by A A Warren
A tall, broad-shouldered man stood before him, draped in black and crimson robes. He was facing a gigantic holo display. The projector array filled the center of the vaulted ceiling, and hung above a shimmering pool of water. The pool's black surface reflected the glowing holograms of planets and ships hovering in the air.
“My lord,” Ecotyl said, announcing his presence. The tall man turned and glanced over his shoulder.
A snarling, golden mask stared back at the commander.
The mask of Sartarus…
Behind the angular features and curved fangs of the glimmering faceplate, Ecotyl could see the man’s eyes. They were a piercing, brilliant blue. Each pupil was a tiny black dot, lost in a sea of azure fire. They grew wider, as Sartarus focused on him with an intense stare.
“You bring me news of failure, don’t you Commander?” Sartarus asked, his muffled voice amplified by speakers in the mask. “Otherwise, you would not have come in person.”
Ecotyl stood at attention, and cleared his throat.
“The arena complex has been destroyed by orbital bombing. My centurions have searched the ruins, but we’ve found no sign of the man you seek.”
Sartarus turned back to the holo display. He tilted his head as he examined the movements of the other ships in orbit. “He has already escaped the planet, Ecotyl. I ordered you to destroy all ships leaving the surface.”
“Sir, our blood hawk fighters have intercepted every—”
“Excuses and lies!” The man’s voice rose to a bitter howl. “Refuge for the weakest of minds.”
Reaching out a gloved finger, Sartarus touched the glowing hologram of the planet. He spun it though the air, revealing a series of small red dots. The tiny glowing markers identified the Dominion and civilian ships engaged in combat above the planet.
Reaching out with his hands, he expanded the image. Ecotyl stepped closer, squinting. He watched as one of the dots grew larger, revealing a hologram of an older model combat ship… an old Sidegunner, from the looks of it.
“HMS Star Claw,” he said, reading the glowing markings.
“This ship destroyed the fighters you sent after it,” Sartarus hissed. “Then it opened a star-path, and left the field of battle.”
“Sir, I… That means it could be anywhere by now,” Ecotyl stammered.
“Yes, Commander, you are correct. And that means you have failed me. That ship is carrying the man I seek. The man I ordered you to destroy!”
“How can you be sure he—”
Sartarus spun around and faced Ecotyl. His dark robes whipped through the air behind him like black wings. The commander’s words died in his throat.
“You doubt my wisdom, Commander?”
Ecotyl shook his head. “No sir, I—”
Sartarus reached up with a gloved hand and gripped his golden mask. There was a hiss as the face-plate’s couplings released. He pulled it away, revealing his flesh underneath.
Ecotyl gasped. The man’s skin was gray and shriveled. Torn, rotting lips barely covered his gnarled, yellow teeth. His nose had rotted away, leaving only two bloody pits in a lump of upturned flesh.
Sartarus was not enfeebled. Ecotyl had seen him moving about the ship. The man appeared fit and strong. But this face… this face was impossibly withered and ancient.
“Knowledge and wisdom have a price, Commander. A price I have willingly paid. Can you say the same?”
A lump of gray flesh seemed to ripple and slide across the hideous man's cheek. Ecotyl squinted. He saw something moving in the dark recess behind his tongue. Something small and metallic, scurrying across the pink, festering flesh.
Sartarus chuckled. “Do my little friends disturb you?”
“No sir, I—”
The robed man waived his hand in dismissal. “Flesh weavers, from the Consortium Biomancers. They are powered by the dark energy Daizon has gifted to me. I am older than I appear, Ecotyl. And to bathe in the greatness that is Daizon… it takes a toll on one’s physical being. These machines help my body recover from the strain. They have done their job. Now, do yours. Alert our spies, watch the star ports and nearby stations. Tell General Kyr to send us more ships, more men.”
Sartarus replaced the mask. It settled into his helmet with a quiet thunk. He turned, and regarded Ecotyl with a single blue eye. In the dim interior, his stare seemed to burn brighter than the stars and pulse bolts beyond the windows.
