by Ben Hale
“Ready?” Skorn asked.
“Ready,” Ero said.
They took half a step towards the Gate before an alarm began to sound, the rising wail reverberating throughout their ship. Ero leaned over the bridge controls and spotted the incoming ship. He blanched as he read the identification tags.
“That’s not Visika,” he breathed.
“Then who is it?” Skorn demanded.
“That’s the Kildor,” Ero said, looking to his brother. “It looks like Malikin just arrived.”
Skorn’s eyes bulged. “Get us out of here!”
Ero reached for the controls, but the Kildor had dropped out of hyperlight right on top of them, and it activated a gravity clamp. The field wrapped around their ship like a child holding an ant, and their ship lurched. Ero caught the bulkhead to stay upright, his stomach sinking beneath him.
Chapter Forty
Reklin’s consciousness returned gradually, and with it came a throbbing pain in his skull where the hammer had landed. Anger flared, but it was quickly replaced by fear as he recalled the last few moments before he’d been hit. The lockout on Gate travel had been lifted, and he’d been rushing to activate the tiny onboard Gate on the tacoda. He’d checked Mora’s countdown to find there was less than a minute left.
Just as he’d picked up the unconscious Dragorn, Gellow had said at his back, “I’ve waited a long time to do this.”
Reklin had barely registered the words before a hammer hit the side of his skull. Fully charged, it had racked his head to the side, and he’d been unconscious before his body hit the floor.
As his consciousness returned, he blinked at the brilliant light and groaned. “Mora.”
“Relax,” Gellow said from nearby. “The girl is still alive. You did your part and Visika honored her end of the deal.”
“But the countdown…” Reklin grimaced at the swirling view of Gellow.
“There was no countdown.”
Visika stepped into view and the spinning faded. The five-horned krey regarded Reklin with a look of extreme satisfaction. Then Reklin spotted Mora in his peripheral vision. He instinctively turned, but the shackles yanked him back into the harness.
“You lied to me,” Reklin growled.
“You needed motivation,” Visika said. “I provided it. Did you expect anything less?”
Reklin looked for his energy sunderblade and found it resting nearby. Aside from the head wound, which had sent blood running down his cheek, it seemed he was unharmed. Mora was not injured, other than being held in what the military called the T-Straint. The standing mechanism held prisoners to a vertical slab of seracrete with their arms down and out. More severe varieties had a built-in spine clamp or other form of pain induction. Mora was fastened to a krey-sized T-Straint, but she still looked small. Dragorn was on the other side of Mora, also strapped in place. Both were unconscious.
Reklin’s pain was diminishing, and he managed to get a good look at the room. Fifty feet across and long, the bridge of the vessel was tapered at the front. A command station floated inside a spherical holo, and bridge officers sat at control stations on both sides of the room. The front of the bridge had two navigators, both sitting behind large curved holos. Beyond, a wide window showed the expanse of space, the stars streaking by. From the nav holo, Reklin saw they were headed out of the Empire, to an empty grid in the galaxy.
The krey onboard were dressed in black uniforms with red striping—not the uniforms of the Burning Ghosts. There was also a crispness to their motions that suggested military training. Confused, Reklin scanned the comms and security panels until he spotted a holo of the ship’s systems.
“We’re on the Kildor,” he said.
“You’ve finally lost,” Gellow said with a sneer. “How does it feel?”
“Gellow,” Visika said, “get my ship ready to depart. And make sure no one is tampering with the SELBA.”
Reklin caught the reference. Supreme Explosive Long Blast Atomizer was an explosive device used for asteroid mining, and occasionally in the military when one needed to destroy the foundations of a building. Heavily controlled by the Empire, it was one of the few large-scale ordinances available to civilians—as long as they had the right permit.
“Why do you have SELBA?” Reklin asked.
“I’d say that was for me.” Malikin entered the bridge and pointed to the two empty T-Straints next to Dragorn. “Put them there. I want to see them when they wake up.”
