by Jack Archer
“You’re awful,” Rystar said and shook her head, but Na’gya noticed the dark flush that crept into her cheeks.
They finished their respective meals and paid before downing the last of their drinks and standing up from the table. Kyran led them out, and they stood in a circle out in the walkway, occasionally looking up at the roaring weather above them.
“Underground Pass,” Enzo mused, swiping at his tablet and grumbling to himself. “Possibly the worst place we could be right now.”
“Or the best place,” Kyran said and scuffed at the ground. “Where else would you rather run into a Terran? Here or back on Glasport 2?” He shot a sheepish look at Rystar. “No offense.”
“None taken,” Rystar grumbled and followed them to the elevators. “Seems like we’re not wanted anywhere.”
The elevators took them down into a dank and dusty world, full of red lights and steam. Judging by the rocky walls and lack of heating, Na’gya was sure they were underground. He pulled his jacket tighter and followed Kyran down a winding walkway through a throng of Sustri and Atrex scowling at their every move.
Finally, Kyran stopped in front of a stall with the address 6B92 emblazoned in hard metal letters on the front. An old Sustri woman sat behind the counter and plucked at something that looked like a chicken but was most certainly not a chicken. Kyran set an elbow on the counter and raised an eyebrow at her, putting on his most smoldering look. “Hey darlin’, what’s it going to cost to get back there?”
The woman looked up and huffed, going back to her plucking for a moment before she did a double-take at Na’gya. Gazing at his wings, she nodded at the party and set her not-chicken down on the counter, then beckoned them to join her in disappearing through the door behind her.
Warm air hit Na’gya when he passed through the door, and he sighed, letting his jacket loosen around his body. The old woman shuffled in front of them down winding hallways until they began to see signs of life and more Ya’ados than Na’gya had ever seen.
Rooms branched out on either side of them as they walked, and Na’gya couldn’t help but peer into them, noticing Ya’ados with gold wings, silver wings, wings as white as snow, wings as dark as space. He even saw a Ya’ados with bright orange wings that matched his eyes, and Na’gya was startled when he saw his teeth hanging over the bottom of his lip.
Sustri Ya’ados?
When they stopped, they found themselves in a large room with a tall, curved ceiling, and the old woman bowed before heading back the way she came. Kyran stood in front of a circular table with a star map laid out on it, and a Ya’ados whose shoulders might not fit through the door.
When he looked up, ice-white eyes met theirs, and a flop of white hair to match was brushed aside as the head Ya’ados regarded them impassively. He wore no shirt, and his skin was purple-black and shone in the low, red light of the room. Snow white wings stretched out on either side of him, larger than Na’gya’s.
“I am J’ilan Forswaith, leader of the Wings of Vengeance,” he announced, standing up straight. He must have been almost seven feet tall. “You have three seconds to explain why you’re here, or I will have you killed.”
Na’gya pushed past his crew to the front and set a hand on Kyran’s shoulder to move him aside and present himself. Wings unfurled proudly for the first time in what felt like years, and Na’gya stood tall and unafraid.
“I am Na’gya Vasilev, son of the Jurat Prime and Prince of Chantakor. I am here to give you my aid.”
Chapter Two
Rystar Umara: Sluirossi, Yimesotwa
Na’gya’s public declaration of help did not hold nearly as much weight as Rystar thought it would. J’ilan cast his eyes to the Ya’ados around the room and smiled, revealing sharp, white teeth. Rystar blinked.
“You come to us with a group of Terrans,” J’ilan began, banging a fist on the table, “the son of the Jurat Prime that seeks to hide any trace of us, and you offer your aid?”
J’ilan let out a booming laugh, his wings shaking with the effort of it. The Ya’ados around the room joined in, and Rystar looked at them in turn. There were so many, feathers of all different shades filled the room, and Rystar sunk into the crew, her mind reeling with thoughts of what these Ya’ados could do to them.
“I have risked much to stand before you today,” Na’gya continued as if he hadn’t heard J’ilan, “I have shunned my family to stand by your side.”
