by Dan Schiro
“He was…”
“A true son of the Crimson Claw and a worthy sire.” Typhus nodded approvingly. “His blood flows in your veins — will you not stand with the Crimson Claw now?”
“What?” Kangor shook his head, confusion softening his grim frown. “What can you possibly…?”
“The human, the creature of the Green and the s’zone,” Typhus said, glancing at them in turn. “Slaughter them for me, and you’ll stand by my side as a new era of the Crimson Claw flies its flag over the galaxy.”
Before Orion had a chance to get nervous, Kangor erupted with rage. “There is no Crimson Claw! The empire is less than ashes thanks to the plague, and the few of us who survived are scattered across the ether routes beyond any reunion. And you, you coward, you were in hiding, all this time.” Kangor grabbed his crotch. “Grand Warlord, chu’tupu magara!” he swore in the vycart tongue, white flecks of spittle flying from his lips.
“Think about it, my brother,” Typhus sighed, seemingly unfazed by Kangor’s rejection. “After all, the plague was no accident.”
“What?!” Kangor roared.
“I’m going to make the people who exterminated us pay, brother.” Typhus leaned closer to the camera on his end, the hologram of his face looming even larger. “From the overlords to the poison-makers to the rats who carried it, they’ll all pay.”
Kangor shook his head. “Spit your lies elsewhere, coward.”
“The human who has made you his pet has friends in high places.” He glanced at Orion with another cruel smile. “Ask them.”
“That can’t be true,” Kangor grunted as he turned his seething glare down at Orion.
“Big guy, I don’t know anything about anything,” Orion whispered, holding up his hands.
“Ask the politician, and think about my offer,” Typhus continued. “Or you’ll burn with the rest of them.”
“We’re coming for you, Typhus,” Orion said, scowling up at the hologram. “I’ll face you myself.”
Typhus the Mad Thinker smiled, baring teeth that gleamed like a mouthful of white knives. “It’s far too late for dramatics, human,” he said, his image fading slowly. “The clock has been ticking for hundreds of years.”
Chapter 15
When they made it back to the Maker Rings, Orion watched in awe as Zovaco Ralli forced the rusty wheels of bureaucracy into motion.
The politician and his advisor Mervyn of Claddaghsplough swept the AlphaOmega team past security and into the Grand Chambers, instructing them to wait in the shadowy tunnel off the open floor. Zovaco took his spot at the high ivory table with the other 11 Members of Parliament, joining a legislative session already in progress. Across from the MPs, stadium-like tiers held hundreds of galactic representatives for thousands of planets. Zovaco waited until the galactic rep standing on the open floor finished his petition, and then he interrupted Chancellor Claudio the Venerable’s ruling to invoke an Executive Summit of Parliament. The crowd of galactic reps in the stadium seating bellowed and grumbled as they rose and headed for the exits, and after some time, only the MPs remained at their polished table.
“An Executive Summit, Mr. Ralli?” said Claudio the Venerable, a bushy white eyebrow cocked at the thin trislav. “This had better be profound to delay a full legislative docket,” added the great ape with a scowl.
Zovaco rose and began in his distinctive cadence, slow at first, then quick and punchy with the last few words. “My fellow Members of Parliament, we are at war.” His hard, three-eyed gaze danced from one MP to another down the polished table. “Typhus the Mad Thinker is alive, and he’s stolen the Union’s most deadly weapons.”
The distinguished politicians glanced sideways at each other or muttered beneath Orion’s hearing. “Can we assume you intend to prove this, Zovaco?” said Trevelyan of the People, a handsome freyan MP with pristine red-feathered wings.
“I would not have called an Executive Summit without proof,” Zovaco replied, his mouth tight. “My advisor will send the complete findings of our investigation thus far to your private accounts.”
He gestured at their tunnel, and Orion watched as Mervyn pulled out his datacube and squeezed it to initiate a preprogrammed transmission. Immediately the other politicians pulled out their cubes and opened privacy-shaded holographic interfaces. Zovaco waited for a few minutes while the other MPs gaped and grumbled, and then he cleared his throat.
“It will take time to wade through all our findings, but time is in short supply.” He opened a hand and beckoned toward the tunnel. “Allow me to present my investigators and eyewitnesses.”
