The Kip Keene Box Set: Books 1, 2 & 3

by Nicholas Erik

  17 | A Different View

  It had all been chance. After years of searching, fate had intervened. Seeing the Senator out on the street, wheeling in that case. She had been drawn to it, as if by madness. Following him up, taking it away. And empty. But she’d taken his laptop, read his emails, which had led her to Johnny. He’d already sent the maps, having seen the murder on the news. She’d caught him at the flophouse, gathering his other belongings.

  But it hadn’t been hard to get him to speak. A few threats to the innocents…

  Unfortunately, she hadn’t foreseen this.

  “Johnny. Johnny.” Catarina pulled the jeep to the side of the road, mud spitting up from the tires onto the windshield from the sudden stop. “Damn it, Johnny.”

  Smoke poured from the engine as the beat-up sandstone-colored vehicle lurched into a ditch. Her co-pilot—if he could even be considered that—was catatonic. And he was the only one who knew how to actually enter the Last City.

  And thus far, driving around the remote jungle in circles around the site with a braindead sack of meat had yielded no clues. None in almost a week. And she’d gone to such an effort to steal that map from the Senator’s daughter, catching a bullet in the process.

  Catarina grabbed the blood-stained map from the backseat, brushing droplets of mud from it. She jammed it in Johnny’s face and screamed.

  “See? See?! Remember, damn it! Tell me where it is!” She threw her arms up and flung open the rusty door of the vehicle. What had Keene been doing at that woman’s house? Mere coincidence was an explanation, but the other, more logical conclusion was far more of a problem.

  They were working together. And she’d—no, Johnny, it was Johnny’s fault, he had given Keene the opportunity to catch up, put all the pieces together. Stop her from getting off this planet.

  Catarina balled the map up and tossed it into the back seat.

  Closed her eyes and remembered.

  “Y-you, you—”

  “I had to,” Catarina said. She wiped the blood from the shard of broken carbonite glass. Why she bothered to clean it was a mystery. But she kept pushing it against her pant leg until only faint wisps of orange clung around the edges.

  Two soldiers lay at her feet. Catarina and Johnny had awoken from cryostasis, the system automatically unfreezing them due to the intruders causing significant damage to the glass. Things had escalated from there. They weren’t friendly. This was a hostile planet.

  How long had it been?

  Catarina slid the piece of glass in her pocket and wandered over to the console for answers. But more voices, speaking the same untranslated language, drifted into The Blue Maybelle’s interior, carried in by the breeze. Her finger over the console, she did but the one thing she had time for: pressed the eject button on a nearby pod. Entered the diagnostic codes and waited, peering inside the pod.

  They’d frozen him naked. How strange.

  Are you sure you want to eject, the machine’s screen asked.

  Catarina hit yes, tapping her foot impatiently. These were minutes she didn’t have. Still, if she didn’t try, then who would she be?

  The screen flashed green.

  Keene’s pod shot out of the ship and into the sky.

  Catarina grabbed Johnny’s arm and ran out of the ship. The sounds of their mysterious adversaries were growing dangerously near. The pair scrambled up out of the impact crater and on to the ridge. Catarina peeked over just in time to see a troop of armored men, sun glinting off their flat-brimmed crested silver helmets, enter the ship.

  “We have to go.”

  “B-but what about the others? The Captain, and—”

  “We can’t save them all,” Catarina said, thinking as they slunk down the snow slung slopes, I couldn’t save them all.

  They walked from snow, to blistering heat, to the squishy humidity of the dank jungle. They walked south, the opposite of the star burning in the sky. Once upon a time, in better days, Catarina had learned to navigate by the sky from Keene. How to find the guiding stars in a system.

  Those memories were fading into oblivion, replaced with endless heat and thick green.

  In a week—or was it a month?—they hit the coastline. Waves, sunlight, soft sand. But no people, no semblance of civilization. Just the wild and its open, empty call.

  Johnny stumbled into the ocean with outstretched arms, falling down face first and fully clothed in the gentle surf. He emerged minutes later, dripping wet, clutching a wriggling fish.

  Their neural implants had kept them alive. Told them what berries to eat—few—and which not to eat—most. Found small game where there appeared to be nothing but grass and dirt. Located the tiniest drips of almost clean water.

  And made it easier to spot slow water creatures swimming lazily in the shallows.

  The fish wriggled, its scales glistening in the soft light of the setting sun.

  Johnny held it out at arm’s length until it stopped moving. “We have to go back.”

  “Before or after dinner?”

  “I’m serious.”

  “There is no back.”

  “We left them behind. Like cowards.”

  Catarina stared off into the darkening horizon. “I know,” she whispered.

