by Chris Fox
She stared up at him with those wide eyes.
Aluki's voice over the loudspeaker ended the moment. "Mmm, come up to the cockpit, please. We are about to reach atmosphere."
Khar watched for a moment longer as the ship zoomed past the edge of the ring of ice and rock orbiting the planet.
"I suppose we'd better go," Zakanna said. She strode up the corridor leading from the cargo bay to the bridge--if it could be called that. It was a small cockpit, just big enough for the pilot and copilot. Behind that was a room with a table in the center. Benches lined the walls, allowing up to eight people to gather.
Aluki and Halut were already seated, holding hands under the table. It was nauseatingly cute; were Fizgig here, she would retch at the sight of it.
And if she didn't, the lingering stench from the sanitation ducts would certainly have the same effect.
Zakanna slid onto a bench, and Khar dropped down next to her. Aluki leaned up, peering over the table at them. "You are the empress of the mighty Ganog Imperium. Mmm, you have a plan to deal with our current situation?"
A ripple of scarlet--the first Khar had ever seen--passed briefly through Zakanna's fur. She glared hard at Aluki. "Do not speak to me that way, ka'tok. Or you will very quickly come to regret it."
"Do not call her that," Halut growled, rising to his feet atop the bench. "You have no idea who she is, you ignorant fool."
"Halut," Aluki snapped, eyeing him sternly. "Mmm, now is not the time."
"Now is exactly the time," he countered, eyeing her back just as sternly. He planted tiny hands on his wide hips.
Khar started to laugh, a deep booming, freeing laugh. They were all looking at him now. "Our peoples stand at the brink of eradication. We are hopelessly outmatched. We have little chance of success. Yet you are concerned about how we address each other?" He shook his head, still chuckling. "Do we not all seek the same goal? Can we not set aside this petty bickering?"
"You are right." Aluki gave a surprisingly graceful bow. "Apologies for any offense myself or my husband offered, Empress. My question was genuine. Did you have a plan to approach the world? A destination? Right now we are safely cloaked and orbiting, so there is time to decide, I think."
"What did you mean?" Zakanna demanded, directing the question at Halut. "Who is she?"
"She is one of our most renowned lore keepers. Mmm, while you Ganog have been busy beating yourselves senseless, we have quietly learned all there is to know about your history. Aluki knows more of your ancestors than you do," Halut taunted. Aluki glared at him, and he moderated his tone. "You believe yourselves so superior, but for seventeen centuries my people have maintained a government right under your nostrils."
Khar's attention was drawn briefly to the viewport. They were passing directly over the capital; its ivory towers reached for the sky. He magnified his vision and the city leapt into sharper focus. Three blue giants, each surrounded by planetstrider mounds, stood in a rough triangle around the city. Countless ranks of Judicators were arrayed at their feet.
Zakanna stared too, horror and disgust blooming on her face. He couldn't imagine what it was like for her, returning to find her home occupied by enemies.
"I..." She brushed the port with her fingers, face anguished.
Khar recognized the weight of the revelation. He'd undergone the same the first time he'd challenged Fizgig. He'd believed himself the best, and she'd rudely disabused him of the notion. His whole world had shattered, and he'd had to build a new understanding from the pieces.
"I've been so blind," she said. "To everything. Not just Utfa, but...the Whalorians maintained a government? How?"
Aluki gave a wide grin. "Mmm, we are invisible. Your leadership caste cannot even read. You've had an oral education, but I can simply pick up a chip reader, or even a scroll. The mystical skill your seekers practice--and some of your techsmiths--is something all of my people are taught from birth. We've slowly built a massive data repository, and that is copied as often as possible. It contains not just our history, but everything we've learned of you, the Saurians, and every other race we've encountered."
"When you ask if I have a plan, you already know that I do not." Zakanna's shoulders slumped, and her fur faded to a wistful blue. She looked up suddenly. "But you do. Don't you?"
"Of course she does," Halut muttered under his breath.
Khar fixed him with a baleful eye, casually licking his chops, and Halut scooted back in his seat.
