Zega continued ardently, “Despite this unfortunate situation, we must continue where Liam left off. I once asked you to support me should the time come. That time has arrived.”
Saturn removed her hands from beneath her chin and placed them on the table palms down, feeling the intricate designs sporadically carved into the surface. They reminded her of the many statues and murals on Garuda’s moon at the Temple of Re. Dozens of beasts from Dinari legend fighting their way across what must have been a one-of-a-kind piece. Saturn regarded the corpulent Dinari with disgust flavoring her mouth, his pungent odor a constant reminder of Saturn’s hatred for him.
“Does this mean you’re going to let us in on what Liam’s been doing for you these past few months?”
“I suppose there’s no choice now. I expect you both know that war is on the horizon. Toras’ regime is crumbling, slipping between his fingers. It’s time to act.”
“So you have been arming the Dinari,” Nix said, trailing off.
“You’re focusing on a small part of the equation,” Zega hedged. “Why I’ve called you here is because I need help with another, somewhat related matter.”
Saturn was growing frustrated with Zega’s stalling and seethed, “Spit it out, I have better places I could be.”
“Apologies,” Zega replied, feigning remorse. “I need you to go to the Council of Elders on my behalf.”
“Why?” Nix asked, taken aback.
“I plan to unite the sectors under one leader. The elders are to understand that their positions will remain, but they will answer to this new position.”
“Enter Zega.”
“The process will be democratic, but should I be offered the position, I would of course accept it with the utmost reluctance.”
Saturn asked, “If I do this, will our debt be cleared?”
Zega considered her question and nodded, no less than six chins rippling with the motion.
Nix held up a clawed finger and said, “Saturn, wait. Can I see you outside for a—”
“Done,” Saturn said, accepting Zega’s request. She turned to Nix and said, “I’m tired of being indebted to a man like him. When this is over, we’re leaving.”
Zega laughed from his belly, a deep sonorous noise that made the single floating globe flicker overhead.
“Where will you go? Have you forgotten? That ship you traipse around in belongs to me. This roof belongs to me.”
“We’ll see,” Saturn said, rising from the stone table and circling it toward the exit.
Before she could reach it, the door burst open and bright light shined through the entryway.
Saturn saw the outline of a Dinari female and relaxed.
“Sestra,” she said, squinting. “What are you doing here?”
Zega spoke up first. “Sestra will accompany you to the council chambers. They are to meet in one hour. Unfortunately, I will not be in attendance due to a prior engagement.”
Nix stood up from the table and regarded Zega, anger beginning to bubble up and pour out of him.
“Before we go, I’d like a word alone,” Nix said.
“You won’t be going, Nix my boy. I have another job that needs your attention. Go on now, do as you’re told,” Zega shooed Saturn and Sestra with a dismissive gesture.
Saturn clenched her fists, digging her nails into her palms and pushed past Sestra to the stairwell up to the main floor. She didn’t stop until she was out on the sandy street, the sun sapping her anger and replacing it with fatigue. A strong wind blew a swath of sand into her face and she turned her back to it. Moments later, Sestra joined her. The Dinari placed a hand on her shoulder; what was supposed to have been a comforting gesture felt patronizing at best.
“We all have our burdens to bear.”
Saturn shrugged off Sestra’s hand and retorted, “I don’t want this burden. We’re helping a monster. If we help him take this colony we won’t be helping the Dinari at all. We’ll only be helping Zega.”
Sestra ran one of her clawed fingers lightly across Saturn’s forehead, brushing aside the stray hairs that had escaped her tight ponytail. Sestra’s orb-like eyes were piercing in the light from the sun, her vertical pupils barely discernable from their golden glow. Her raspy voice was oddly comforting to Saturn. So odd, in fact, that it put her on edge.
“Don’t worry. All will be put right in the end. I swear it.”