Mervyn jabbed an elbow into Orion’s back. “Follow Zovaco’s lead,” he whispered into Orion’s ear.
Orion, Dalaxa, Aurelia, Kangor and Mervyn made their way out onto the parliamentary floor. Orion felt a tingle as they stepped onto the painted-over jaunt pond the Engineers had put there when they built the Maker Rings so many eons ago. He couldn’t help but marvel at it for a moment — had it really only been a year since they had crashed on the wild, forgotten planet, only a year since the last of the Engineers had teleported them to this very spot? He shook off the pang of time distortion and looked up at the frowning faces of the MPs.
Grobor Gish, the amphibious lockhovven known as the “Tentacles of Justice,” leaned his immense girth forward to look down at them. “Is that…?”
“Yes, I believe it is,” said the digitized voice of Corriban Tyraxis, an elder of the Collective Fleet who had been bio-modified beyond organic recognition.
“That explains a thing or two,” said Jiminia Pau, a tiny briophyte enthroned in a huge mechanized suit.
“Yeah, back here again, huh?” Orion said with a shrug. “Funny the way things work out—”
“Orion,” Mervyn hissed with a sharp strike of his cane on the floor. “Not you.”
“That’s correct,” Zovaco said, ignoring Orion. “Dr. Dalaxa Croy, the Union’s lead weapon scientist.”
Kassimax Prow, a middle-aged temba nubu who had left his catlike figure behind many meals ago, looked befuddled. “Am I missing something here, Mr. Ralli?” He smoothed the jet-black fur of his neck with a slow stroke of his pudgy hand. “I thought our best intelligence said Dr. Croy likely committed suicide, based on her psychiatric history and all.”
“Quite obviously, I did not,” snapped Dalaxa, her sharp chin tilted up defiantly. “So sorry if you have to amend your records.”
Zovaco looked down and patted the air gently, a glance pleading for her to remain calm. “That was either a grievous mistake,” he said, holding the pause for a moment and sweeping his gaze across the faces of his fellow MPs, “or it was intentional misdirection.” The MPs muttered again, understanding his implication. “Which one it was will have to wait, because Typhus the Mad Thinker has held her captive for the last year.” He narrowed his three-eyed gaze and let his voice drop. “As the people in this room well know, there’s little that ‘enhanced’ interrogation techniques can’t unearth in that kind of time.”
The Grand Chambers fell silent, and the MPs looked at their Chancellor. “Very well, Mr. Ralli,” Claudio sighed as he settled back into his sturdy wooden chair. “Proceed with your eyewitnesses.”
Zovaco called forth the members of Orion’s team, deposing them with seamless fluidity and letting each tell the part of the story that suited them best.
“…it’s all still jumbled, fragmented, but I’m telling you — Warflesh, Darkwell, Sunkiller and Cleansweep… he took those from me, and damn him to hell for it…”
“…and yeah, once I identified the front business on Konnexus through, um, advanced data-gathering analytics, I knew we were onto something…”
“…and when I saw the hologram, I knew it was true. I remember the Grand Warlord well from the victory parades, from the portraits that hung in every home before the plague came…”
Wisely,
in Orion’s opinion, Zovaco left Aurelia Deon on the sidelines as he presented his case. While the Exile’s legendary presence gave weight to their argument, her sharp, unpredictable tongue would not. What’s more, Kangor seemed intent on honoring his promise to Orion. Though rage seethed in the vycart’s eyes, he was waiting to bring up Typhus’ accusations until they could speak with Zovaco in private. When Zovaco was done teasing out their whole story with his gentle questions, he thanked Orion and his companions for their service to the Union and turned to the other MPs.
“That, my friends, is the shape of it,” Zovaco said with a solemn nod.
“Troubling indeed.” Claudio steepled his apish fingers and exhaled heavily. “Quite frankly, Mr. Ralli, you should not have waited so long to call the Executive Summit.”
Zovaco nodded again. “I had to be sure.”
“We have to act quickly, decisively,” Jiminia Pau said, her mechasuit shifting forward with a whir. “We should rally the SpaceCorps armada, secure the borders.”