"From our limited understanding of the beginnings of your empire," Aluki explained, "the Ganog were never literate. Initially, the seekers were your scholar caste. They carried your knowledge. However, they also directly served the Nameless Ones. Mmm, when Nyar led your people against the Nameless Ones, most of the seekers were put to death. Their libraries were destroyed--full planetary bombardment in some cases."
"This is fascinating," Khar said, "but what does it have to do with a plan?" He had no patience for this kind of prattling; he'd dealt with enough of it from Tigris scientists, like Lena.
"Mmm, I'm getting there," Aluki chastised. "Please be patient."
Khar nodded apologetically.
"The ancient seeker library was in the lava fields south of the Royal Spire. There's a reason that area is now a lava field--the seekers gathered there to discuss a final defense, and were eradicated by Yog. Not 'the' Yog, interestingly. Yog, the singular word."
"You think this library is still there?" Zakanna asked.
"It could be--and if it is, who knows what it might contain?" Aluki smiled again. "We could learn about the Void Wraith, or about the defenses of the Royal Spire. It is a place to start, to learn more than we currently do."
"It's the beginnings of a plan," Zakanna admitted, "and certainly more than I can offer. Thank you, Aluki. I apologize for denigrating you, and your people."
"Mmm, we are both products of our upbringing," Aluki said. "The fact that you are willing to change your opinions bodes well for your future as a ruler." She hopped down from the bench and waddled to Zakanna, patting her knee. "If we survive this, perhaps you will be the one to build your people into something greater than they are now."
22
SPIT IN DEATH'S EYE
Fizgig stared upward through the top of the vessel, directly into space. It was a magnificent feat of technology, giving the appearance that they were floating through space with no ship. Above, a new star had appeared, and the vessel somehow polarized the light so she didn't have to squint.
A single world orbited that star, and it grew increasingly larger as they approached. Two rings of ice and rock floated around a purple world, painting a beautiful tapestry. She appreciated the beauty, even as she dreaded what would happen upon their arrival.
"Do you think there was any way to avoid our sacrifice?" Takkar asked, raising his head listlessly. He'd planted his back against a pillar, and both hands were wrapped around the haft of the axe their captors had allowed him to keep.
They'd left Fizgig's stealth belt and plasma blade as well, almost as if daring them to escape. She'd considered doing exactly that, but with Aluki's cruiser gone there'd be no easy way off the dreadnought.
"You know there wasn't," she replied, tail slashing an angry arc behind her. "Do not sink into self-pity, Ganog. We did what we must to preserve our respective peoples. T'kon escaped. And, judging by the activity below, they've not caught Khar either. Goddess willing, he's already left this vessel."
"Do not provoke me, little Tigris," Takkar said, catching her gaze. His fur darkened, but only slightly. There wasn't much heat to his words.
"You've given up. You've accepted that you are already dead." Fizgig said rose to her feet and stalked over to Takkar, ignoring the pain in her leg.
"You do not understand the magnitude of what we face. Azatok has been the champion of the Royal Games six out of the last seven times." Takkar rose to his feet as well, setting the blade of his axe atop a furry shoulder. "The only year he lost was to Krekon, and t
hat was an upset. Krekon lost the very next year, and never fought in the games again."
"So you fear this warrior?" Fizgig asked. "Understandable, I suppose. You've no chance of besting him?"
"None," Takkar admitted. "During my youth I was a canny fighter, and gained admittance to the games seven time. I won once, but only by chance. I was skilled, but never the best. And that was a great many years ago."
"Then what will you do?" Fizgig asked. She knew her own answer, but Takkar must decide for himself. This was his battle, his final test, from the sound of it.
"I will battle to the best of my ability. During the fight I will seek to wound him, as badly as I can. I want him to remember me every time he takes a step, or bends to don his armor." Takkar's fur darkened to a deep scarlet. "I want him to remember me with respect."
"Then do exactly that," Fizgig offered. "No more talk of 'could we have acted differently.' We took the bold course, and now we pay a bold price. Pay it gladly. If I survive, I will carry the tale to your people. If I do not, then make your enemy do it for you. Make this Azatok respect you enough that he tells the tale of your death."
