by Dan Schiro
Orion’s mismatched eyes narrowed. “So what do you want with us?”
Again she shook her helmeted head. “I wouldn’t say it’s an ‘us’ thing.” Her faceless gaze wandered away from Orion for a moment and inspected his companions. “Though I have to admit, you’ve assembled quite the crew — the Exile of the Green and the last vycart battle beast.” She looked back at Orion with a tilt of her head. “Impressive.”
“Flatterer,” Aurelia said drily.
“Answer his question,” Kangor said. His muscles continued to swell as his body’s undifferentiated cell clusters kicked into overdrive, but it was no use against the stasis field. “Why have you trapped us?”
“I’m trying to tell you, I’m not here for you or you,” she snapped at Orion’s companions. “I’m here for you, Orion Grimslade III. Do you mind if we speak in private?”
Sparks gathered at the tip of her sword, and a forked bolt of lightning struck out to electrify Aurelia and Kangor. They screamed for a few moments as the crackling snakes crawled over their bodies, and then they fell limp in their shimmering stasis fields.
“I’ll kill you when I get free,” Orion growled as he strained to look left and right at his friends. “I swear, I’ll kill you.”
“Relax, I just stunned them.” She called her sword back into her gauntlet and took a step closer to Orion. “You and I need to talk, and I didn’t want beauty and the beast interrupting us.”
“What could we possibly have to talk about?” Orion spat. “I don’t even know who you are.”
“These days, I go by LaVal. LaVal LaVoy.” She glanced at Orion’s manacite gauntlet and the silver sword he clutched. “Now… we should talk about that spellblade of yours.”
“Go to hell.”
LaVal nodded. “You could probably send me there, if I hadn’t soaked up every last bit of blood magic from these fanatics. That’s the Blade of the Word, isn’t it?”
“So what if it is?”
“It is. That blade’s a damn legend.” She put her hands on her hips and seemed to think for a moment. “That means… well, it had to be him. Crag Dur Rokis Crag trained you in the ways of the Guild.”
As rarely happened, Orion’s poker face failed him. “How could you…?”
LaVal laughed. “And the Masters really thought he was dead. Well… wow. Any chance you’ll tell me where the heretic is now?”
“Sure.” Orion didn’t even bother lying — she clearly knew more about his mentor than he did. “He’s buried under a pile of rocks on Khanpara Guha.”
“I see.” LaVal shrugged. “Still, that changes nothing. You have the Blade of the Word, and you’ve proven yourself adept in the ways of the Guild. The Masters have sent me here to make you an offer. Join us.”
Orion forced a cocky smirk. “You say that like I should know what you’re talking about.”
LaVal stepped back, shaking her head. “Crag Dur Rokis Crag told you nothing,” she said after a moment. “The training without the philosophy, without the purpose, without the Guild…” She seemed staggered by the transgression.
“What are you talking about?” Orion snapped. “What guild?”
LaVal remained quiet for a moment. “I suppose I should explain.” She paced slowly in front of him, gesturing with her hands as she spoke. “The official name, the name that’s older than your friend the Exile there, is the Shaman’s Guild of the Blood Nebula’s First Church of Eternity’s Kiss. No one has really called it that in centuries. If it’s whispered about at all, it’s usually called the Assassins Guild, or just the Guild.”
“Never heard of it.” Orion tried to look nonplussed. “Sounds like a cult.”
“There was religion at the start, all those millennia ago,” LaVal conceded with a nod. “But we’re nothing like these Dawnstar zealots today, not really. You see, despite the fact that almost no one still breathing has heard of the Guild, we’ve been manipulating galactic events for thousands upon thousands of years.”
“By assassinating people?” Orion rolled his eyes. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“Sometimes it’s through an investment in a shell company, or a scholarship for an orphan on a backwater planet.” She shrugged. “But sometimes we have to give the galaxy what it needs by way of blade and gun. We’ve killed galactic warlords and petty thugs. High-level diplomats, captains of industry, despots, inventors on the verge of discovery. Schoolchildren, you name it. The point is this — if you take out the right person at the right time, you can bend the river of history in your direction, to your aims.”
