“Today you have bared your naivety for all to see. You have exposed your ignorance and condemned your own people to suffer. You will not know health, nor purity, nor peace. You will not lead the Dinari. You’re incapable of doing so. You will not speak for us. Your voices are feeble and weak. If you will not stand for your people, then someone must.”
The members of the Council stared back, slack-jawed and horrified. Saturn couldn’t believe her ears. Sestra turned and brushed heatedly past Saturn. Her raspy voice called out, “Come on Saturn, if we want justice, we’ll have to make our own.”
22
Atop the tallest spire in the Colony, Toras, Caretaker of Garuda Colony, surveyed the approaching torrent. The wall of sand had finally breached the city limits. His Ansaran Guard was scrambling to protect the more sensitive areas of the colony. The spires would hold their own as they always had. There were, however, dozens of Ansaran assets that would not fare so well if left unattended. They might survive the sand, but not the looters. For Toras, there was no worse part to being Caretaker. With so much that could go wrong, these were the times that tested his resolve.
He whipped his ragged, sandy cape around as he turned away from the window. The patchy piece of cloth had served as a reminder of where he’d come from, but lately it seemed no more than a nuisance. Toras removed the armor at his shoulders as he made his way to his oversized stone desk, clinking them down on the solid surface and plopping down onto his stone chair. He loosened the leather buckle at his side and pulled off his tan chest plate, letting it fall to the marble floor beside him. He would be holed up in the spire for hours so he might as well get comfortable. Toras let out a huff of exasperation.
Where had he gone wrong? He’d kept his promise to that rake Liam Kidd. The Human’s ward was protected as promised, but was Liam holding up his end? His assurances of quelling the rising anger amongst the Dinari may have been more talk than action. Any reduction in animosity was short-lived. Now there were reports that he’d been running around with Vidu, his own head of security. Toras had never forgotten that it was the Ansaran High Council’s idea to install Vidu in his regime, probably to spy on him. But what choice did he have? Refusing the High Council’s orders would be suicide.
Toras heard a door creaking and turned to see one of his household guards approaching, the three diagonal lines of House Zumora emblazoned on the chest plate over his heart. His oblong helmet was cradled in his arm, a glinting object held tightly in his other hand. The guard’s gaunt face was not lean from lack of nutrition, but rather from the genetics that pervaded all within Zumora clan. His high cheekbones cast deep shadows below them such that in the dimming light of the Caretaker’s chamber, his face appeared even grimmer.
The Ansaran’s armor was modeled after Toras’ own. Sharp edges and deep grooves separated each plate, allowing maximum freedom of movement without degrading the menacing appeal of the serrated bits. Unfortunately, the sand on Garuda found its way more easily into their armor than with the standard issue Ansaran armor. Toras could smell the sediment and salt coming off the man’s garb. The sandstorms always brought a distinctive sulfuric smell along with them.
“What is it, Ryle?” Toras asked, not unkindly.
“Sorry to disturb you, Caretaker. The High Council has requested your presence.”
Not now, Toras thought. They’d been badgering him for weeks about the unrest on the colony. However, his placement as Caretaker had been a temporary one until a more suitable replacement for Ragnar could be found. Someone from House Ansara, to be sure.
“Are they waiting?”
“Yes, Cousin.”
Ryle frowned. He was never as shrewd as Toras when they were young. From early on it was clear the order of prestige that would be bestowed upon them both. Unlike the other clans, House Zumora was more concerned with performance than station. In any other House, Ryle might have been destined to lead the family because of the extra year he had on Toras. But Ryle was never much of a fighter. He wore the armor and he played the part, but he was soft inside. Despite that, Ryle was a good man. Loyal and trustworthy. Toras always found himself growing calm when his cousin was around.
“Best not keep them waiting.”
Ryle placed the shiny object in a slot at the end of the long stone desk. It was absorbed into the surface and lit up with purple light, which traveled down through a channel along the floor into a large circle several meters away, stopping every so often to light up individual circles a meter each in diameter. The light continued to pulse along its trail until twelve circles were lit in all.
