall above, releasing the chain and freeing the general. Ruben leaned over instantly and attempted to wrestle the necklace free from his throat. Blood coursed down his neck as the silver metal cut through. The Retani gasped and panted, and finally tensed up, slamming into the ground, lifeless. Almost immediately, the necklace loosened itself and Ruben took it from him, wiping the blood on the Retani’s garments.

  This necklace is special, Callista had told him, long ago. It protects the bearer in uncertain odds.

  ‘Indeed it does,’ he said aloud to himself as he turned and released his men from their shackles. ‘Get back to the shuttlecraft,’ he told them as they dressed and re-armed themselves. ‘Do as I say now. I must go on alone.’

  ‘You can’t be serious,’ Vasily said.

  ‘Too many have died already.’

  ‘And where are you going?’

  Ruben placed a hand on the chief’s shoulder. ‘I’m going to get what I came for.’

  The dead Retani’s breastplate and helmet were too large for the General, but he managed to place the armour over his own; then, after watching his men run back along the tunnel, he proceeded to stumble towards the place from which a great furore of noise and music echoed. The bellowing rang louder as he moved slowly through, weighed down by layers of armour. The shrill swishes and harmonies of stringed instruments, joined by the deafening dance of drums and percussion, sent a tremble down the tunnel, until eventually he emerged in a stone courtyard. Beyond a score of tables rose a great stage upon which scantily-clad women danced with multi-coloured streamers; they moved around an extended table where a dozen enormous men and women sat feasting.

  There was no doubt: it could only be the great Retani Family.

  Between Ruben and the stage sat at least two-hundred less extravagant—though just as large—men and women, and they sat feasting, chanting, singing, and launching streamers and food into the air, as a man danced from table to table. Hum Haraa, still sporting his daunting dragon-mask, was dressed in bright clothes of red, yellow, and purple; he was no soldier, no captain; he was nothing but a mere court jester.

  Ruben stumbled down the stone steps and circled the border of food-laden tables. His stomach ached at the sight of it all. In a matter of minutes the General reached the great stage and stood as though on guard nearby. His heart beat wildly; his legs shook from the extra weight. He was so close. He had only to climb the steps beside him and he would be able speak to Retani Gobisla.

  He was considering doing just that when laughing and jeering exploded at the other edge of the courtyard. The feasting mass shifted in their seats. Ruben gazed across and his legs almost gave way. Every last one of his men was pushed down the far flight of steps and through the room; Hum Haraa ran over and danced at the fore as they were dragged past the General, up the steps, and onto the stage. He swore under his breath and, as though instinct had kicked in, followed the prisoners onto the platform. He forced his way through and took hold of the Chief. Vasily pulled away but Ruben held firm.

  He knelt down, whispered, ‘It’s me. Stay calm. Don’t move.’

  Vasily stopped struggling and swallowed deep.

  However, before the General could react, Hum Haraa had descended from nowhere, wrapping coloured cloth around the General and his legs, pulling him to the ground in agony as everyone around laughed and pointed. Hum removed his stolen helmet and kicked him in the chest several times; he fell to the ground, directly before Master Retani Gobisla.

  ‘Imposter!’ squealed Hum. ‘Imposter, Master! Did I do good? Shall I cut him? He’s an imposter, a dangerous thing!’

  Ruben ripped one of his arms free and gripped his knife. He head butted Hum and sent him shrieking across the stage. Everybody in the audience suddenly stood, raising handfuls of food which they began to toss at him and his Guard. But the General rose to his feet. Hum launched himself back across the stage, but Ruben caught the jester and forced him onto his back; he drew a knife to his throat, gripping his blaster with his other hand, pointing the tip at Master Gobisla.

  Men and women among the lower tables gasped. The music stopped and guards surrounded him. Silence. Then, quite unexpectedly, Master Gobisla began to laugh. A roaring chortle filled the stage and the rest of the Family joined in, looking to each other with great unease.

  ‘Ha!’ cried Gobisla, his golden robes hugging his globular form harshly. ‘A most excellent birthday present, Hum! I hadn’t thought of executing you before.’ Hum whimpered and the smirk disappeared from Gobisla’s inflated face.

  Ruben stood as straight as he could, the blaster aimed towards the Retani. ‘I will not shoot you if your men stand down,’ he said.

  Nobody budged.

  ‘You damn-well move!’ screamed Gobisla to his men, who looked to each other and backed away. ‘Fools!’ He looked at the display before him and smi
led again. ‘What do you want, General?’

  ‘You know who I am?’

  ‘Who doesn’t?’

  He nodded, satisfied the Retani understood his desperation. ‘I have to speak with you, alone, concerning a matter of dire importance.’