“Which are?” Orion’s smirk slipped into a snarl for a moment. “I mean, just explain it to me like I’m crazy enough to believe that a shadowy organization is pulling the galaxy’s strings behind the scenes. What is it your Guild wants?”
“Many things, small and large.”
“So… money.” Orion rolled his eyes. “You could have just said ‘money.’”
“We do become fabulously wealthy,” she admitted casually. “A side effect of knowing where the galaxy is going, I suppose. But it’s not about money.” LaVal seemed to consider her words carefully. “Simply put, the Guild wants stability, and the right kind of stability for the future of galactic civilization. Isn’t the greater good worth a few lives, here and there?”
“The greater good has been used to justify a lot of terrible things,” Orion said. “And who decides who dies? Who decided Zovaco Ralli — the rare politician who actually wants to help people — who decided he had to die?”
“It doesn’t always make sense, at first,” LaVal said with a nod. “The Guild’s purpose is easy to understand when you’re sent to kill a tyrant who has used atomics against his own people.” She hesitated for a moment, her reflective faceplate hiding any hint to her feelings. “Sometimes the job is harder, when the target is a civil rights leader trying to end child labor on the moons of Duragnarok. But the Oracle is never wrong, if you watch the dominos fall.”
“The Oracle,” Orion laughed. “I thought you said you weren’t superstitious fanatics like these Dawnstar losers.”
She took a step closer to his stasis field and raised her chin. “I’m not talking about wish-fulfillment stories scratched on parchment. The Oracle is tapped into something as powerful as the Maker Rings and as elegant as the spellblade in your hand.” She stepped back and heaved an exasperated breath. “I can’t explain all of that right now, and you have to meet the Oracle to truly understand. But make no mistake, Orion Grimslade — Zovaco Ralli must die before he is elected to Parliament. That will happen, whether you decide to join us or not.”
“Oh,” Orion laughed, “I’m decided.”
She held up a hand. “Don’t answer now. Think about it.”
“Seriously, I have your answer.” He let his smiling mask fall away to show LaVal the cold rage beneath. “Why don’t you let me down, and I’ll give it to you?”
LaVal shook her head. “No. I don’t want you to do something you won’t live to regret.” She turned, walked to the desk and snatched up the Kalifa of Light’s severed spellblade gauntlet. “Just think about whether you’d rather be a servant to this galaxy or one of its masters.” Sparks crackled in her manacite-swathed palm, and she touched the sparks to the severed spellblade gauntlet. The bodiless fingers straightened, and with a flash of aqueous light, a portal opened behind the steel desk.
“What are you doing?” Orion shouted over the gale of wind that blasted out of the rippling, aqua-tinted gash in the face of reality. “No, no, fight me! Let me down, let’s do this!”
LaVal looked back and shook her head. “Not today, Orion.” She stepped toward the portal carrying the durok’s arm. “The next time I see you, you’ll join us or die.”
“Face me,” Orion cried as she crossed the wavering threshold. Through the portal, Orion saw a dim room where hazy creatures sat behind a high, b
lack table. LaVal stepped forward and look up at the strange faces for a moment, and then the portal collapsed. Just seconds later the shimmering stasis fields evaporated, dropping Orion and his unconscious comrades to the floor.
“Face me,” Orion muttered into the empty air. “Face me and die.”
Chapter 18
In the aftermath of the Kalifa of Light’s death, the Star Sentry was called to the nearest SpaceCorps base for a full report, Zovaco’s campaign schedule be damned. Orion and his team watched the approach to Kovac Station from an observation lounge, and he found himself awed by the concentration of military might. The free-floating, bowl-shaped stronghold measured nearly as large as a small moon, with thousands of diamond-glass windows and billions of tons of nano-engineered white ceramic armor. Thousands of fast-attack fighters, hundreds of assault cruisers and dozens of heavy destroyers drifted lazily around the enormous space platform, ready to scramble at a moment’s notice to defend Union homeworlds and colonies. The great Velvet Rift lay just beyond the military base, its glow tinting their darkened observation lounge red.