Toras stood up from his chair and ambled around his desk to the center of the twelve circles, taking his time so he could rehearse what he was about to tell them. The unrest was hardly his fault, but he had everything under control. No matter what the Dinari thought, their trivial rebellion was a dream. Toras still had cards to play.
He stood at the center of the ring of purple light and signaled Ryle. His cousin placed a finger on the center of the disc and light projected up from the channels of light, forming bright cylinders of energy. Full body holograms of all twelve members of the Ansaran High Council surrounded him. Toras hardened himself to face the inevitable.
23
“Pass me that charge.”
Nix pointed to the bag in Astrid’s hands. She handed him the small rectangular explosive and the Dinari placed it at the base of a support pillar. They’d been ascending the servant’s staircase of the Sector Eight spire for nearly twenty minutes and were beginning to run out of charges. So far the tower had been deserted. Astrid had never been in a spire before, but she’d imagined them to be bustling with Ansarans and Dinari alike. Instead, it was abandoned.
“Where is everyone?” Astrid asked.
“That’s why I was late. I was able to warn the Dinari in the spire to get out by sending a signal from our ship.”
“What about the Ansarans?”
“They’ll be guarding weapons depots and the hangars. This is Vidu’s spire and my intel says he’ll be out for a short time. He never leaves. We won’t get this opportunity again. With any luck, the Ansarans will be spread thin.”
Ju-Long set another charge and asked, “And if we’re unlucky?”
“You’re always looking for a fight, aren’t you?”
Ju-Long smiled and picked up his pace. Sometimes Astrid wondered how he had such boundless energy. They’d been climbing for what seemed an awful long time and he wasn’t showing any signs of fatigue. In fact, the thought of a good fight seemed to energize him, keeping him engaged on their mission. It inspired her to see someone so focused. Ansaran men who’d been handed everything in life bored her.
Astrid looked out a window as they passed. She was having trouble making out the features on the ground now. Everything looked to be one big blur, the sand dashing any hope of determining their altitude. Surely they were approaching the top. The muscles in her legs burned and she tightened her grip on Nix’s bag to change focus, her leather gloves making a distinctive creaking noise.
Nix set the last charge at the base of a pillar and stood back to admire his work. His smug face was hard to look at, but Astrid swallowed her pride and smiled back pleasantly.
“What now?” she asked.
“Now we get out of here while our luck holds.”
“We’re not going down all of those stairs are we?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Nix berated her. “We have a ride.”
Nix continued up the staircase and approached a dead end, a rock wall blocking their path. It looked thick like it was a part of the very stone that supported the structure. Neither Ju-Long nor Nix appeared surprised or disturbed. If she wasn’t so winded she might have voiced her concern. Instead, Astrid’s hands found their way to her hips and she sucked in the stale air in big gusts, letting it out just as quickly.
The Dinari wasn’t sweating but his tongue hung from his mouth, dripping in a clear froth. Whatever made that trait desirable
to pass on rather than sweat glands Astrid would never know. Despite her feelings about her own species’ habits in genetic meddling, at least they’d gotten that bit right.
Nix placed the palm of his scaly hand against the stone, running it along the surface until his fingers grazed a small notch, imperceptible unless one knew where it was. With a single claw he pushed it in and the stone slowly retreated toward the center of the spire.
Nix drew his Ansaran laser pistol and held it out in front of him. “Whatever happens, keep moving toward the main chamber.”
Ju-Long retrieved his crescent-shaped Dinari energy weapon and Astrid followed suit. She gripped the handle of her pistol tight, her heart pumping and thumping faster than ever.
•
Toras spun in a slow circle, making eye contact with each member of the Ansaran High Council and rendering a slight bow of the head, as was customary. When he finished the greeting ritual, his gaze fell on Chancellor Nala, a rather effeminate man whose demeanor could flip with little effort. One moment he was on your side, the next you’d wonder if he was ever truly so. He was the smallest of the council members, a whole head shorter than Toras, but his projection was magnified to make him appear much larger than life.
