by Gregg Vann
Tien was undeterred. “I need a skilled pilot, Speaker Lews. A very skilled pilot. Or this entire mission could fail at the onset. It’s precarious enough without any unnecessary complications.”
“Then I will endeavor to find you a suitable candidate, Tien. Perhaps one of the junior Master Pilots who recently graduated from the academy would serve. Some of them are quite promising, I assure you.” Speaker Lews registered the look of dissatisfaction creeping across the large Udek’s face. It was impossible to miss. “We’ve done everything we can to make your life here comfortable, Tien. And I would do this for you as well, if I could. But this mission of yours is, quite frankly, suicidal. I need Master Pilot Boe to remain here. To remain alive.”
“With all due respect, Speaker,” Tien said, working to hold in his anger. “You act like you’re doing me a favor. I earn my way here, through advice and tactical instruction that’s every bit as important, if not more so, than Boe’s pilot training.”
“Oh, I agree, Tien. Absolutely! But you are not Obas. Nor are you a prisoner here. You may come and go as you wish.” Speaker Lews met the Udek’s unrelenting gaze with one of his own—one equally fierce. “And believe me, if you were under my command, I wouldn’t let you go either.”
“Gah!” Tien snapped in disgust.
Despite his breathing mask, Tien’s voice rang out loudly through the spacious and well-appointed office. Speaker Lews’ bodyguards tensed. Tien sensed their reaction and quickly regained his composure—relaxing his stance, and choosing a calmer voice to help allay their fears. Tien knew he would never harm the Speaker, no matter how angry he became, but it was the job of Lews’ protection detail to ensure that it never happened. The air of apprehension that sprang up so suddenly slowly began to dissipate, but the guards remained alert.
“I do understand your situation, Speaker. And I appreciate the offer to assign a pilot to accompany me. I’m certain whoever you choose will serve admirably.”
Speaker Lews relaxed. “You’re quite welcome, Tien. And I would do more for you if I could, truly. But we have so many steps left to take into this new universe opening up before us. A path, I’ll remind you once again, that you set us on. I can’t risk one of the few people in our service who has actually experienced worlds beyond our own. Sharing that knowledge is an essential component to successfully training the next group of Master Pilots, and the breadth of Boe’s encounters with off-worlders and alien planets eclipses all of our other pilots combined. For the sake of my people, I cannot place his life in jeopardy.”
“I don’t want to see him lost either, Speaker Lews. But will you at leas—”
The door opened abruptly, and a harried, yet serious-looking Obas soldier rushed in. “Speaker Lews. There is a Blenej ship waiting on the outskirts of the system, asking for safe passage to the planet. They claim they’re here at the behest of the Bodhi.”
“Hmm,” Lews intoned. “I was told to expect their arrival, but nothing about the ship being Blenej.” He glanced at Tien.
“I had no idea, either.”
“Very well,” Speaker Lews said, “let them through. But I want that ship run through a complete scan on the surface, before it’s escorted down to the new remote facility we set up for off-worlders. And any occupants are to be constantly and closely guarded. Is that understood?”
“Yes, sir,” the soldier replied. Then he departed to carry out his instructions.
“It seems your plan proceeds swiftly, Tien. Despite my reservations.”
“It appears so.”
Speaker Lews frowned. “I really can’t understand this folly, Tien. You must reconsider. You have a life here on Obas. Friends, even. Why risk everything on such a desperate mission? I’m not oblivious; I realize the Udek are trying to kill you. But that won’t go on forever. It simply can’t. And while I understand your quest for revenge, you have to admit that you aren’t the assassin you once were. Well, I suppose you are in skill, but you’re far more tempered in your application of violence these days. You feel the consequences of it. I’d hoped that by now you would have understood there’s another way to live. You don’t have to be a killer.”
Tien shook his head. “The Special Corp won’t let me be anything other than a killer, Speaker Lews. They haven’t given me any choice in the matter. I promised myself that I would leave the past behind after the war—concentrate on my family, and build a different kind of life on Obas. But the Udek refuse to grant me that peace. And frankly, I don’t share your belief that they’ll eventually stop. So I will force them to.”