"I hate you, you know," Takkar said, inspecting the blade of his axe. "Before you, I was the foremost fleet leader in the Imperium. My star never stopped rising. I won every battle."
"It made you complacent," Fizgig said, grooming an errant patch of fur on her shoulder. "You believed yourself better than others. You rested on past victories, content that there was no one powerful enough to best you."
"Yes," Takkar admitted. "I was arrogant, and you proved it. I thought your species weak, and your tactics foolish. I charged into your trap, and I paid the price."
"There is always someone better, Takkar," Fizgig said, looking up at him. "Always. Khar was arrogant when I first met him. I taught him this critical lesson, making him a better warrior. Nolan, on the other hand, had received little combat training when we met. He had no such pride, or illusions that he was skilled. Even now he underestimates his own abilities, and that humility serves him well. He never stops learning."
"Nolan, the human who bested Krekon?" Takkar asked.
She nodded. "Krekon, like you, probably assumed Nolan was no threat. And, had he fought intelligently, perhaps Nolan wouldn't have been. I reviewed the combat footage. There were two moments where Krekon could have ended the fight, but chose not to. That allowed Nolan to surprise him--a fatal mistake."
"One I hope Azatok makes," Takkar said, sighing. "We have arrived at Imperalis. He will send for us tonight."
"Let him," Fizgig said, hackles raising. "So long as we draw breath, we are a threat. Make him underestimate you, and then go for the throat."
23
DEFIANT
Takkar rolled his shoulder, wincing at the stiffness. Azatok had allowed them a single night to rest, then summoned him to the arena. Takkar had come willingly, ready for an end to this.
He stooped to pick up a handful of dirt from the arena floor, rubbing it across both palms. It would firm his grip on the axe--and besides, the ritual calmed him.
He'd settled firmly into the haak. He knew he was going to die facing Azatok, but he didn't care about that. His nervous tension came from wondering about the manner of his death. Would he be able to injure the mighty champion, to capitalize on Azatok's arrogance as Fizgig had capitalized on his own?
A smattering of jeers came from the pleasure platforms above. Takkar had expected that, from the Kthul at least. He'd even have expected it from the Azi, as they had reason enough to hate him. But the Yog were normally too proper, and the Vkash had lauded him as a hero their whole lives. To see those two clans adding to the derision? It was maddening, as if the fabric that held the Imperium together was at last unravelling.
Much to his surprise, Takkar spotted Fizgig sitting like an Adept atop a simple transport disk. Azatok must want her to witness Takkar's death. The brute enjoyed all forms of torment, so perhaps Takkar should not be surprised.
After Takkar fell, Fizgig would likely die soon after--as soon as Azatok bored of tormenting her.
"Azatok!" Takkar roared, spinning slowly in place as he hefted his axe. His voice echoed, stilling the whispers above. "Great champion of the arena. Come and face me."
A single disk whirred into view, pausing next to the edge of the arena. Azatok hopped off, armed with nothing but a pair of daggers. Takkar's eyes narrowed at the insult. It stoked the fires within him, and he allowed a deep, smug orange to enter his fur.
Azatok blinked at that, clearly surprised. He'd no doubt sought to infuriate Takkar, which was an expected tactic. Takkar was known for his temper. Yet Fizgig's words still rang in Takkar's ears. Death would claim him this day; nothing could change that. But at the end, could he rise above himself and become greater?
"You forgot your axe." Takkar spat in the dirt at Azatok's feet. "I will let you go back and fetch it."
Azatok's fur reddened, and his eyes narrowed. He rested his hands on the hilts of his daggers. "We both know I don't need an axe to kill you, Takkar. When you are dead I will leave your body here to rot, and I will claim your axe--but not to use. No. I will have it melted down, and all mention of your name stricken from the whispers. It will be as if you never existed."
"Will it?" Takkar asked calmly, as if such a thing were of no concern. He slowly twirled his axe. "Perhaps you'll kill me today. Perhaps not. Either way, you cannot erase my victories, Azatok. You cannot erase the fact that my clan bested yours, under my command. You cannot change the fact that I have captured more worlds than any in a generation, and that even after my losses to the Coalition my battle record still rings truer than your own."