“So?” Orion asked, continuing their conversation. He sat in a low, cushy lounge chair dressed in simple white pants, a red shirt and fine leather shoes, Bully sprawled out at his side. “What do you guys think?”
“It sounds preposterous to me,” Aurelia said. She reclined on a plush fainting couch and stretched her supple green body. “I’ve seen a lot of things in my 3,500-some years, and I’ve never caught a whiff of a mysterious Assassins Guild controlling galactic events.”
“Just because you have not heard of it,” Kangor said as he gazed out the window at the space station, “does not rule it out.” The big vycart turned and looked down at them, his massive arms folded across the front of his worn leather tunic. “It is clear that the plot to kill Zovaco Ralli runs much deeper than Dawnstar. We have an enemy as formidable as they are invisible.”
“Exactly.” Orion ran a hand through the spikes of his blond hair. “You said it yourself, Aurelia — something powerful blocked your spirit mask when you tried to see into the portal this time. And why would LaVal make up such an elaborate lie? Why would she spare our lives, again?”
“Mysteries are ponderous things,” Aurelia sighed. “Does it change our job at all? We simply keep the politician alive until he gets elected, or doesn’t, who cares? Then we get paid, move on.”
“You should not be so flip,” Kangor said, a slight snarl rising to his wolfish face. “Zovaco is a good man, I believe. An honorable man, who puts the people of the Union before himself.”
Orion nodded. “And it would be a lot easier to do our job if we knew what we were up against.” He chewed on it for a few moments. “Look, I’ll figure this out. But while I do, I’ll need you two to take split shifts. I want one of you with Zovaco the whole time we’re docked here.”
Kangor raised his thick brows. “You’re expecting an attack while we’re moored at a Union base?”
“Who knows anymore?” Orion said with a shrug. “Our enemy has long, shadowy fingers, that’s for sure.”
The three of them left the observation lounge and split up. Kangor went to guard Zovaco, Aurelia to the space station bars and Orion to the Star Sentry’s virtual reality suite. He found most of the 200 VeleveTech interface booths empty, but for a few SpaceCorps officers who had opted for datasphere gaming instead of going “ashore.” Orion strolled through the rows of tall glass cubicles until he found a discreet corner. He took a seat in a bio-mold chair that shaped itself to his frame and tinted the windows of his cubicle with the push of a button. Then he lowered the glass ring of the virtual reality visor over his eyes.
He tumbled into the datasphere, his golden virtual body soaring past billboards and banners that called out to Orion by name, offering him life-extending consulin injections, real estate on tropical vacation moons and hot inter-species sex chats. After the ad tunnel, he quickly found himself in the orange-and-green virtual space of the datasphere proper. The ascending names, topics and images from his regular datasphere feed flowed languidly around him, but he ignored them and grasped the bright white “search” jewel bobbing in front of him.
“Take me to the historical database of Galactic Core University,” he said.
The jewel whizzed off into the flowing orange of the datasphere and returned with a glowing green line attached to it. When Orion grasped the thread with his golden hand, the colorful words and images blurred past. He found himself in a zero-gravity library where the shelves extended to the vanishing point.
“Okay,” he said, clutching the white jewel again. “Let’s start simple. Search for the Guild, the Assassins Guild and the Shaman’s Guild of the Blood Nebula’s First Church of Eternity’s Kiss.”
Scores and scores of lines led off into all corners of the library. With a sigh, Orion propelled his mind into the heightened state of Blooming Flower and started digging. He followed each string to its text and quickly scanned the projected words, sifting through information faster than should have been possible for a human. An “Assassins Guild” series of pulp fiction novels written by a Briophyte author. A historical document about temba nubu revolutionaries called the Shamans of Blood. A travelogue of the Blood Nebula. A dozen “First Church” charters. An erotica film staring a tentacle-baring lockhovven called “Eternity’s Kiss.” A research paper on cross-cultural shamanistic practices. It went on and on with no apparent connection to what LaVal LaVoy had described.