A quartet of dakorians dragged Ero and Skorn into the room, then placed the unconscious krey in the final two restraints. Visika smiled at Malikin’s appearance, seemingly unconcerned that she—a wanted criminal—stood within feet of Malikin, a judge sworn to bring her to justice.
“I appreciate our alliance,” Visika said, “but I prefer insurance over trust.”
“But a SELBA?” Malikin shook his head in admiration. “It would gut the Kildor like a fish.”
“Allies tend to be obedient when their life is on the line,” she said.
Malikin came to a stop and surveyed Reklin. “The mighty Shard captain, reduced to this. I must say, I’m disappointed in you. All you had to do was infiltrate the House and bring them to me. Instead you joined them.”
Reklin didn’t bother to hide his hatred. “You would have killed me and my team if I’d completed the mission.”
“True,” Malikin said with a shrug. “But this would have been months ago, and I wouldn’t have had to chase two krey all over the Empire.”
“What’s the meaning of this?” Dragorn slurred his question, but as he woke, the anger suffused his skin. “Visika? What have you done?”
“What was necessary,” she said with a faint smile. “We both know you would have never honored our deal. Selling the augments yourself would be just too lucrative, so you would have eventually cut me out. I needed something more tangible.”
“So you allied with him?” Dragorn’s chains rattled as he tried to point at Malikin.
“It was a rather fair deal,” Malikin said with a broad smile. “I get House Bright’Lor, and she gets the augments.”
“All of them?” Skorn was also waking up angry.
“It only makes sense,” Malikin said. “Augments are illegal, so it’s only right that they are owned by a criminal.” He glanced at Visika. “No offense intended.”
She shrugged. “The krey are always hiding your corruption. I prefer mine in the open.”
“You cannot give an entire House’s assets to the Burning Ghosts,” Dragorn snapped.
“Who’s going to stop me?” Malikin taunted. “All three members of your pitiful House are here. You have nothing but a few ships and a hidden world.”
“But you don’t know its location,” Reklin guessed.
Malikin rounded on him, his green eyes narrowing. “Soldiers are not meant to think. They are meant to fight—and die—when told.”
“Like Quel?” Reklin asked.
The mention of Malikin’s Bloodwall—the same one Visika, Gellow, and Reklin had killed—made Malikin bristle. Visika stiffened, and subtly turned her body in case it came to a fight. Malikin glared at Reklin, and then abruptly laughed.
“You want me to turn against Visika now? It’s a smart tactic, but it won’t happen. This is my moment of triumph. Everything I need is in this room.”
“Except a decent uniform,” Ero said, finally waking with an exaggerated yawn. “Seriously, it has wrinkles on its wrinkles.”
Malkin looked down at his uniform, which was indeed not pressed. A number of wrinkles were visible, and several of the bridge officers hid smiles. Apparently it was a normal occurrence.
Malikin turned to him. “Not even you can spoil this day for me.”
“I bet I could,” Ero said.
“Arrogant to the end.” Malikin shook his head. “I’ll enjoy watching you be broken. But I’ll consider making your death painless if you tell me the location of your harvest world.”
“One condition.”
“What’s that?”
“You have to shoot yourself in that ugly face.”
Reklin snorted in amusement, as did several of the bridge crew. This time Malikin heard it and flushed red. He rounded on them, and the senior officers bent over their control panels. Visika grinned at his response. By then the ship’s captain appeared. Reklin expected a krey, but it was a towering dakorian with heavy tattoos. The placement, shape, and size of the markings suggested they represented all the ships he’d killed in combat. On his left horn, he had the four lines of a Bloodwall.
“Captain Thekton.” Malikin looked relieved as the dakorian entered. “As soon as we have the location, you can set course for the harvest world.”
The dakorian took a noticeable position near Visika, his posture indicating they were not enemies, but friends. “Give me five minutes and I’ll have them talking,” he rumbled.