J’ilan sobered quicker than his counterparts and snaked around the table to stand in front of Na’gya. He was a statue, angular features etched with rage as his eyes pierced through Na’gya more violently than any sword. “You have the privilege of shunning your parents on your own time. Mine threw me out of the door. A krokeq, an abomination, they called me.”
J’ilan’s eyes whipped around the room at his new family, his new home, and Rystar’s heart hurt at the pain in his wild gaze. He focused on Na’gya again, brows furrowed and teeth bared. “They created me!”
A mumble of assent circled the room, and Na’gya froze, chest heaving with the effort of holding back what Rystar assumed were tears. “I’m sorry about your parents, and I’m sorry for the connection I have with those that perpetuate your, our, oppression. But I’m here to fix that.”
“Here to fix that, he says,” J’ilan hissed, folding his arms in front of him. “Where were you months ago when our people were being slaughtered? Where were you when the Hoop was discovered? What right do you have to come here and insist on aiding us, the Wings of Vengeance?”
“J’ilan, my love.”
Another tall Ya’ados, Sustri Ya’ados, by the looks of her teeth, with the same shade of skin but had hair to match, approached J’ilan and rested her hand on his shoulder. J’ilan calmed under her gaze at once, and his eyes lost some of their fire. He hung his head and set his own hand on hers, taking a deep breath before speaking again.
“This is my fiancee, Minabel,” he introduced, and she nodded at them in turn. “She is my eyes and ears in this station. While you are here, you will respect her above all others.”
Rystar gave the Ya’ados a warm smile which was returned before Minabel let her hand slide down J’ilan’s back, tilting her head to look at her fiance. “His right is he is Ya’ados, like us. Too long, we have divided ourselves, especially from our T’ados siblings. The Terran Ya’ados are as much Ya’ados as we. You should know that.”
J’ilan grumbled, but his eyes softened when he gazed at her again. With a heavy sigh, he straightened up, puffed out his chest, and held a hand to Na’gya. “Minabel is right, as always. There is too much fighting among us. Please join us for our meal tonight, I’m sure you have many questions, and we have many assignments for you.”
“What about the Hoop?” Na’gya asked, taking J’ilan’s hand in his own and shaking firmly.
“In time, Heir of Chantakor, in time.” J’ilan beckoned them to a door behind them that led to a great hall with several tables and an open kitchen in the back. Many other Ya’ados were mingling around the tables, nursing drinks and throwing furtive glances at them. “Please, help yourself to drinks. Dinner will be served shortly. I must take care of some business before I address the hall.”
With a curt nod, he stalked back through the door, leaving them standing awkwardly in the hall as a tight group. Shrugging, Rystar pushed past the throng of their group and sat down at the closest table, bringing her tablet out and beginning to scroll. The rest of the party did the same, with Kyran bringing out his comms tablet and calling Lupe to let him know they weren’t dead. Yet.
“So what do you think?” Na’gya asked Rystar under his breath. Rystar didn’t move her head but flicked her eyes up to see Na’gya staring directly into her soul.
She cocked an eyebrow, and the corner of her mouth turned up. “About?”
“About all this,” Na’gya said, waving a hand around the hall. “The Wings of Vengeance, all these Ya’ados, the Hoop?”
“Alright,” Rystar huffed, clicking
her tablet off and setting it on the table. She folded her hands in front of her and sighed so loudly, she got the attention of Kyran and Shea. “What is the damn Hoop?”
Na’gya tilted his head and looked at her before raising his eyebrows and letting out a sigh. “I guess we haven’t actually told you what we’re doing.”
“No, you haven’t,” Rystar said with wide eyes and a sardonic smile.
“It’s hard to explain,” Na’gya said, rubbing his face with a hand. “But when I heard about the Ya’ados fighting back through underground channels, I knew I had to come help. I overheard Balee talking about the Hoop to someone one day, and I begged my parents to let me leave on a pilgrimage of sorts.”
“Where?” Rystar asked.
“Bufefu,” Na’gya replied. “On Ledgorod, one of the only places on the planet where Ya’ados are tolerated. I ran across some interesting things, including a small faction of Ya’ados rebels trying to take back some of their territories. That’s when I was captured.”