Right around the time he felt the pinch of the headache that always came on after a few hours of Blooming Flower’s enhanced intuition, Orion heard the pulse-ring of his datacube from beyond the colorful illusion. Blinking, he lifted the visor, activated the cube and saw a weighty update to his bank account. The bounty for the Kalifa of Light had come through, thanks to Commander Vanlith signing off on it. With a smirk, Orion dashed off a quick message to Aurelia, Kangor, the Briarhearts and the SpaceCorps officers who had volunteered for the assault on the Dawnstar compound. It read, “10,000 UC ea. Meet in BH bunk for transfer.” That should put a spring in their step, he thought with a smile. Still bleary-eyed from scouring the virtual library, Orion took his time strolling down to the barracks that housed Costigan and his mercenary team.
Apparently the others were in a hurry to get their credits. When Orion walked into the long bunkhouse, the Briarhearts had already assembled, along with Aurelia and the SpaceCorps officers. The small crowd burst into applause for the man who was about to bestow a few months’ pay on them. Orion raised his hands to quiet them, but Costigan started a cheer that the others quickly picked up — all but Aurelia, who rolled her eyes at the bald adulation.
“O-G-3! O-G-3! O-G-3!”
“Enough, enough,” Orion bellowed, flushed and laughing. “Look, I’ll keep this short,” he said after their chants died. “You guys were willing to lay it on the line with me, and this is just a small token of appreciation for that. The Briarhearts know how I roll,” he said with a nod to Costigan, “but for you SpaceCorps guys — remember me when your contract of service is up. This is how I treat the people who work with me.” He thought he saw a few of them, including cranky old quartermaster Clynn, smile and nod with interest. “Now… who wants to get paid?” Orion held up his brassy datacube, preprogrammed for credit transfer.
Again they cheered. As mercenaries and respectable soldiers alike crowded around him and touched their datacube to his to initiate the instant transfer, other members of the Briarhearts pulled bottles of liquor from under their mattresses and cigars from their shaving kits. Sweet smoke from Earth-grown tobacco filled the air, and the two factions slugged shots of booze with the enthusiasm of the newly moneyed. Orion grabbed a glass of rye and got a light for his cigar from Costigan. Then he waded through handshakes and backslaps to find Aurelia flirting with quartermaster Clynn, young Seals, redheaded Drakely and Dettman, little bald lump of muscle that he was. Briefly he wo
ndered which one — or two? — of them she hoped to seduce tonight.
“Gentleman,” Orion said through a puff of Earth-flavored smoke. “A word with my associate, if you will?”
“Whatever you say, OG,” Seals said as he clinked Orion’s tumbler with his own.
Clynn shook Orion’s hand. “Good man who keeps his word on a split like that.” He scratched at his gray-feathered head, seemingly chagrined to be in Orion’s debt after their auspicious start. “Good man who keeps his word, even when no one would have blamed him.”
“Yeah,” grunted Dettman, sweat beading on his naked scalp. “Didn’t you think ‘bout keepin’ the whole reward? Our boots never even hit the ground.”
Orion smiled, wedged the cigar in the corner of his small mouth and spoke around it. “Wouldn’t be human if I didn’t think about it. But I like my Briarhearts happy.”
“Get lost, boys,” Aurelia said, shooing them away. “Let me have a word with this great and generous man.”
“Kangor?” Orion asked as the Briarhearts and Clynn shuffled off.
“With the politician.” Aurelia took a drink of her gin. “I’ve got to admit,” she purred, “you humans don’t know much, but you do know how to make liquor. Kangor actually told me not to worry about taking a shift,” she added as an afterthought. “He said he would ‘stand sentry over Zovaco Ralli until he was needed.’”
Orion chuckled at her scowling impersonation. “Really?”
“Yes, it seems they’ve struck up an unlikely friendship.” Aurelia shrugged. “They’re so hilariously mismatched, it’s actually kind of sweet.”
“Totally.” Orion laughed and swallowed a hot lump of whiskey. “A mouse and a lion.”
“And what about you?” Aurelia asked. “Find out anything?”
He shook his head. “I dug through the GCU library for hours — absolutely nothing.” He pulled angrily on his cigar. “It’s almost too squeaky-clean.”