“Tell me,” Speaker Lews said, his mood turning somber, “because I do often wonder. Do you ever consider your own mortality, Tien?”
“Of course. But not often, and I certainly don’t dwell on it. I resolved myself to an early death a long time ago. In the Corp, it’s viewed as an eventuality, not a possibility.”
“Maybe that was true before. But now…now that you have a family, hasn’t it changed for you?”
“Now, Speaker Lews, my determination is greater than it’s ever been. Everything I do is with my wife and child in mind. I would sacrifice my life even more quickly—without regret or hesitation—doing whatever I believed necessary to guarantee their safety.”
Speaker Lews turned silent for a moment, his expression becoming more pensive. “I do wish you would rethink this, Tien. Your loss would be a major blow to everything we are trying to accomplish here.”
“You needn’t worry, Speaker. I have every intention of returning to Obas when this is all over. I’m not dead yet.”
“No, Tien.” Speaker Lews sighed, realizing that despite his best efforts, the argument was lost. “Not yet.”
Chapter Sixteen
“What was your name again?” Brother Ryll asked.
“Maxal,” the stocky Blenej pilot repeated for the second time, casting a disapproving glance down at the much shorter human. Their conversation had been brief, but it was clear that Maxal’s patience was already exhausted; something about the monk just rubbed him the wrong way. Despite taking the delivery job from them, Maxal had never really liked the Bodhi—he considered them arrogant, and prone to meddling in the affairs of others—so his reaction to Brother Ryll wasn’t all that surprising. “Is there something wrong with your hearing, boy?” the pilot asked in a harsh tone, one bordering on belligerence.
“Er, no, no,” Ryll replied. His eyes darted down to the dataslate he was holding to avoid the Blenej’s steady glare. “Just checking.”
Maxal was missing one of his four arms—the signature physical trait of the Blenej people—and he appeared somewhat out of sorts after passing through the multiple and highly invasive layers of Obas security. But he still cut an imposing figure, one that was impossible to ignore, and Brother Ryll was thankful that he hadn’t come alone to greet him.
Kiro Tien was standing at his side. He’d joined the monk on his journey out to welcome the cargo ship, eager for specific answers to his own lingering questions. The vessel sat quarantined in a high-security, off-site landing cavern—positioned far away from the city proper, and separated by several fortified checkpoints from the general populace of Obas.
When they’d first arrived, the pair was surprised to discover the pilot was one of The Red, the warrior component of the unique tripartite society established on the Blenej home world. The Obas assigned to guard the hangar had taken notice of it as well, making no attempts to hide their wary scrutiny.
Tien sized up Maxal quickly. He noted the pilot’s assured gait as he stepped away from his ship to meet them, and the casual alertness the Blenej displayed as he continually surveyed his surroundings, looking for any signs of trouble. Tien knew immediately that he was looking at a capable fighter—and an experienced one as well. It was tattooed on Maxal’s mannerisms like a personal history brief, if one only knew how to read it. And more than most, Kiro Tien was fluent in the language of threat assessment. There was no doubt in his mind that Maxal was making his own tactical r
eview of the situation, confirmed when the Blenej singled him out.
“You,” Maxal said, using two of his arms to indicate Tien. “The Udek, living among the Obas. I’ve heard rumors about you. I never believed them, of course. Not until now, anyway.”
“And what have you heard?” Tien asked, genuinely curious.
Maxal smiled. “That if I’d like to keep my last three arms, I’d do well to steer far clear of you.”
Tien grinned, briefly pushing the outermost edges of his mask away from his face. “There’s no reason for us to be enemies.”
“None at all,” Maxal agreed. “From what I understand, you have plenty of them already. But I know what you did during the war, and that makes you okay in my book. Let’s just say that this isn’t my first visit to Obas. Though it is the first time I actually landed on the planet.”