“What happened to the rebels?” Rystar asked, wincing because she knew the answer.
“Capture or killed by a man named Marsters,” Na’gya said with a sigh. “We ultimately failed in our mission. And then you found me.” He looked up at her and smiled, and Rystar’s face flushed again under his gaze. In the middle of a rebel base in a hostile area was the worst time to be having these thoughts, but Rystar was glad she had been sent to Chantakor to save Na’gya.
“And then someone ruined my plans,” Rystar said, rolling her eyes and throwing a smile at Kyran.
“Don’t see you complaining now, sugar,” he said, still watching vids.
Rystar hummed, turning back to Na’gya. He was a little less intense now. The fire in his eyes had subsided.
“So tell me about this place,” Rystar said to no one in particular, hoping someone would be able to answer her. No one did for a moment until Enzo sighed and spoke up.
“Yimesotwa is a rocky ice world with one continent and a frozen sea,” he said, pulling up a map and turning his tablet so she could see. Rystar leaned forward on the table to take it in. “There are three pockets of civilization, all encased in a bubble to keep the weather at bay. Right now, we’re in the capital, Sluirossi.”
“Why colonize a planet like this?” Shea asked, and Rystar flicked her eyes up to him, happy he was talking again. He had been silent for a while, and she figured she had given him the cold shoulder long enough.
“Seriously, the entire place is frozen over,” she agreed, and Shea smiled at her.
“Uranium,” Enzo replied, tying up his hair into a bun with a band. “The planet is incredibly rich in it underground. The bubble of Chure is home to some major industrial plants that process it, and there are uranium mines all over the planet.”
“Should I even ask who works in them?” Rystar said.
Enzo gave her a wry smile. “Quick to catch on. There wasn’t much mining until 20 years ago when the Horoths took over, now it’s mostly Ya’ados working in the harsh conditions with little to no pay.”
“Why am I not surprised,” Rystar said, rolling her eyes. She was used to humans treating each other like dirt, and it didn’t surprise her in the least that alien races treated each other the same way. What she didn’t know was the history of the Horoths. Rystar had assumed they were a peaceful race, one that got along with humans.
Dinner was served, and Rystar and Shea were able to pick out something to eat in the spread. There was primarily raw meat and blood wine, but they spotted some of the same noodles Lupe cooked for them, and they grabbed some, heading back to their table with full plates.
“I feel bad leaving Lupe on the ship for so long,” Rystar said as she stared into the bowl of noodles.
“They like it there,” Kyran said, digging into his meat, whatever it was. “I always invite them to come along on our little adventures, but I think Lupe just likes being alone.”
Rystar shrugged, knowing the feeling as she sat among the entire crew, Shea, and Na’gya. Her heart and muscles still ached from the death of the Gloriosum, and she was still mad at Kyran for…
For what, Rystar?
She shook her head and continued to eat. The foreign vegetables were different from what she was used to but still filling. Food was food, right?
They ate in silence for a while, watching the Ya’ados in the hall mill about, their wings stretched to their full glory. It was amazing, seeing them all in one place, happy to be out of the reaches of oppression, at least for a while.
“Enjoying everything?”
The party looked up to see Ji’lan standing at the head of their table, hands on his hips and nodding at them in turn. “We have an excellent team of Sustri chefs who offered to help feed our group. Even if tensions with the Sustri are high at the moment.”
“Are they?” Kyran said with a raised eyebrow, looking around at his crew.
“We believe they have been responsible for some… attacks… on our people,” Ji’lan said, clearly not wanting to explain it further. He crossed his arms and eyed their Sustri party with suspicion. “And here, a group of Sustri come with the Heir of Chantakor. I’m eager to learn why you’re here.”
“And we are eager to tell you,” Kyran said, pushing his plate away and standing up to hold out a hand. “Name’s Kyran Skylock, Captain of the Mach IV DSV Firehawk.”
“A LASSO?” Ji’lan said, taking Kyran’s hand and narrowing his eyes.
“Stole it from Aurum,” Kyran said with a grin, letting his fangs out.