  ‘Oh, yes?’

  ‘You should have been told, father,’ spoke the strawberry-haired boy sat to his right. ‘I sent Hum to wun and tell you the Genewal was awiving.’

  Gobisla’s lips pressed together. He breathed in slowly and counted to ten, though becoming lost at eight he reverted to pursing his lilac lips once more. ‘Of dire importance you say, General?’

  Ruben nodded once. ‘A threat, of which neither of us can escape, nor ignore without consequence.’

  The Master Gobisla moved his vastly-packed plate aside and his servants helped him from his seat. He peered intensely at each of his family members, his blushing son in particular, breathing fast and heavy from flaring nostrils, before gazing only at Ruben.

  ‘Very well,’ he said. ‘We speak.’

  CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE

  AN ULTIMATTER PATH stretched from one world to another, from one System to the next, and it shone through colour, any shade, any tone of light or dark; but to the naked eye it shimmered with a spark of sapphire, rippling through the bare reaches of Alignment Space. But this was not Alignment Space, and the path glowed weak, barely visible to any who observed.

  The ultimatt path resonated silently, pulsing intensely as a craft travelled by. It was the Fated Chaos, captained by one Antal Justus. After a journey of four long days the Chaos had tracked the veiled path of radiation and reached its end; and the familiar globe flashing azure and amethyst welcomed it to the enormous rock in orbit above Tempest-Beta. And once again Justus made his descent into the great triangular structure formed over and within the deathly black moon. However, this time there was no signal to greet and guide them down: the first warning sign for Justus that something was very wrong. The Chaos opened the docking gate remotely and the young captain saw to it that his ship set down once more inside the Erebus station hangar.

  ‘Have your coils primed,’ he told his men as they stood in the cargo hold, ready to open the rear access ramp and discover the fate of the people of the station. ‘Keep your weapons on maximum setting.’ He was taking no risks, knowing what could be out there. As he issued his instructions and the men organized themselves, he gazed back through the dark hold at the still, silent prisoners at the other end. He looked at Anna.

  It was all wrong.

  ‘Captain?’ asked his lieutenant.

  Justus pulled himself together. ‘All right,’ he said, ‘let her drop.’

  The ramp lowered and they all stood in silence. The hangar was bare. Not a ship or light or man or woman was there to see. Perhaps they had left, abandoned the station and escaped. There was only one way to be sure. Justus was the first to disembark; and he ordered half a dozen of his men down one end of the bay; the rest he led down towards the other. Directing his torch and the red glow from his coil around, he spotted something on the deck.

  ‘What is it?’ asked the burly lieutenant as they knelt down.

  Justus looked closely at the floor-grate and stroked his hand across it; he lifted his blackened glove close and smelt the residue. ‘Electrically-powered burns. Someone has fired a coil in here.’

  ‘There’s more here,’ spoke another soldier.

  ‘They’re covering the walls too,’ muttered another. ‘Blows were exchanged. It looks like a fight broke out.’

  ‘Or an attack,’ Justus murmured. ‘We’re not safe in here. Listen up! We’re going to do a swift and silent sweep and then get back to the ship.’ He was becoming less and less comfortable with the whole Erebus Project, not to mention the kidnapping part of his duties. He hadn’t left his old life and his crew for this.

  Even as he debated with himself what to do next, the slight tapping as of footsteps reverberated across the platform. They drove along slow and steady, and then stopped. Justus’ men looked to him and raised coils and rifles towards the sound of the metallic echo. Justus moved, one deliberate boot step at a time, in the sound’s direction, raising his weapon and holding his breath. He wouldn’t hesitate to fire if need be.

  ‘I knew it would be you,’ declared a familiar voice, stiffly.

  Justus stopped and stood deadly still. ‘Step out so we can see you.’

  The footsteps carried forward and from the cold darkness emerged a cloaked Xerin Kramer. He stepped closer, holding a pistol at his side, alone and watchful. ‘You took your time though.’

  ‘Where is everyone?’ Justus asked. His men advanced, on their guard. ‘What happened here, Professor?’

  Kramer stopped moving; he continued to hold the pistol at his side. Justus inched closer. ‘A tragedy,’ he said. ‘An insane tragedy, Captain.’

  ‘Is is what I think it is? Was it them?’

  He nodded once, his visible eye blood-shot, the blend of white and black hair on his head scruffy and foul.

  ‘How many have survived with you?’

  His eye focused on the captain, shaking. ‘Not many.’ He eyed the armed guard, one-by-one.

  ‘Kramer, look at me. Where are they?’

  ‘Sir,’ said his lieutenant, addressing the Professor.