“You were here during the battle with the Brenin,” Tien said knowingly.
“I was. And I fought them on a few other planets as well.” Maxal used his three remaining arms to point out the short stump where his fourth used to be, on the lower right side of his torso. “I lost my arm in that cursed war, and judging by that sling you’re wearing, you probably understand just how frustrating a loss of ability can be. Don’t let these other three fool you, it’s the one I lost that matters.”
The stout Blenej glanced away for a moment, and Tien watched him struggle to suppress the rage he still carried from his injury. Maxal’s three remaining hands tightened into fists.
“I was a fighter pilot, Udek. One of the best. But unlike most of the Reds in my squadron, I was damn good on the ground as well. I discovered that when I was shot out of the sky over Telleq, and had to fight my way back across enemy lines to rejoin my own forces. I escaped the burning wreckage of my ship and made it through nearly fourteen kilometers of hostile territory that day.” Maxal made a curt gesture with his stump. “But this arm remained behind, crushed to a bloody pulp between my flight chair and a control console. After the crash, I couldn’t fly fighters anymore. Not well enough, at any rate. Our prosthetics are good, not that I care to wear one, but they aren’t suited to piloting a Blenej attack craft. So now,” he said disgustedly, “I’m just a transport pilot, ferrying stuff for others from place to place. Today, it just happens to be your stuff.”
Maxal crossed his upper arms and shot a hard look at Brother Ryll. “Story time’s over, monk. You Bodhi paid me a handsome sum to get this cargo here as fast as possible, and I’m already behind schedule for my next delivery, thanks to all of these blasted Obas security checks. So what’ll it be? Do you want it, or not?”
“Yes…yes, of course,” Ryll said. “You didn’t look inside the crates, did you?”
“I’ll let that one go,” Maxal replied tersely. “Because you obviously don’t know me, junior. But don’t ever question my integrity again.”
“I’m sorry. I meant no offense.”
“None taken, this time. But even if I was the shifty type, your friends back on Prime sealed everything up tight. And then strongly intimated there might be a few of your infamous Bodhi fail-safes stashed inside the crates. Only a fool would try to open one of them up with an explosive threat like that hanging over their heads.”
“Yes. Well, it is very important cargo,” Ryll explained.
“Yeah. I’m getting that.”
Tien nodded beyond Maxal to indicate his ship. The vessel was a standard Blenej transport, for the most part—jet-black, with sleek, rounded contours wherever possible. Because it was a cargo ship, the smooth lines were necessarily broken up in several areas to address functionality, most notably, the boxy undercarriage of the fuselage. Tien knew that they were notoriously hardy craft, rated for sea, atmosphere, and, of course, space. This particular ship featured some unusual modifications, ones he’d not encountered before. “I notice that you’ve installed Iriq ion thrusters,” Tien said. “With the Udek blockade in effect, it must be difficult to get replacement parts.”
Maxal beamed proudly. “Ah, I see you know your ships. I trade with the Iriq directly—on Polit. So I have no problem getting whatever I need.”
Tien was surprised. “How do you get past the Udek patrols?” he asked.
“They don’t make it easy, I confess. But did I mention that I’m an excellent pilot? Even with only three arms, I can still outfly most Blenej, and certainly any Udek. I’m able to detect their ships’ energy signatures just beyond the Udek fleet’s maximum scanning range, and then I adjust my own course before they have a chance to spot me—weaving my way through tiny open spots in the blockade coverage. In spite of my, eh, disability, my reaction time is still quite remarkable. Even if I do say so myself.”
“Impressive,” Tien said, and meant it. “Very impressive.”
Tien heard something behind him, and turned to see a pair of Obas technicians passing between the two guards posted at the entrance to the hangar. After a brief clearance check, they strode toward the Blenej ship, pushing the floating cargo platforms Brother Ryll had requested out in front of them.
“We are ready to offload the shipment,” one of them said.
“Of course,” Maxal told him. “And I’m ready to be on my way.”