Trevelyan of the People leaned back in his bio-mold chair, his face pale. “We’ll have to double security on the homeworlds, the critical stations, the ether route exits…” He trailed off with a shake of his head.
“And triple our forces protecting the Maker Rings,” blurted Grobor Gish. “How unfortunate that some,” he spat, waving a tentacle at Zovaco, “fought so hard to slash our military spending this last year.”
“The Union has become soft,” agreed a stone-faced durok MP named Wegra Dur Wegron. “Since the Crimson Claw fell, we’ve had no real threat to worry about. Dawnstar was more mirage than menace, and the so-called Independent Kingdoms? Bah, piss-ant tyrants and gangsters.”
“What’s done is done,” said Corriban Tyraxis, a hiss of static in his digitized voice. “There’s no going back to prepare the way we should have.”
“Don’t be hysterical,” scoffed Jiminia Pau. “We still have the largest arsenal in the known galaxy.”
“Yes, but what good are all those guns,” said Kassimax Prow, his furry jowls jiggling, “when we don’t know where to aim them?”
“The point is,” interjected Zovaco rather loudly, “what are we going to do about it now that we know?”
Orion watched from the floor as the MPs at the high table argued for the next hour. After everyone had made their points ad nauseam, the argument seemed to run out of steam. Eventually, the MPs turned to Chancellor Claudio the Venerable for his final decision. The great ape seemed to deliberate for a few breaths, and then he nodded.
“We rally the armada,” Claudio said, his voice low. “We secure the borders, we double and triple security. And we search every spacecraft from the galactic core to the Velvet Rift until we find Typhus the Mad Thinker.”
“That… that kind of caesura of rights,” stammered Trevelyan, his wings folded back tensely. “That won’t go unnoticed. The media, well, they’ll pluck us clean for instating martial law.”
Claudio nodded. “We’ll leak something about Dawnstar’s resurgence. The people will bite and swallow. The fiasco at the Painted Palace just marked an anniversary, so that dreadful Princess Swada has been all over the datasphere.” He sighed and turned his tired, deep-set eyes to Zovaco. “Is there anything else, Mr. Ralli?”
“Just one thing,” Zovaco said with a gesture at Orion and the AlphaOmega team. “I’d like formal permission to continue my own private intervention. The SpaceCorps armada will do its part, but Mr. Grimslade is a precise instrument of another sort.” He smiled down at Orion. “Granted, he’s a bit unconventional. But that may serve us well here.”
Orion, who had been slouching against the back wall for a while, straightened up as Claudio the Venerable and the other MPs glared at him, almost as if they had forgotten he and his team were there. “I’ll grant it,” Claudio said after a long moment. “No one can deny he gets results,” he added as he turned a scowl on Zovaco, “and you’ll just do it anyway. We all know that by now, Mr. Ralli.”
The Executive Summit ended without any great flourish of ceremony. Orion and his crew followed Zovaco and Mervyn out of the Grand Chambers and through the lavishly decorated hallways of the buildings annexed to the legislature’s meeting space. Eventually they reached Zovaco Ralli’s office, a room in a high tower. Thick diamond-glass windows looked out on the pinkish glow of the seemingly endless Hub. The chamber made Orion’s personal office in Echohax Tower look tiny, but as to be expected with Zovaco Ralli, the space held little more than the bare essentials. Only a few tasteful pieces of trislav art decorated the office, and Orion didn’t see any of Zovaco’s many diplomas or awards. Zovaco had a large wooden desk and plenty of chairs by the windows, so that was where they congregated.
“Wow, Zo.” Orion slumped into an armchair opposite Zovaco’s desk. “You know how to make things happen.”
Zovaco collapsed into the task chair behind his desk with a heavy exhale. “I apologize for the long day, but it had to be done.”
“And done well,” Mervyn said as he shuffled across the room and opened a cabinet in the wall. “If we’re to fight, at least we have our guard up.” He withdrew a handful of glass drams and a brown bottle. “Anyone else?” asked the great ape as he dangled the bottle.
Orion suddenly found he was very thirsty. “Yes, please.”
“A double,” Dalaxa yawned.
“Definitely,” said Aurelia. “I thought I was going to die of boredom on the floor of the Grand Chambers,” she added, muttering and rubbing her high forehead.