Saturn shook her head and took off toward the alley that led to the back of the bar. There, several hover bikes were lined up against the wall outside. The corrugated metal door leading to Zega’s small workshop was shut tight. Sestra followed her at a respectable distance as though wary of setting her off. If Saturn was going to live with herself after this was over, she needed a plan. Her crew needed to be free from Zega’s debt without him taking control of the colony. There had to be a middle ground.
18
Astrid eased off the accelerator and let her hover bike slow down to a crawl. It was mid-afternoon and Sector Seven’s market was writhing with Dinari traders. She pulled her patterned scarf higher up over her nose, brown geometric shapes inlaid in the fabric that complemented the tattoos which crawled up her neck. She tilted the hood of her cloak down to obstruct her face in shadow. Astrid’s thick cloak hid most of her curves and would help her to blend into the crowd, or so she hoped. Now wasn’t the time to start a scene. The sun was too hot for what she was wearing, and sweat dripped down her face, soaking into the sand-colored fabric covering her cheeks.
Despite her dense clothing, one person still found her attractive. Ju-Long had maintained a sensual grip on her waist throughout the entire ride. She felt her heart pump as his muscular body pressed up against hers. Astrid couldn’t take much more of his teasing. If she wasn’t trying to keep a low profile, she might have taken him in a back alley right then. No, the risks were too high. Though it was immensely difficult, she tried to bear in mind the gravity of the situation. Liam’s life hung in the balance, and if they didn’t find answers soon it might be too late to catch the person responsible.
The crowded market spilled out from the alleyways where merchants traded vegetables and strips of meat for favors. From what Astrid had heard about the markets, most favors amounted to the straight trade of goods. It was only when one trader had nothing the other wanted that things got interesting. They were passing through a central square that connected two main roads of tightly-packed sand, a number of alleyways jutting out in a hub and spoke pattern from the center.
In the middle of the square stood a bronzed statue of an Ansaran Caretaker, centuries removed from the present. Astrid recognized him immediately from her history lessons. He was Rheyll Ansara, the first Caretaker of Garuda Colony. Unlike his successors, he was universally regarded as just and fair by Ansarans and Dinari alike. He was said to walk among the Dinari without escort, helping to mend the wounded who returned from the long war. Though his exploits were remembered by the Ansarans, Astrid never knew why so few followed his example. Relations with the Dinari had never fared better than during his reign.
Astrid broke free of a mass of Dinari and sped around the edge of the square, weaving between the stands and the gaggle of pedestrians until they were in the clear once more. Ju-Long tugged on the back of her cloak. He might have been yelling to her, but with the whipping wind and her thick hood it was difficult to make out anything but the whistle of the sandy air.
Astrid pulled to the side of the road and decelerated, halting her vehicle next to a two-story clay building, windows boarded up with roughly cut planks. She turned and regarded Ju-Long, whose hand reached for the cloth covering his mouth. He pulled down his pallid red scarf and let it hang around his neck.
“Did you see what I saw back there?”
Astrid thought back. She had been focused on the statue of Rheyll, disregarding the rest of the square. She shook her head.
“There were a thousand Dinari in that square but not a single Ansaran guard. Have you ever seen that?”
“No,” Astrid said after a moment. “Where did they all go?”
The hover bike’s console lit up and alerted Astrid to an incoming call with a series of loud beeps and flashing lights. She turned to it and flipped a narrow yellow switch below the screen. A stressed out Dinari stared back at her, his golden eyes sunken in and tired.
“Nix,” Astrid said, surprised. She continued as professionally as she could, given their lack of rapport, “How can I be of service?”
“I wouldn’t be calling if it weren’t urgent. I need your help,” the Dinari said reluctantly. “Ju-Long too. Zega’s made a request and we really shouldn’t refuse this one.”
Ju-Long looked over Astrid’s shoulder at the Dinari and asked, “What do you need us to do?”
“It will be dusk soon enough. Meet me near the Sector Eight spire in one hour. Keep out of sight until I arrive. I’ll explain everything then.”