Ji’lan let out a boom of laughter and shook Kyran’s hand with more vigor, pulling him in closer and clapping him on the shoulder. “You might just be a friend of ours after all, Mister Skylock.”
“We hope to be,” Kyran said, letting go of Ji’lan’s hand and stepping back. “But we would like some answers. I only kidnapped the Heir of Chantakor to help you folks out, be nice to know what’s going on.”
Ji’lan rubbed at his stubble with a broad hand and fixed Kyran with a glare before nodding. “I suppose you’re right. You’ve done enough to prove you are on our side. Please, meet me in my quarters back through those doors when you are finished with dinner. I will be waiting.”
Kyran touched two fingers to his temple and climbed back onto the bench. “You heard the man, eat up.”
Cobalt had opted to bring food back to Lupe on the ship and seemed supremely uninterested in the history of Yimesotwa and the Wings of Vengeance. Rystar, Shea, Kyran, Na’gya, and Enzo all piled in Ji’lan’s quarters on various couches and chairs, waiting for Ji’lan to sit in his own seat. The room was large enough for two Ya’ados and their wings and held a kitchen in one corner, a door for the bathroom across from it, and an open space with a gigantic bed for the pair of them.
The walls were a grey brick and covered in maps of Yimesotwa, Bufefu, and other planets Rystar wasn’t terribly familiar with. Pictures of cities and bubbles of civilization also covered the walls, their maps littered with strings and lines connecting various places.
“I assume your first question is ‘where is the Hoop,’” Ji’lan said, pouring himself a glass of something clear and sitting down in a chair to face them all. Na’gya leaned forward and rested his arms on his knees, clasping his hands together and letting his wings stretch out around him.
“I believe we already know where the Hoop is,” he said, tilting his head.
Ji’lan’s eyes widened, and he pursed his lips after taking a sip of his drink. “You’ve spoken with Balee or one of her guard, then.”
“Balee,” Na’gya affirmed, “on Yarev. They have her imprisoned there.”
“I’m aware of Miss Wylo’s status,” Ji’lan said with a sigh. “She was one of our biggest Terran allies. She had been to the Hoop several times. I can’t imagine the things they’re doing to her to get that information.”
“Whatever they’re doing, it isn’t working, at least,” Na’gya said with a wince, scratching the back of his head. “I haven�
�t heard of any Terrans infiltrating the Hoop so far.”
“And why would you?” Ji’lan asked, setting his drink down. “You do not have access to our communications or informants.”
“I thought I would have seen a vid on it or something,” Na’gya said with a shrug, leaning back in his chair. Rystar admitted to herself that something of the Hoop caliber wouldn’t be on any local vids and raised her eyebrows at Shea. She noticed Kyran giving her a side glance but chose to ignore it for now, no matter how bad it made her feel.
“Information about the Hoop is strictly kept to out of band channels only we have access to,” Ji’lan explained. “Even the Terran government has not been able to breach our defenses.”
“They will eventually,” Enzo muttered from his seat, nose deep in his tablet. When no one said anything, he looked up, facing Ji’lan. “Well, your defenses are getting outdated, no offense, and eventually, the Terran government will be able to hack their way in.”
“And who are you?” Ji’lan asked, lifting his glass to his lips again.
“Enzo Vida,” he replied, “Firehawk’s security engineer.”
“And you think our defenses are outdated?” Ji’lan continued.
“I think they will be very soon,” Enzo said. “I think Aurum and the Terran government are constantly working on new ways to infiltrate their enemies and will eventually figure out your defenses, no matter how in-depth they are.”
“So what are you suggesting?” Ji’lan said, taking another sip.
Enzo ripped his eyes away from his tablet and set it down in his lap, addressing the entire group now. “When you create your security defenses, you have to make sure you update them every once in a while to keep your attackers on their toes. If you stay stagnant, they’ll eventually figure out what your defenses are and how to penetrate them. You’re giving them time to figure you out.”
Ji’lan nodded, pursing his lips and fixing Enzo with a curious glare. He set his drink down again and stood up, pacing the room with his glorious wings outstretched. “I will admit, we don’t have many security engineers on our side to assist us on the cyber front. I would be forever grateful if you offered us your services in that area.”
