A golden vessel hovered meters away from the edge of the cliff. It shone in the red, dying light. It bore the flag of the Xank, a blue and orange banner dominated by the emblem of a crystal and crossed spears. The War Lector.
Only the Zangorian Master of the Hordes and lapdog of the Avenger owned such a vessel. It was no attack ship and was designed to act as his mobile base of operations while on the field. It hovered only metres from the drop, allowing Leri to examine it in every splendid detail. It was not nearly as large as the Word Lectorate ship, but Leri knew that this was only one such vessel in a fleet. The War Lectorate was the largest of all the Xank ministries, after all.
Leri’s troops surrounded him, making a wall of feathery flesh to protect him from the new enemy. Leri was not afraid. He had studied the ship and it did not possess any weaponry. It was a dropship, sacrificing fighting capacity for speed. They would have to land to fight. So, it did.
Still hovering, the ship’s doorway opened, sending forth a beam of energy towards the edge of the cliff. Eight Zangorians, all bearing the feathered helmets of a Kurag officer, exited the vessel and created a path on either side of the energy bridge. They seemed to ignore the forces lined up against them.
After a defensive wall had been formed between the energy bridge and any possible fall off the cliff, a figure clad in gold and blitz metal appeared from the darkness. His helmet bore three feathers of varying colours (blue, orange and gold), his beak was flanked by miniature Sylith blades. Strapped to his one arm was an extended plasma blaster, strapped to the other was an energy blade. His armour carried trophies and insignia of countless wars.
Tek’roa nuro La’rz – the War Lector.
This was a man who every free Zangorian should hate. He was the one who managed the body budget. The one who sent his own kind to die in another race’s war. He was more than a puppet. He was the cause of his own race’s slaughter.
‘When I heard of the famous Rii, I didn’t expect him to be so puny,’ the golden-clad figure boomed from across the bridge.
‘When I heard of the famous War Lector, I expected him to be a Zangorian,’ Leri retorted.
The comment seemed to sting the ostentatiously decorated warlord. He advanced, his metal-boots generating static bumps as he trod on the energy bridge. Leri’s guards attempted to block the Lector’s way but Leri waved them off. This was fight between the two of them.
Leri had been a War Lectorate whelp before. Even in the Word Lectorate, there was only one way to settle a conflict.
Tek’roa pulled back his talon-fist and charged at the smaller Leri. Leri ducked and fell into a sweeping kick. Tek’roa jumped just in time, bringing his foot into Leri’s shoulder. The force pushed Leri to the ground in an explosion of sand. Tek’roa used the opportunity to take off his gloves and weapons.
‘A warrior fights fairly and honourably.’
Leri stood and dusted himself off.
‘So, you serve non-warriors?’
Tek’roa spat. ‘You don’t know who or why I serve. I have crushed civilisations like insects. They fought back – fair – but they died – fair.’
Before Leri could reply, Tek’roa dashed forward, following with an uppercut. Leri moved with the vertical blow, clutching Tek’roa’s shoulders and lifting himself over his larger foe. Leri leapt over the Lector’s shoulders, kicking him in the back of the head. He followed through with a shove and another kick. His rebels cheered as the Lector fell to the ground. Tek’roa lifted himself up. Blood smattered his beak as stones had cut into his face.
‘Your wiliness shows in your strategy and fighting. Most impressive…’
Tek’roa, mid-sentence, threw a handful of sand at Leri. Blinded, Leri staggered back. The rebels booed and some tried to intervene, but Leri’s officers held them back.
Tek’roa pummelled into the helpless Leri. Fists rained on Leri’s beak, his arms pinned by armoured legs. Before his vision cleared, Leri manoeuvred his legs between him and his enemy. He kicked forward, pushing Tek’roa away from him.
Slowly, his vision cleared but he couldn’t see the War Lector. His guards looked worried, but they did not move. A pair of talons held onto the edge of the cliff-face, buried deep but slipping. Leri had shoved him to the side of the cliff.