Kangor, who had been quiet since his deposition, stalked across the room and snatched the bottle out of Mervyn’s hand. Before the old kingmaker could spit a single indignant word, Kangor had the bottle of Rumble Horse whiskey to his wolfish lips, guzzling the brown liquid in a steady chug. When the huge vycart was done, he flung the bottle to Zovaco’s tastefully tiled floor, smashing it to shards.
Every muscle tense, Kangor fixed Zovaco with a fiery glare. “Is it true? Did the Union unleash the plague?”
Zovaco straightened up in his chair for a moment, then slouched back with a nod of his head. “It’s true. That’s the Union’s dirtiest little secret, the kind of black file that only gets opened at the very top. But it’s true.”
Kangor lips curled back and his red-orange eyes went wide. “Why?”
“The vycart were too strong,” Zovaco said softly as his gaze fell to the floor. “They bred and developed too quickly, and their factory-planets churned out warships at a rate the Union could not match. All of the analysts and simulations predicted the inevitability of a long, devastating war that would throw the galaxy into a dark age. So the Union simply… made the first move.”
Kangor roared and lashed out with his arms, knocking Mervyn to the ground. He came charging toward Zovaco’s desk, but Orion leaped up. Kicking his chair out of the way, Orion called forth his spellblade and readied a thin sword. With a quick flick, he brought it up and pointed it at Kangor’s throat. To Orion’s great relief, the enraged vycart stopped inches short of the blade’s point.
“Kangor!” Orion barked. “Zo didn’t do it! I get it, Kangor, I do, but the plague came two hundred years before Zo was born. This man is your friend!”
Kangor bristled, angry breaths whistling through his nostrils. “My people… my people,” he growled.
“I owed you the truth, Kangor Kash,” Zovaco said as he rose and straightened his suit. “You saved my life, and more than once. More importantly, you believed in my campaign from the beginning.”
Kangor closed his eyes and stepped back with a huff. For a few seconds, Orion thought the vycart might find the strength to restrain himself. Then Kangor threw back his head and roared, a wail that blended rage and anguish in equal measures. With a growl, he raced to a gangly, sexless sculpture and ripped it from its slender stand. He smashed the hardened ceramic figure against his head, shattering it and loosing a spatter of
his blood before he ran to a coffee table and crushed it with a two-fisted blow. He proceeded to dart around Zovaco’s office, tearing paintings off the wall, overturning couches and chairs, stomping the holo-stage to pieces and destroying any object he could get his hands on. Mervyn and Dalaxa scrambled back behind Zovaco’s desk while Aurelia watched the spectacle coolly. Orion kept his eyes on the rampaging vycart but spoke to Zovaco out of the side of his mouth.
“You want me to stop him?” he asked, his body coiled in front of Zovaco’s desk.
Zovaco sighed. “No, no. The walls are soundproof, and everything here can be replaced.” Orion almost heard the wince in his voice as Kangor destroyed a bookshelf. “Perhaps not some of the first editions, exactly…”
Aurelia glanced at Orion and the others with a droll smile. “I know how to deal with his temper tantrums.” Green light bloomed in her eyes, and she strode across the field of shattered furniture as Kangor punched in the bathroom door with violent grunts. “Hey, you furry moron,” she shouted with a voice made maleficent by her flowing power.
Kangor turned on her with animal fury in his eyes, but the Exile simply opened her delicate hands in front of him. Flashes of light burst from her palms, a quick green sequence. Kangor’s lip curled for a split second and he froze, his eyelids fluttering. After a few seconds of the hypnotic onslaught, Kangor’s face went slack and his knees buckled. The hulking storybook monster fell forward with a tremendous thud, his wolfish nostrils twitching with soft snores as his tongue lolled out.
Aurelia looked back at Orion, Dalaxa, Zovaco and Mervyn as they rubbed their eyes. “Someone want to help me out here?” she asked as she hooked a thumb toward the door. “I think it might be a good idea if the big guy woke up in a wide-open space.”
“Agreed,” said Orion, Dalaxa and Mervyn at the same time.
Zovaco glanced up at Mervyn. “If you wouldn’t mind? I still have more to talk about with Orion and Ms. Croy.”