Azatok growled, exposing his teeth as he stalked closer. His fur changed to midnight--the blackest rage. He twirled his daggers, beginning the breathing. Takkar began his breathing as well, slowly circling opposite Azatok.
Each combatant grew in size, every breath adding to their height. They continued for many heartbeats, until both topped ten meters. They maintained their relative heights, with Azatok being a meter shorter. Takkar had slightly longer reach, normally. Using daggers added to that, increasing Takkar's advantage.
Takkar used that advantage, striking at Azatok the instant he'd finished his breathing. Takkar sprinted toward his opponent, his axe humming through the air as he lashed out at Azatok's knee. As expected, Azatok vaulted the weapon. Takkar released the haft with his right hand, completing the swing with his left. He balled his right hand into a fist, using the momentum of the swing to slam it into Azatok's face.
The Kthul's nose split; blood spurted into the air. The crack of his head snapping back echoed through the arena, triggering a deep oooh from the crowd.
Takkar danced backward, keeping his weapon between them, and grinned at his opponent. His fur remained a smug, infuriating orange.
"You're faster than I expected, old man," Azatok spit out. His eyes narrowed, and swirls of red swept through the black. "I'd planned to toy with you, but I think you need to learn humility before I end your life."
He leapt at Takkar, his arms windmilling. The first dagger struck, and Takkar knocked it aside with his axe. The second dagger flashed down, slipping into Takkar's thick neck just over the armor.
Takkar roared in agony as the blade pierced his flesh. He dropped his axe and seized Azatok by the shoulders. Then he lunged, slamming his forehead into Azatok's face. Once, twice, a third time.
Azatok bellowed in pain, then delivered a head butt of his own. The blow sent Takkar staggering back; he released Azatok and raised a hand briefly to the wound at his neck. Thick, black blood rushed out. The fight would be over soon.
Takkar studied Azatok. His nose had been shattered, and his left eye was already beginning to swell. Neither was a critical wound, but that could work to Takkar's favor. Azatok might think the fight was already over. Takkar sprinted forward, roaring as he leapt into the air over Azatok.
Azatok couldn't ignore the obvious opportunity; he rammed
a dagger into Takkar's gut. His other dagger flashed out, aimed at Takkar's eye. Takkar ducked to the side, and the blade traced a path of pain along his cheek.
Takkar seized Azatok's wrist, wrenching with all his might. Bone cracked as they landed, and Azatok bellowed a second time. He ripped the dagger from Takkar's gut with a sickening pop. Takkar sucked in a pained breath, but twisted the already broken wrist further out of alignment.
Azatok roared, then rammed his dagger into Takkar's eye. Takkar went limp, and he was dimly aware of toppling onto his back. He stared up at the sky with his one good eye. Pieces were missing from his mind. Everything was disjointed.
Azatok glared down, cradling his hideously broken wrist. Takkar saw the bone jutting through the skin, and was pleased. His gaze slid away from Azatok, to the crowd above. He found Fizgig, met her gaze.
She nodded respectfully.
Takkar nodded back, then sighed his final breath.
24
CALLED TO ACCOUNT
Utfa stepped from the shadows shrouding the docking port and nodded at the approaching cloaked figure. Vessels hummed all around them, disgorging important fleet leaders and their retinues. No one else was allowed this high on the spire--technically, not even a seeker.
Utfa went where he pleased. He ruled this world, in the name of his masters.
"I do not appreciate being summoned like a ka'tok," Azatok snarled, clenching a massive fist as he stalked up to Utfa. The other was wrapped in a dark black medicast. "I am reigning champion of the Royal Games, and the fleet leader who delivered both the Yog and the Vkash into your hands."
"You delivered some of them," Utfa said, shaking his head, schooling his expression to disappointment. "As I understand, T'kon seized back his vessel and led three other dreadnoughts to safety. Fully a third of the enemy fleet lives, out there somewhere. They've purged our spies, or we'd have their location by now."