Gasps and anxious panting could be heard from the edge as Leri approached. The Lector’s honour guard did nothing. This was a Blood Duel. While not their own culture, it had been ingrained in them for centuries. Interrupting a Blood Duel was unthinkable.
Tek’roa’s adorned helmet had fallen to reveal a fragile feathered head. The proud War Lector looked on, part acceptance, part regret.
‘Do it, Rii. At least I know our people will be in good hands.’
‘It doesn’t have to be this way…’
‘I’ve killed billions. My own people and others. I can’t handle it anymore. Just let me fall. Let me die with honour.’
‘As much as I would like swift justice for your slaughter of my kind, this is no justice. Blood duels are not our faith. We’re Zangorians, we don’t follow the Avenger’s gods. I don’t have to kill you here.’
Tek’roa’s face was the visage of despair. ‘It’s not about the duel. I don’t owe any loyalty to the Xank. I obeyed them for power. I was a puppet.’
‘Then be more…don’t let them control you. Take my hand…’
Leri put his cybernetic arm forward, offering it to the War Lector.
A spark of hope appeared in the old Zangorian’s eye, but not enough.
‘What would I tell my men? What would you of yours?’
‘My men are free Zangorians. They will listen because they know what is right. Yours? If you are as good a leader as I am to mine, then they will follow you to the grave.’
Soil and rocks were slipping and falling into the torrents below.
‘Make a choice, Lector.’
‘What are you planning, Rii?’
Leri paused and looked behind him to the faces lined behind him. A myriad of individuals, not the drones of any empire.
‘I’m going to free our people.’
Tek’roa closed his eyes and smiled.
‘It’s about damn time.’
He pulled himself up without aid. Leri backed away, without caution. He knew his victory.
Tek’roa nuro La’rz, ruler of a million Zangorian, closed his talon and banged it against his chest.
‘I am yours. My armies are yours. My worlds are yours. Let us free our people!’
“Exanoids are one of the few examples of a race, who despite ascending to space technology, did so without any wars. Prior to their contact with other races, the Exanoid species’ largest conflict had been a bar fight where one man died after slipping on spilt liquid.” – History of the Exanoid: Peace through Commerce
Chapter 18. Cult
‘There is only one who can free us – a saviour, a Defiant!’ a preacher clad in white shouted to an audience teetering on the brink of righteous protest. The preacher held them in the palm of his hand. Never had he ever gripped a crowd so fervently. It was ecstasy and for once in Gretswald’s life, he felt that he had accomplished something.
‘The Governor’s Troopers are no servants of yours or the people! They are monsters and puppets led by the corrupt. Nexus is a prison but the Defiant does not allow its bars to hold him. He broke free, he will break us free!’
Shouts of agreement echoed throughout the large confines of the parking centre where many Zona Nox refugees had made their home in assorted shacks and spontaneously allotted areas. After securing the ghettos initially assigned to them, the Zonians annexed adjacent building, securing much needed living space. Through their conquests, they brought more under their fold – including Gretswald.
Zonians, Red Sanders and Tundra-dwellers, had always been hard. They valued freedom more than security; because they knew that with a little freedom, they could have all the security they wanted. When the Yellows arrived in the refugee camps with an eviction notice,
the Zonians sent it back covered with red.
The war had begun and Nexus’ lower levels were the battleground.
‘The Yellows torment us, murder us and force us into the snow! What do you say to that?’
‘NO!’ the crowd shouted in unison, many holding up weaponry.
Gretswald took a breath and with the loudest voice he had used this day, bellowed.
‘The Defiant will rise and he will free us all!’
‘Defiant!’
The calm atmosphere of the Central Nexus market was a carefully constructed ploy to keep money flowing on Zarxa. Dedelux knew that his city was falling apart but he also knew that troops needed to be paid and that frightened merchants didn’t pay their taxes.
Aven knew the art of artificial peace. He also knew how to break it. There was a war going on in the underbelly of this shining citadel and it was his job to bring it to the surface. He took in a deep breath and let it out. It had been ages since he had been planet-side. Nova Zarxa wasn’t his first choice, but it would have to do.