“Do whatever you must. But find that ship. Is that understood?”
Ecotyl stood ramrod straight and saluted. Beads of seat dripped down his forehead, and he bit his lip to stop it from quivering. “Yes sir!”
He began to walk away, but forced himself to stop and turn around.
“Sir, should we deploy… the weapon? To cleanse the planet’s surface of any survivors?”
Sartarus chuckled. “You wish to unleash the most powerful force in the galaxy, to raze a dead planet?” He shook his head. “Such a waste. Such a lack of vision. No, Commander. Inform the High General that the next time we unleash such greatness, it will be to annihilate Prince Tygon, and cement Kyr's hold on the throne. Until then, we must bide our time. We must find the one thing that can stop us…”
Sartarus tapped a floating point in space. Another holographic plane floated in the air before him. It projected video footage in front of the two men… A gladiator, cutting through hordes of combat mechs with a glowing plasma axe. The muscular warrior stood atop a pyramid in the arena. He raised his weapon over his head. One of his eyes glowed red, and a green, claw-like tattoo rippled across his chest.
Sartarus reached out, as if to touch the man. His hand drifted through the holographic projection. He stepped closer, staring through his monstrous golden mask at the gladiator’s frozen image.
“This is the man we are pursuing?” Ecotyl scoffed. “He's merely a slave.”
Sartarus shook his head. “He is no ordinary man, Ecotyl. He bears the mark of R’Kur, the God Dragon.”
“R’Kur? I’ve never heard of such a god.”
Sartarus' eyes grew even wider, as if they could destroy the man in the image with the power of his gaze.
“His people died out. Centuries before the first colonists were even bred in their vat ships. While they were lost in the gulf between galaxies, the tribes of the First Ones arose, and then fell. But make no mistake, this man is a threat. The Claw of R’Kur must be found. He must be destroyed.”
The water in the pool began to swirl. Ecotyl’s eyes grew wide, as he saw a dark shadow ascend from the murky depths, lit red by the floating holograms above.
“Leave us,” Sartarus commanded, his voice a hoarse monotone. “Do not disturb me until you have found the ship.”
Ecotyl nodded, and spun around. He hurried across the catwalk, his shoulders hunched beneath the stony gaze of the towering statues. He heard wet splashing below him, the slap of moist flesh striking the metal deck plates. And heard something else as well… laughter.
The laughter of small children, echoing through the shadows.
Ecotyl did not turn around to see what could have made such a sound.
He had no desire to know.
PLANET VENDARU (HTL 334-93T)
Frontier Space
One week later…
Talon leaned against the wall of the narrow corridor. He felt dizzy, nauseous. They had traveled for days, jumping through multiple star-paths to throw off pursuers. Then, there had been a rushed descent through the scintillating rings and noxious clouds of this massive green planet. The gas giant orbited a binary star system in unclaimed territory, far beyond the outer reaches. As far as Talon knew, he had never traveled this far from the Dominion’s borders.
As soon as they landed, vertigo struck him. Avra chuckled as she watched him stumble down the Star Claw’s ramp. Salena brushed past him and hurried off, leaving the rest of the group behind. A dazed, unfocused look filled her shimmering blue eyes.
"Salena, wait…” Talon called to her, but she ignored hi
m. He watched her pass, as he leaned against one of the ramp's landing struts for support.
“Don’t mind her,” the red-haired woman said. “Opening all those star-paths took a lot out of her. She needs her beauty sleep.”
A few minutes later, a pair of white armored soldiers led them through the maze-like corridors of the complex. Talon had to pause, taking a few seconds to catch his breath. He leaned against the dura-plas wall and clutched his stomach.
“Infernal suns!” he cursed. “My head is spinning… stomach churning… were the ship’s rations poisoned?”
Zobo chuckled and slapped him on his back.
“Don’t worry about it, Fledge. Long trip in artificial gravity. Feels real, but your brain can tell the difference. Throws you off at first, but you’ll get used to it. Little wine should help.”
Talon bent over and vomited. The two guards stopped in their tracks, and spun around. One of them frowned. “Are you sure this is the man you were sent to retrieve?”