The Blenej ducked beneath his ship and punched a five-digit code into an oval interface, set deep inside one of the front landing struts. The center section of the transport briefly shook as a small collection of fastening clamps loudly disengaged, and then a rectangular pod began descending from the fuselage. As it lightly struck the surface of the hangar, the front of the pod swung open as a single section, levering down ramp-like to reveal the outlines of two large crates, resting just inside its darkened interior. Bright lights mounted to the pod’s ceiling reluctantly sputtered on, providing a better look at the cargo within. At first glance, the crates reminded Tien of over-sized coffins.
“What’s in them?” he asked Brother Ryll.
The monk noted the expectant looks on the faces of the Obas guards and technicians. He also caught Maxal’s inquisitive stare. Brother Ryll understood, especially Maxal. The Blenej pilot had ferried the crates all the way from Bodhi Prime—under suspect circumstances, and for an enormous sum of money. His curiosity was only natural. Unfortunately, the young monk intended to disappoint them all.
“Not here,” Brother Ryll said emphatically. “This is proprietary Bodhi technology. I’ll show you when we’re in the lab.” This is no place to reveal Bodhi secrets, he thought. The fewer people who know, the better. “But don’t worry, Tien,” Ryll continued. “I assure you that the contents of these crates will enable you to travel to Ko’ln and do what must be done.”
Despite his noble intentions—Brother Ryll’s desire to protect his order and its interests. In keeping some secrets, the monk had inadvertently revealed others.
“Ko’ln?” Maxal repeated, a hint of astonishment in his voice. “Just what the hell are you two planning?” The pilot noticed a dangerous look overcome Tien’s features, the cold and murderous aspect of an assassin. Maxal immediately regretted his outburst. “You know what? Never mind. I don’t want to know. In fact, forget I was even here. Just take your cargo and I’ll be on my way.”
But it was too late for that.
Tien grabbed Brother Ryll by the collar of his robe, hefting him so high in the air that the monk struggled to remain balanced on his toes. “What did I tell you about keeping your mouth shut?” Tien said angrily.
“I…I,” Ryll stammered. “It was an accid—”
Tien called over to the Obas soldiers guarding the entryway to the hangar. “Seize the Blenej pilot. We’ll have to hold him here until my mission is complete. I can’t risk him saying anything that might tip off the Udek. Intentionally or not.”
As the two guards approached, Maxal dropped into a fighting stance—prepared to resist.
Tien released Brother Ryll and shoved him away. “Relax, Captain Maxal. No one is going to hurt you. But I can’t allow you to leave after what you just heard. You�
�ll be a guest of the Obas for a few weeks.”
“Like hell I will,” Maxal snapped.
The guards halted just out of reach of the large, and very angry Blenej. They leveled their weapons at him.
“Listen to reason, Maxal,” Tien said calmly. He gestured at the Obas soldiers. “Even if you get past them, which I doubt, I promise that you won’t get by me. Don’t let this damaged arm fool you, I will take you down. And even if by some miracle you did manage to get away, do you really think you can make it back to the surface? And then off the planet and into space? Think, Maxal. You will be captured or destroyed—without question. There is no escape from the Obas system.”
“Probably not.” Maxal smiled. “But it might be fun trying.”
More Obas soldiers ran into the room. Most pointed their weapons at Maxal, joining the two guards to completely encircle him. But two of them took up positions near the hangar door and knelt down; both extended sniper rifles and sighted in on Maxal’s chest. He took a hard look around, and then Maxal finally accepted that he was trapped in a no-win situation. He relaxed his stance and stood upright.
“The pay was too damn good,” he said, mostly to himself. “I should have known that something like this would happen.”
“No one is going to hurt you,” Tien repeated.
“You’ll forgive me if I don’t take the word of a known Udek assassin for that,” Maxal replied.
“Then take the word of an Obas officer,” one of the new arrivals said. “No harm will come to you, Blenej. You’ll be released and escorted off this planet when Tien completes his task. I promise you.”