Chancellor Nala cleared his throat and lowered his gaze on Toras. The Caretaker knelt down on one knee, his tattered cape brushing against the stone floor. Toras hated this part. Even before he was the Caretaker he despised acting in deference to anyone. The members of the proud House Zumora were saddled with his same aversion to submissiveness. There was a time when House Zumora had almost overtaken House Ansara, but that was long before the war. Now his house was of a much lower station and every account of the events that led to their demise varied. Still, there were stories told to him as a child that filled his head with pride to that very day.
His father used to tell he and his cousin Ryle about Sylas Zumora, General of the Ansaran Fleet during the darkest years of the war. It was Sylas that led the assault against the Corsairs; Sylas that led his people to safety. Not a member of House Ansara. And yet they took the credit. Toras feared he too would be cast aside like the rest of his family. He’d gained too much power.
“Your calling is unexpected,” Toras began hesitantly. “How may I assist you?”
“Toras of House Zumora. You have served honorably in the place of Ragnar during these times of strife. For that, this Council recognizes you.”
Toras lowered his eyes and replied, “Thank you, Chancellor.”
“The Kraven push closer to Ansara every day, and we must ensure every colony remains secure to repel the threat.”
Toras nodded silently. He didn’t like where this was going.
“However,” Chancellor Nala said, his high-pitched voice taking on a cutting tone.
Toras’ eyes moved up the purple hologram of the oversized man, landing on his inscrutable face.
Chancellor Nala continued, “A more suitable match for the position of Caretaker has drawn our attention. Garuda Colony is on the verge of crumbling and it needs a hand much firmer than yours.”
There was a scream in the hallway outside, muffled by the thick chamber doors. Toras felt his mouth go dry. He turned to his cousin Ryle, who nodded and drew his weapon, striding confidently toward the entrance. The double-doors burst open and half a dozen crimson lasers lit up the room. Ryle could only fire once before being pierced by multiple beams. Toras watched him fall to his knees, blood trailing down his sandy armor. His gaunt face contorted in pain before he let out one final, bloody cough and collapsed onto his side.
Toras pounded his hands on the stone floor, rage filling his voice as he screamed. Six Ansarans, his former Guard, surrounded him with their weapons drawn, daring him to move. He heard loud footsteps click and clack outside the door, moving slowly but purposefully. Around the corner ambled Vidu, his head of security.
When Vidu drew close he said casually, “It seems being head of security is a better stepping stone than either of us expected.”
Chancellor Nala’s hologram turned to regard Vidu. “I trust the arrangements are in order?”
Vidu dropped to one knee and replied, “Yes, Chancellor. The transition was as smooth as expected.”
“Good, see that Toras is shown a cell suitable for his station.”
“As you command.”
The guards approached Toras from all sides. He didn’t resist. Power drained from his fists and his arms hung loosely at his sides. What was the point? Without the Council’s blessing, even if he could regain control, his power would be fiat. Garuda Colony would become a target of the Alliance and they would stop receiving aid. A true Caretaker puts the needs of his people first.
The guards helped him onto his feet and bound his hands together with a wire that snapped around his wrists magnetically. He felt the metal grind into his wrists as the magnetic field grew in its cyclic power. Toras knew from his time in security that if he tried to remove the wire he would be electrocuted. However, he never thought he’d see the day when he himself would be in such a bind.
They walked him toward Vidu and stopped so they were only a meter apart from one another. Vidu’s large black eyes searched Toras’ expression. He puffed out his chest, his dazzling white armor almost as reflective as the resplendent chain which connected his shoulder guards. His once pristine white cape had become touched by sand, a fact that did not escape Toras.
“Are you not surprised?” Vidu asked in his haughty voice.
Toras regarded the new Caretaker and then turned to the looming figure of Chancellor Nala.
“I’m never surprised by the lengths to which House Ansara will go in order to retain their power. No matter how foolish.”