“That will not be necessary,” Malikin said, waving in dismissal as his gaze settled on Dragorn.
The krey clung to his shackles, his hands so tight the knuckles were white. His face was contorted in anger, his eyes just narrow slits. He’d been silent, but the rage seemed to waft off him in waves.
Malikin approached and stood over him, his smirk returning. “I wonder if you even know why you are here.”
“I trusted the wrong ally.” He glared daggers at Visika.
Malikin was delighted at the response. “You always were defiant, and yet so very, very ignorant.”
“We’re here because the Emperor feels threatened,” Reklin said.
Thekton raised a hand to strike, but Malikin seemed pleased by the answer. “Your disgraced soldier knows the truth.”
Ero scoffed at that. “Don’t tell me it’s because he believes my mother’s lie about a blue eye having the right of the throne.”
“He does,” Malikin said, “because it’s true.”
Dragorn’s anger took a hit, and Skorn registered surprise. Ero remained incredulous, as did Visika. Reklin watched those in the room, measuring responses and watching for potential weaknesses. But there was no hint of deception.
“It can’t be true,” Reklin said.
“Oh, but it is.” Malikin savored the shock of House Bright’Lor. “If the Thendigor line had not ripped you from the throne, Dragorn would have been Emperor.”
“I don’t believe you,” Dragorn said, but he was clearly stunned.
Reklin grappled with the realization—and the understanding of why Malikin had been after the blue-eyed krey in the first place. Reklin had assumed it a ruse, a feint in order to strike at House Bright’Lor for revenge or profit. But if this was real, it meant the Emperor had systematically eradicated the true heirs to his throne.
“I’m afraid it’s true, Emperor Dragorn.” Malikin gave a reedy laugh.
“Why didn’t the Emperor destroy Bright’Lor before?” Reklin asked.
“We like to bury secrets,” Malikin said, “but some cannot stay buried for long. And you have Ero and Skorn’s mother to thank for dredging up the truth.”
“Hellina?” Skorn demanded. “Why?”
Dragorn’s eyes clouded. “Because power was never enough for her. And when I told her I would not support such a crazy scheme, she manipulated Skorn into destroying Kelindor.”
“You knew it was me?” Skorn asked.
“You got your ambition from me,” Dragorn said. “And she used you just like she used me. But she couldn’t resist gloating that she’d brought our House to its knees.”
“And that is where your pitiful House would have perished,” Malikin said, savoring the words. “But Hellina’s secret had slipped through the cracks, and when the Emperor verified it, he sent me.”
Reklin used the outward attention to test his bonds, hoping to find a point where he could free a hand. There was some slack on his right hand, and he carefully wiggled his wrist, sliding the seracrete chain across his bones.
“I would have turned you into a Bloodwall, you know.”
Reklin’s head snapped up, and he found Visika standing at his side. Had she seen him trying to break free? She gave no sign, but that did not prove she hadn’t noticed. He carefully relaxed his hand without breaking eye contact.
“How could I possibly believe that?”
As Malikin gloated, Visika lowered her voice. “Because in all my years, few have impressed me. You are among them.”
“Because I defied you?”
She smiled wryly. “Yes. First you escaped the nebula. Then you escaped my ship. I still don’t know how you got the access codes.”
“Your soldiers need better discipline,” Reklin said.
“I wish things had ended differently. I would have liked having you in my organization. Criminals are hard to trust, you know.”
Uncertain as to her purpose, Reklin was surprised to find he believed her. Visika was dominating, intelligent, and deceptive, but she preferred honesty in her dealings. With the exception of the explosive on Mora, she’d rarely lied to Reklin.
“Does your affection mean you’ll let me free?” he asked.
She chuckled. “You don’t belong to me anymore. Malikin was very clear. Every witness and member of House Bright’Lor goes to him.”
“What’s he going to do with us?”
“I don’t know,” she said, “but I can’t stay and find out. My deal with Malikin does not extend to who he’s meeting.”