Astrid considered the Dinari carefully. His voice was hurried but his golden eyes betrayed a sense of fear and reticence. Finally, Astrid nodded and replied, “We’re on our way.”
“Take the alleyways, avoid contact with Ansaran patrols.”
Astrid and Ju-Long made eye contact and she told the Dinari, “We haven’t seen any in a while now. Too long.”
“Then it’s already begun. Just get to that spire and make sure you’re armed.”
Nix cut the feed, leaving Astrid staring at the console, bewildered. Whatever they were about to do, it didn’t sound like they were going to be keeping a low profile any longer. Not that they really had been in the first place.
“Maybe we’ll finally get some action,” Ju-Long said.
“You just beat the hell out of three Ansarans today.”
“You’re right, it has been a bit slow.”
•
Nix fumbled around behind the bar, searching under the stone top with his clawed hands. He felt around until his fingers wrapped around a circular metal disc, about half the size of his palm and as flat as one of his scales. Nix examined it in his hand, flipping it over and pressing his thumb down on the center, releasing something mechanical within.
The center of the disc spiraled out, projecting an orange hologram up half a meter above his hand. Nix had kept copious records while working in the Caretaker’s spire, all of which were stored on discs similar to the one which he now held. The image before him was one of the dozens of spires scattered around Garuda Colony. To the untrained eye it might have been any of them. Nix, however, knew how to tell them apart. It was one of the benefits of being a spy.
With his left hand, he manipulated the image, zooming in on the upper levels. He turned the hologram until he saw it. The spire had a top level much like the Caretaker’s suite, with hardened glass covering every centimeter of the wall from floor to ceiling. Just above this, the tower started to curve inward, sloping up into a point. On this domed surface was the Mark of the Maker. The Ansaran symbol was a conglomeration of the glyph of House Ansara and the first name of the chief architect. Without this symbol, the outside of each tower was nearly indistinguishable from any other. It was only inside that the architects were usually allowed certain liberties. What better way to hide something than in plain sight?
Nix pressed his thumb on the center once more and the hologram dissipated, the metal disc morphing back into its original state. The blueprints were there, just as he’d left them. Keeping them all in one place would be foolish. Nix was smarter than that. Not even Zega, with his thousand eyes and ears, would be able to find them all. And for good reason.
Nix slipped the disc into the inside pocket of his roughly sewn cloak. As it always seemed to go, he was short on time. Zega sure had a way of telling Nix the important things when it was almost too late to make a difference. Surely it was on purpose this time. Still, if they hurried, they might stand a chance at dealing the crippling blow the Ansarans deserved.
19
Saturn stepped up to a circular platform in the center of a great hall, the floors and walls cut from worn stone. Above her, the high ceiling curved in, creating the semblance of a cathedral formed through sheer natural erosion. The building, if one could call it that, stood at the edge of the colony to the north near a rocky range of mountains that jutted from the desert like the fingers of a partially-buried giant. She couldn’t imagine how many years it took to carve the hall from the rock. It must have been in use for centuries, because every angle of the rock was smooth from wear and the passage of time.
The platform before her stood at the top of a large set of stairs, a gap between it and another much larger platform that spread around her in a semi-circle. Seated at the stone table which rose up from the larger platform were twenty-three of the twenty-four elders, each a representative chosen from their sector. Only Zega was missing.
Elder was a pleasant term for the muttering men sitting all around her, where ancient might have suited them better. Zega was far younger than the rest, leading Saturn to question how he’d come by the position in the first place if such advanced age appeared to be a prerequisite for holding office. She couldn’t help but note that there were no women on the Council of Elders. She’d hoped she would have been able to appeal to at least one of them by way of common ground. Sestra stood directly behind her, seemingly wary about being in the Hall of the Elders. Saturn felt like a child interrupting her parents’ dinner party.