  Kramer turned to him. ‘The mission?’

  ‘The mission was a success, sir.’

  ‘Forget the mission,’ Justus said. ‘Where are they? Are we safe in here?’

  ‘Nowhere is safe, Captain. We will have to leave.’

  ‘The Fated Chaos needs only minor tweaks,’ said one of the soldiers. ‘If there are enough supplies it won’t take too long to have her prepped for a destination of your choice, Professor.’

  Justus ignored him. ‘Where’s Ketrass?’ he asked. ‘Where’s Araman, and Lesper?’

  ‘Dead,’ he said, the corner of his lip curling into a smirk.

  That was it. He lifted his coil and threw himself forward, striking the professor and forcing him up against the far wall. ‘This isn’t funny!’ he cried. ‘Who’s dead? Don’t smile at me like that!’

  Kramer didn’t react, but the lieutenant placed a hand on Justus’ shoulder and pulled him backwards. He turned to see several coilbolts re-ignite behind him. ‘Don’t make us take you down, Justus.’

  ‘Us?’

  The armed soldiers remained where they were. They were loyal to Kramer, not to him. Justus turned and retreated back towards the Chaos without looking back. Running up the ramp he took off his black overcoat and threw it to the floor, along with his PCD-comm.

  It was all so wrong. As he sat there he considered speaking with Anna again. There was something about her, something that intrigued him, absorbed all his thoughts like only a night of severe drinking could ever do. After a few minutes the self-satisfied lieutenant strode up into the cargo hold alongside Kramer. Several men stood at the bottom of the ramp.

  ‘Captain,’ Kramer said. ‘We’ll forget your little outburst. I’ll put it down to lack of sleep. Have these prisoners woken up and brought through into Section Five. Make it quick.’

  Prisoners? Creatures? Pieces of meat?

  He thought better than to lose control again, and so nodded and signalled for the men to prepare them to be taken through. As instructed the masks were removed and the fifty-four men and women, drowsy and frightened, were bound and brought down into the dock. He intentionally left Anna, her sister, and the blond captain he’d fought on Aurora until the end, in the hope that they would be the last to suffer whatever grim fate Kramer had planned.

  Removing the hooded mask and collective needles from Anna himself, he led her down the gangway; her teary eyes didn’t once look away. Engineers were already checking out what the Chaos needed to leave. A few supplies and a bit of fine-tuning and she’d be good to go.

  How has it come to this?

  ‘You don’t have to do this,’ Anna said as they moved beneath the hangar’s tall entrance crown.
‘You’re a good person. I know it, I’ve seen it.’

  He said nothing, and continued walking.

  Anna stopped. ‘Why did you come and see me? Why did you offer me water? Why did you try to comfort me?’

  She didn’t understand. He had to do this; Kramer would have him killed if he thought him an enemy. He looked at her one last time. There was nothing he could do. But, as though she knew it was her last chance, Anna reached out and clutched his shirt, wrenching him back. ‘Gilaxiad!’ she cried.

  Justus halted and spun; he knew that his face, if it were possible, had turned paler than it had ever been. ‘What . . . What did you say?’

  ‘You asked me if I believed in premonitions . . . in dreams,’ she said. ‘Well I do. There’s one in particular.’

  ‘The dark tunnel,’ he said.

  Anna’s mouth dropped. ‘The black orb?’

  His whole body shook, mesmerized. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Captain!’ Kramer’s cruel timbre echoed across the dimly-lit bay. ‘What’s taking so long? You don’t have that many!’

  Anna knows about Gilaxiad. How can she know about Gilaxiad . . . about the dream? I spoke about it to no one. Unless . . . can it be her . . . the woman from my nightmares?

  ‘Captain!’

  He stumbled, looking into Anna’s tender expression. ‘I . . . err—’

  ‘Come on!’ one of the soldiers shouted, marching over. ‘Get them through there like the Professor says.’

  Justus paused a moment, still looking at Anna, her sister stood terrified behind her. Then he ignited his coil and shouted, ‘Come on, move along! Right through there!’

  The blond captain moved behind Anna and urged her along. She took her little sister’s bound hand and allowed herself to be pushed through to the far end of the hangar, drenched in dark red light. All the way she held his gaze.

  What he now felt was a strange relief, as though everything was suddenly clear, as though an enormous weight had been lifted from his shoulders, as though the Justus he once knew was staring back at him, grinning. And one thing above all others was as plain as night was black: he couldn’t go along with this, not now. He had to help her, had to help them all. But he knew what the Professor did to those that disagreed with him. The soldiers were loyal to Kramer, and there was no way he could take them all on.