“Visika?” Malikin called. “It’s time for you to go.”
“I’m sorry, Reklin.” She leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. “Be careful. If you survive, feel free to look me up.”
As she turned away, her hand brushed down his arm, and a tiny object fell into his hand. He subtly twisted his fingers, turning them beneath the chain.
Visika motioned to Gellow and strode to the exit. “Contact me when you have the location of the harvest world,” she called.
“I will,” Malikin replied. “We’ll be at the rendezvous point any minute, so I suggest you hurry.”
“I’m already gone.”
Visika glanced at Reklin and then left. He watched her until the doors slid shut, confused but gratified. Although he hadn’t seen the gift, he could feel its oblong shape and sharp edges. A micro lance, an engineering tool used for cutting seracrete in cramped spaces.
A bony backhand hit him on the side of the face, rocking him back. The knuckle spikes dug into his lip and drew blood. Dazed, he focused on the striker and found Captain Thekton regarding him with a look of scorn.
“You do not deserve her.”
“I didn’t realize you were friends,” Reklin said.
Thekton growled and closed the gap, his tattooed features twisting in anger. “One of her caliber deserves respect.”
“Captain,” Malikin called. His attention was on his holoview, and he abruptly appeared nervous. “We’re here. Drop us out of hyperlight and come to heading 7.6.3.”
“As you order,” Thekton said.
With a final sneer, he turned away from Reklin and called orders to his bridge crew. The ship dropped out of hyperlight in empty space and banked to starboard. Officers rushed to complete lingering tasks, the motions gaining an air of intensity.
“Visika’s ship just jumped to hyperlight,” a navigation officer called.
“She cut it close,” Malikin said.
All eyes rose to the forward window when a giant projection Gate appeared in space, and a massive ship glided into view. Featuring a wide and flat bow, the ship continued to slow from hyperlight until the two wings appeared. Heltorgreathian class. An Imperial dreadnaught.
The vessel was a mile in length and shaped like a sunderblade. Its stubby wings resembled the flanges of a hilt. Thousands of windows were visible along its sleek silver hull. Hundreds of rotating ion cannons ran along the starboard and port blade, while two giant plasma launchers were embedded into the short wings. Grogan lances ran along the top and belly of the ship, and hundreds of hangar bays contained a complement of eight
hundred Ro fighters, as well as ninety-two Gor bombers. Reklin had never seen the ship in person, but he knew the name. And he feared the owner.
Chapter Forty-One
“What is he going to do with them?” Gellow asked as they entered the cargo bay of the Kildor.
“Not our problem anymore,” Visika said.
“Then why did you kiss him?” Gellow sounded sullen.
Visika caught him by the horn and dragged him down to her level. “Since when did I have to explain myself to you?”
“Apologies, My Queen.” He lowered his eyes and she tossed him away.
Once the two had boarded the Midnight, the ship lifted off the deck and glided through the shield. Almost immediately, the projection Gate powered up and pushed the ship to hyperlight. In the shadows of the cargo bay, a small figure watched them depart, and then cautiously advanced from the shadows.
Siena surveyed the empty cargo bay. The moment Reklin and Dragorn had been dragged through the Gate on the tacoda ship, Siena had followed. With her energy blade in hand, she stepped through the portal ready for a fight. But the Midnight Star was deserted, and she’d exited to find herself in the cargo bay of the Kildor.
On quick feet, she approached the control panel at the side of the cargo bay. The main controls were locked, but it did allow her to bring up the schematics of the Kildor. With some help from her new micro-cortex, she managed to gain partial access, giving her enough control to open a beamcast. A moment later, Kensen’s face resolved into a holo. He was back on Lumineia, with a limping Worg and Teridon in the background.
“Siena?” he almost shouted, and she urgently lowered the volume. “Where have you been? It’s been three hours since Dragorn escaped, and the open vid network is in chaos. I thought you were dead—”
“Kensen,” she hissed, “I’m on the Kildor.”