Zobo and Avra helped Talon to his feet. The woman grimaced as she stepped around the puddle of sick that stained the gleaming white floor.
“He’ll be fine. Just needs a little rest before we debrief,” she said. They each slung one of Talon’s arms over a shoulder, and dragged the large man forward.
“Maybe skip the wine, lad,” Zobo muttered. “I’ll drink for both of us.”
The group set off again down the corridor. They marched past a long, narrow window that curved around a corner. The hidden complex lay nestled at the bottom of a deep canyon, submerged in a dense atmospheric sea. Outside, a murky soup of liquefied gas flowed past. Chemical impurities gave the dense haze a putrid green tint. Pools of light from the submerged complex glowed in the distance.
“Prince Lucian is meeting with his military advisors now,” one of the soldiers said. “After our losses on Hadros… well, as you can imagine, we’ve had to adjust our strategy somewhat.”
“Losses?” Zobo growled. “Losing half your fleet isn’t a loss. It’s a massacre.”
The soldier frowned, but said nothing.
They stopped in front of a circular door. Avra tapped the controls, and it hissed open. They staggered in, and heaved Talon onto the bed.
Avra set her hands on her hips, and stared down at the barely-conscious man, a mischievous smirk on her lips. “Sleep tight, big guy.”
“The Prince will summon you when he’s ready,” one of the soldiers called from the doorway. Until then, please remain in your quarters.”
Talon rolled over on the bed and groaned. “Zobo, wait. The woman, Salena… we had a deal. She said she would grant me my freedom if I came with her.”
“And so she shall, boy. You help us, we’ll help you. Besides, look out the window… don’t you feel free?” The wolf-like alien bellowed his strange, snarling laugh, then left the room. The door hissed shut behind him.
Talon sat up on the thin mattress. He ran a hand through his hair and took a deep breath. His stomach still rumbled and groaned, but his head was beginning to clear. He stood up, walked over to a tiny sink mounted in the wall, and splashed some water on his face. Then he paced over to the window. He leaned forward, peering into the dark, murky shadows outside. All he could see beyond the window was an impenetrable haze of liquid gas. He knew the vapor was toxic, and exerted bone-crushing pressure at this great depth. He doubted any life at all could survive outside.
“Free,” he muttered to himself.
He shook his head, and fell back onto the bed. Within seconds, he was asleep.
Chapter Nine
Talon awoke with a start. He had been dreaming again. The same dream as before… the life pod, the falling rocks. The woman crying out to him, words he could barely hear or understand.
The darkness… Trapped, alone. Buried alive…
He sat up in bed and brushed his sweat soaked hair from his face. Breathing hard, he glanced around the room, remembering where he was.
A soft chime sounded. Someone was outside the door. He shook his head, clearing his mind of the dark thoughts that had disturbed his sleep. He felt as though he had slept for hours, but the scene outside the window was unchanged… a dense liquid fog, green and glowing in the distance.
The chime rang out again. A voice spoke through an intercom.
“The prince will see you now. The others have gathered in the main hall.” He recognized the voice as one of the soldiers from earlier.
He realized he had never slept behind a door that would not open when his owner demanded it… He had no idea how to get out.
“Give me a moment,” he called out, uncertain if the intercom was voice activated.
His feet thudded on the cold floor as he climbed out of bed. He threw on his clothes, and grabbed his battle harness. Approaching the door, he reached out and touched the smooth metal surface.
Nothing happened. He slapped the door with his open palm. Still nothing. Then he pounded with both fists.
“Iberon’s harem,” he cursed. “How do I open this damn thing?”
“Wall panel, green button,” the exasperated voice answered back.
Talon squinted at the rectangular panel mounted to the wall. In the murky glow from the window, everything looked green. He tapped the largest button he could see. The door slid open.
The soldier stood at attention outside, his white armor gleaming in the dim light. He glanced down at the saber and scabbard Talon held clenched in his fist.