The aged Dinari at the center of the group stood, bracing his hands against the stone table for support as he rose. Saturn could hear his back crack several times as he stood upright. The other members fell silent, waiting in anticipation. As far as Saturn was aware, each of the elders was equal. However, a certain reverence was held for the Dinari before her. His scaled skin was leathery, even more so than Elder Bartle’s. His faint yellow eyes seemed to have lost all of their shimmer. He looked down on her skeptically and spoke with a frail voice that might once have boomed from his chest in the cavernous chamber.
“Outsiders have never stepped foot inside these walls. What is the meaning of this?”
Saturn looked around at the other elders, each as cynical and cagey as the one who had just spoken. She’d expected to see the worn-out medicine man Bartle, but he was not one of the twenty-four elders on the council. Perhaps, she thought, the term was an honorific for important members of society. Or, perhaps her translation chip was busted.
“We’ve been sent as Zega’s envoys. He apologizes that he will not be in attendance today.”
“He must take his role on this council seriously to send us such obviously qualified individuals,” he seethed with palpable sarcasm, “Could he find no man in his employ to deliver this message?”
Several of the other council members laughed their feeble laughs. Saturn got the feeling the ones who didn’t were hard of hearing. Behind her, she heard a low hiss protesting the elder’s slight. Sestra wasn’t pleased. Saturn felt her fingertips instinctively gravitate toward the weapon at her hip, but thought better of it just as her fingers grazed the grip. She clenched her fist until it was shaking with her boundless fury. Perhaps worse than their bigotry, Zega must have known the elders would react in such a way and yet he sent them anyway.
“Perhaps all of the men have succumbed to the Phage, too weak to survive such a mild cold.”
There was a collective gasp and the elder at the center of the table squinted his eyes with his loathing. That would leave a bad taste in his mouth, Saturn thought.
“You make light of a serious affliction, Outsider. The sickness has been gone for decades. Your lies will not stand in this chamber.”
Saturn took a step forward so that one of the glowing orbs overhead cast light directly down onto her face, casting shadows beneath her high cheekbones.
“The Ansarans have made their move while you cower in this chamber. The only one who’s got the guts to act is the one not present.”
Saturn felt disgusted with herself. She was emboldening a revulsive person and lying for him as well
. The only thing that made her keep talking was seeing the shocked looks on the elders’ faces. She feared the lengths she would go to shock them.
“The Dinari Phage is no more. Go peddle your lies someplace else,” an elder to Saturn’s right said in a feeble voice.
“It is back and I’ve seen it with my own eyes,” Saturn said, this time more adamantly because she really had seen it firsthand. “Not just that, it’s crossed species and infected one of my race. Elder Bartle is treating him now.”
Several of the elders murmured to one another. Saturn heard Elder Bartle’s name thrown around under the breath of many of the council members. His name seemed to carry some weight.
The elder at the center finally asked, “If true, why could Zega not join us on this day of all days?”
Sestra stepped up beside Saturn and said, “Zega is busy dealing with the outbreak in Sector Seven. Quarantines have been put in place. He has asked us to bring forward a proposal for your consideration.”
“What proposal?”
Sestra continued, “The streets have been littered with violence for the past several months. The Caretaker’s hold on this colony is slipping. Soon, whether you’d have it or not, that growing violence will turn to an extended conflict, even outright war. Toras’ regime will topple. If the Dinari aren’t strong and united, those faceless masses will cause chaos beyond reckoning.”
The council’s spokesperson grew increasingly agitated.
“For one so young, you presume much. There has always been violence in Garuda Colony. Give the criminals a voice and a face and they will only create more trouble.”
“You lot would hide in this chamber while the colony burns,” Sestra seethed before rasping in a tone of finality, “Cowards.”
The elders moved uncomfortably in their seats, and Sestra continued relentlessly, “Zega proposes another way. Whatever you think of the man, hear this. There are twenty-four elders in Garuda Colony and not a Dinari among them that can lead all of the sectors from this crisis. Save one.”
The Corsair Uprising Collection, Books 1-3 Page 41