Vidu backhanded him with his spiked white glove, drawing blood at Toras’ lip, though the proud former Caretaker did not budge from his position.
“Do not speak ill of your superiors.”
Toras spat out a glob of blood and replied, “I’m a man of honor. I never would.”
Vidu wound up to hit him again but stopped. The spire began to sway under their feet. Out the large bay window Toras could see explosions at the base of the adjacent spire, traveling quickly up from the base.
Chancellor Nala demanded, “What is it? What do you see?”
“The Sector Eight spire is under attack.”
Toras didn’t stifle his resounding laugh. Vidu ignored him and ran to the window, gazing out into the sandy mess below. Toras’ stomach turned. He wanted to be sure that no Ansarans had been killed in the blasts, but he found himself laughing even harder regardless, his crazed cackle the only sound which echoed throughout the bewildered chamber.
24
Astrid struggled to maintain balance as the blasts began to rise up the spire, making the stone floor crack and splinter. She fired a few more laser blasts at the two remaining Ansarans hiding behind one of the pillars, missing her mark. The bodies of almost a dozen Ansarans were strewn about the main chamber. Their assault had caught them completely off guard. Nix had just triggered the charges and was now fumbling with a circular device in his hand.
“Where’s that ride you were talking about?” Astrid called to him.
“Just a few more seconds.”
Ju-Long fired a shot at a pillar, sending a large chunk flying off. A single crack began to form along it vertically. The floor shook as he fired again, the laser flying off past its mark and shattering the bay window on the opposite side of the room. Sand swirled into the main chamber in large gusts, the maelstrom’s rage palpable.
The two remaining Ansaran guards tried to make for the door but Ju-Long and Astrid’s lasers found them first. It was a more merciful death than being crushed by rock, Astrid thought. The floor’s violent shaking intensified and Astrid struggled to make it over to her Dinari crewmate a few meters away.
“How long?”
“Now,” he yelled.
Astrid’s eyes widened as she gazed out the window. A shadow approached through the wall
of sand. It was closing fast and it didn’t seem to be slowing down. Nix used the metallic control in his hand to force the ship into the remaining bay of windows, its curved underside shattering the glass in all directions. Shards swirled around in an unpredictable cyclone. Astrid covered her face with her arms, her cloak taking the brunt of the flying glass. Still, a few pieces managed to make it through her thick garment and graze her scaled skin. She winced and gritted her teeth, trying not to focus on the wounds.
Nix’s ship had the appearance of a squat beetle on the bottom, with a nose that came to a menacing point. Its copper color blended in with the wall of sand behind it. A pair of metallic wings were folded back, ready to open at a moment’s notice. The hodgepodge of repair pieces that were welded onto the frame reminded Astrid of the Long War, where every ship was used and reused long after it should have been retired.
The ship’s ramp clanked down on the marble floor and Nix yelled over the ruckus, “Go!”
Ju-Long was the closest to the ramp and climbed aboard, hugging the metal piston at the bottom of the platform and holding out his hand for Astrid to grab hold. She could see the building move and quake independently of the ship and grew woozy. Nix pushed her forward and she found her legs, struggling to the ramp. The rushing sand pelted her exposed face as Ju-Long helped her up into the bowels of the ship. At the top of the ramp, Nix hit a red button to his left and the ramp’s pistons went to work, closing the hatch and leaving an inch of sand in the hold for several meters in every direction. The grains began sifting down into the cracks of the grated floor plates, with thin lines of sand mounded atop the lattices.
Nix yelled throughout the cargo bay, “Get us out of here!”
Along the walls and ceiling Astrid saw channels of purple energy flow toward the engine room. Without further warning, the ship shot forward. Astrid locked her fingers into the floor grates and held on as her body slipped on the layer of shifting sand. Nix couldn’t keep his balance and fell into a side wall as the ship turned sharply. Ju-Long held onto Astrid’s hand, fighting to remain by her side.
The Corsair Uprising Collection, Books 1-3 Page 43