Ever since James’ rescue from Dedelux’s prison, the Word Lectorate had been sowing dissent among the populace. The Zonians did not need any motivation, but the Zarxians did. After some reconnaissance, Smith discovered that there was already a high level of malcontents in the seemingly apathetic city. The drugs and blinking lights of the nightlife, normally so astute at keeping the plebs in line, was no longer enough. Entire districts had been quarantined by Yellows. Dedelux had even recruited Berrin pirates to keep people in line. But repression is an elastic band. The further you went, the harsher your violence, the more draconian your dictates, the harder it would snap back. And it was going to snap hard, with fire. Nexus was on the verge of exploding.
Normally, in the wake of an invading army, a planet would need a united defence. But James’ arrest was proof enough that Dedelux was an Imperial agent.
Smith’s back ached as he made his way to a corner café located in the plaza. He seldom walked further than a few metres on his ship and the long years of fitness drugs and muscle therapy rather than real exercise had finally caught up with him. He was relieved to finally find a seat at the Martian style teashop. A pretty, young waitress skipped up to him and asked him his order. He ordered some Atlasian-style tea and watched her go. She seemed fine but Aven knew how to read people. She was terrified. Anyone with half a brain was. Even with censorship of the news, Dedelux was failing to keep his people in the dark about the civil war. Aven wasn’t helping his cause.
While he waited for his tea, he took out a tablet computer and went to work. From his mobile workplace, he could bypass the communication blocking satellites and forward a message to anyone with a computer on the planet.
‘The Defiant is here. The Governor must be overthrown. Rise up and take your freedom.’
A simple and ineloquent piece of propaganda, but it did the job. From there, the charismatic, and maybe a bit insane, constructed their own mythos. The Defiant had become a cult figure and he hadn’t said a word. He didn’t even know that he was the Defiant.
James was unwilling to take Marshal’s advice and lead actively, so Aven had been forced to push him into the position.
So Aven circulated the propaganda. He scoured the network for dissidents and fuelled their fervour. He acted as a prophet – waiting for his god to take the reins.
He just hoped that his reluctant god would not punish him too harshly for it.
Erryn did not have much to do with the Kolheim impounded. Flying was her life. Space was her home and she was being barred from it. All she could do planet-side was gamble away her pay and take out her frustrations at the gym, where she had already destroyed at least one punching bag. The fact that she was not allowed to get a job planet-side without a license perturbed her even more.
Many of her crewmates blamed the Zonians for causing the ruckus and justifying the martial law. Some had even signed up to an auxiliary wing of the Yellows. Her best friend, Barry Kolheim, was not there to tell them otherwise. The Kolheim’s Captain had passed away peacefully soon after his ship had been impounded. Not only were they trapped, they were leaderless. Erryn couldn’t blame many of her crewmates for supporting Dedelux, but she disagreed with them. The Zonians were putting up a fight, but they weren’t the instigators. Dedelux gave the order to cleanse Nexus of all Zonians. It was his fault alone. Couldn’t blame zots for biting back.
What had not been helping her disagreement with her crewmates was her browsing of message boards on the internal network of Nexus. From her tablet computer, she browsed the network and found anonymous messages spreading the alleged truth of what was happening. It seemed some enterprising Zonians were providing photo and video evidence of Yellow instigation and deceit. When the news claimed they had bombed a civilian home, photos proved that the home was a weapon’s cache. When the news claimed the Zonians were all bloodthirsty criminals, these messages showed children and families. Erryn was compelled to disagree with her crewmates, despite her loyalty to the Kolheim, after they couldn’t see how the Zonians were not the enemy here.
But what was she to do? She was a pilot without a ship. An entrepreneur tied down by regulations.
This depression had wracked her once again as she procrastinated on her tablet in the corner of the gym. Dismally, she scrolled through the messages with her index finger. Eventually, she grew bored of mindless advertising and posts about astro-races. Glancing around, she confirmed she wasn’t being watched, and then logged into the darknet, where she couldn’t be watched.