“You’ve been granted an audience with his Highness, Prince Lucian Tygon," he said in a commanding voice. "No weapons are permitted in his presence.”
Talon glared at the man for a moment, then tossed his swords on the bed.
“Satisfied?” he grunted.
The soldier nodded, and spun on his heels. “Follow me, please. The others are waiting for you.”
The man led him through another series of sterile white corridors. This time, Talon noticed the complex was buzzing with activity. Heavily-armed soldiers jogged past them in the corridors. Technical crews guided hover palettes stacked with supplies towards the hanger decks.
After a few more turns, the soldier escorted him through a security checkpoint. They passed under an archway, and entered a large rectangular room. Vertical columns lined the walls. Platters of half-eaten food covered a long, narrow table that dominated the center of the chamber. Flickering plasma torches hung from the ceiling, bathing the area in a soft, warm glow.
A row of soldiers stood at attention in front of the far wall. Talon eyed their force pikes and rifles as he was led to the table.
Zobo and Avra sat in ornate chairs, feasting on pink roasted meat of some kind. The red-haired woman gulped down a goblet of purple wine, then looked up at Talon and grinned.
“There you are," she said, wiping her mouth with a napkin. "I was afraid the gravity sickness would take you down for the whole night.”
Zobo’s powerful jaws tore a fist-sized hunk of flesh from an enormous bone. “Sit, boy. Eat!” He threw his legs up on the table, knocking over a platter of blue vegetables. “We won’t feast like this again any time soon, I tell you.”
“Welcome,” said a young man sitting at the head of the table. He stood up and gestured to an empty chair. “I am Lucian Tygon, rightful heir to the Tygon Dominion. Won’t you join us? I’m told you were a gladiator?”
Talon eyed the young man with surprise. The prince was a young human, just a boy, really. It was hard to believe he was the heir to an empire as powerful as the Dominion. He appeared to be a few years younger than Talon, at least. His skin was pale, his hair the color of straw. His green eyes regarded Talon with serene curiosity. But there was something haunting about his stare. Talon knew the look well.
This boy has witnessed death, he thought. Up close and personal.
A pair of doors hissed open behind the prince. An older man stepped into the room. He wore a crisp white military tunic, with a row of medals pinned above his chest. His grey hair was swept back from his fu
rrowed brow, leaving a sharp widow’s peak. The skin around his eyes winkled as he gave Talon a suspicious glance. He bent over and whispered something into the boy’s ear.
Talon remained standing. He turned to Zobo. “Where is Salena?”
“Listen to you,” the smiling alien growled between mouthfuls of food. "You sound like a love-struck pup!"
“Someone’s got a crush,” Avra said, laughing. “You know, you really should be thanking me, instead of pining away for Sal. Here…”
She reached behind her back, slid a metal rod from her harness, and tossed it through the air to Talon. He caught it with one hand, and hefted it before his eyes.
“I told Salena,” he grunted, examining the controls on the rod, “this won’t work outside the—”
As his fingers touched the controls, the orange blade of his plasma axe blazed to life. The arc of fire sliced through the metal chair in front of him. The furniture fell apart with a loud crash. A droning hum emitted from the weapon, as power coursed through its circuits.
At the sight of the plasma blade, the older man stopped whispering to the prince, and stood at attention. “Protect the prince!” he shouted. Two armored guards yanked the young man away from the table, blocking him from the others with crackling force pikes. The other men raised their rifles, and began stalking towards Talon.
“Drop the axe,” the man in the uniform bellowed. “Now!”
Talon spun around, sizing up the men as they advanced towards him. He held the glowing weapon in a defensive posture. He turned and glared at the younger man with his red eye. “If you really are a prince, you’d best call off your dogs. Or the servants here will be scrubbing their blood from the floor for days.”
Zobo dropped his hunk of meat, and slid his hand towards a carving knife. “Damn. Look’s like dinner’s over,” he growled.
“Well, I didn’t think he’d be stupid enough to turn it on here!” Avra hissed. She stood up and backed away from the table, raising her arms in a defensive position. She glanced left and right at the men surrounding them.