In the darknet, she was met with more messages refuting the Dedelux’s regimes claims. There was a new addition, however, a call to arms.
‘Let all those who wish to be free follow the Defiant. Assemble at Cargo 11B. Yellows will be shot. Freemen will be welcomed.’
Erryn frowned. Am I frustrated enough to join the rebellion?
It had been weeks. She missed her ship. She missed a crew that she liked. Planet-side, people changed. She didn’t like her friends when they were on the ground. They were too tolerant of oppression. These Zonians, despite their trouble-making and despite them being dirt-birthers, knew what it meant to be free.
She continued scrolling.
Would I be of any use in a rebellion? Her wings were snipped. She was a flightless pilot, good as any dirt-birther. What use was she? She wasn’t built for rebellions. Guerrilla warfare was on the ground. She belonged in the air.
‘All free folk, be it on the ground, air or space, need to be Defiant. Gather at Cargo 11B. Take back our freedom!’
Erryn smiled. She packed up her things and left the gym.
After the escape from Dedelux’s prison, James and his motley group of Troopers and ex-cons travelled to a remote shuttle bay on the outskirts of Nexus. From here, he rested for a week. No one was completely sure what was happening in Nexus, but they had an idea. All they knew was the Dedelux ruled with an iron fist. They did not know the status of the Zonians.
‘We need to make a move, Captain,’ Marshal or a Trooper would tell him every day.
‘I know,’ James would reply, simply. Yet he would do nothing. He spent his days thinking, while sitting in one of the cold metal rooms of the shuttle bay. The rest of his group concerned themselves with the maintaining of their weapons, even when there was no need. Among them, there were only enough weapons for half the group. James and Marshal had already assigned those weapons in order of firearm proficiency. Above that, James did nothing.
This was not for lack of trying, however. It was a claustrophobic feeling, needing to act but being unable to do so. He knew he had to oust Dedelux if Nova Zarxa had any chance against an Imperial invasion. It was not enough to just hope that Dedelux’s divided city could put up a sufficient fight. Dedelux was an Imperial puppet, he would hand the Imperials the key. No, James knew that the Trooper loyalists would have to make a stand by themselves. But how?
Wit
h Grag-Tec expelled, their property would have been expropriated. All their starports would be under guard by Yellows. Without a safe means of entry into Nexus, they could do nothing but slowly freeze to death.
‘I’m freezin’ me ass off here,’ Frank said matter-of-factly. ‘When we making a move?’
‘We can’t risk entering Nexus until we find a safe place to land. They would slaughter us otherwise,’ Nathan answered, echoing James’ thoughts.
‘That’s if we don’t freeze first,’ Ruble muttered.
The shuttle bay was small and James could hear most of the conversations going around the facility from his ‘thinking-room’. The constant noise made it hard to think, but he wasn’t going to be the one to tell his men to keep quiet. He knew that the quiet wouldn’t make a difference. They were trapped here until Dedelux slipped up.
Yobu knocked on the door at that moment.
‘You don’t have to knock, Yobu. Any news from the city?’
‘Yes, sir,’ Yobu beamed. ‘Dedelux has attempted to keep it a secret, but the network is blaring. Refugees have taken Cargo 11. It’s completely linked to the building they have dubbed Underbelly Alpha. They have complete control over the landing port there. We can get into Nexus!’
James jumped up and thanked Yobu for the news all in one movement. They had no time to lose.
‘Yobu says we have an entry, we’re taking it!’
The Troopers and other members of James’ retinue cheered and they made their way to the shuttle. A Trooper manned the controls and the group sped off towards Nexus. Their group numbered around a dozen ex-Trooper/Trooper loyalists and a group of political dissidents who had begged to join them back at the prison, Alex Yurgan included. With this group, James hoped he could bring down a city. He couldn’t help but laugh.
Rise of the Defiant: Book Two of the Warpmancer Series Page 12