  They went east, for there was no west, no south. North was back from whence they came. Nowhere. At the edge of a strange world, and then, suddenly, back in the heart of the jungle. Another week passed.

  “Maybe we should have stayed.” Catarina slumped down against a tree, into the dank soil. Her tired fingers sifted through the worms and bugs, the leaves and rotting chunks of bark. This might be it. Where she would quit.

  Johnny loomed over her, blocking out the little light that made it through the thick canopy above. “Stayed?”

  “On the ship. To not…die like cowards.”

  Just then voices. The same bizarre words, rapid fire, flowing with the rhythm of music and passion. Beautiful, perhaps, but from the men’s strained tones, it was turned ugly, guttural. Johnny dove into the dirt and huddled next to Catarina, who now sat stiff and alert.

  This was not the end.

  After a few minutes passed, her ears had heard enough shouted fragments of this new language for her neural implants to reverse-engineer it.

  “Español,” she said, with no small amount of wonder, the o hanging on her lips for a delicious extra beat. Johnny nodded, indicating that his systems were working, too, although he found the technology much less fascinating and more a fact of life.

  Not this life. Here, it was apparent from the strange garb and the surprise with which the two men had been poring over The Blue Maybelle that this planet was archaic. Far behind.

  “Come.” Catarina tugged Johnny to his feet, pulling him towards the voices.

  “What are you doing?” His feet dragged.

  “Finding out where we are.”

  “You’re going to get us—”

  But then, it was too late. They were already face-to-face with three unwashed and armored men of no great height. They had poor teeth and smelled worse than the jungle’s foulest natural odor. Leaves and twigs stuck in their wild, unkempt beards.

  “Hola,” Catarina said, walking up close to them without hesitation. “We’re lost.”

  The trio stood and stared, mouths agape, swords drawn back to hack at the dense foliage.

  “Bonita.”

  “Si.”

  Johnny tugged on his partner’s shirtsleeve and whispered in her ear. “I think they’re talking about you.”

  Catarina smiled and shook him off as she spoke to the group. “A question.”

  By then, the three men had gotten over their initial shock and had fanned out in a sort of circle around Catarina, swords still outstretched. Their eyes leered out from dirt-streaked visages like jewels from the depths of a dangerous mi
ne.

  “Anything for the beautiful one.”

  “Yes, so beautiful.”

  “For what do we owe the pleasure of your company?”

  “Where is this? What year is it?” Catarina said.

  One let out a laugh, followed by his comrades. “Loco y bonita!”

  When they were done, another one answered, “1572. The New World. We look for the gold of the Incas. It appears we have found it, si?”

  “But you’re not Inca, beautiful.”

  The figure bounced around in Catarina’s head. This planet, so far outside the system that civilization had only counted a thousand and a half years.

  She gripped the piece of carbonite glass in her pocket, still handy from her first encounter with vicious, unruly men of similar ilk.

  They were closing in.

  “One last thing, gentlemen.”

  “Si?”

  “What do you call yourselves?”

  “Conquistadores,” one said with no small amount of venom and pride, “Conquerors of the New World.”

  “I see.”

  Slash. Screams, this time not of artificial courage, but of a man’s terror, knowing he had drawn his last breath. She ducked out of range from an incoming blade, but not completely enough. The edge cut across the bridge of her nose, so deep she felt the cartilage tear.

  Blinded by pain and the blood sputtering from the open wound, Catarina closed her eyes. Listened. And flung the piece of glass with tremendous velocity.

  The last solider crumpled to the ground.

  “Where’d you learn that?” Johnny said. He hadn’t moved. It wasn’t necessary. Five seconds. Ten. That was all it took.

  “I have my secrets,” Catarina said. Her eyes opened and she wiped her nose upon her sleeve. It did little to staunch the bleeding. “From before we met.” She pointed at the armor. “We’ll blend in better.”

  “But you’re bleeding.” He pointed at the scab on her nose, which had reopened in the fray.

  “Get dressed.”

  Johnny didn’t voice any other objections. Just put the sweaty, heavy plates on his back with Catarina’s help. The two struggled another mile, despite the trail being opened up thanks to their vanquished foes.

  But when they reached the end, leading into a small valley, Catarina almost dropped to her knees. Stumbling upon a sudden city was surprising enough, but what lay before them, not five hundred yards away, was even more impressive.

  “Bonita.”

  There was no other word to describe the mountain of pure gold that stretched far above the trees, roads and buildings, up into the heavens.

  Johnny and Catarina hid in the trees until nightfall, the natural sun replaced by the light of flickering torches. The bronze-skinned workers tirelessly shuttled the glimmering hoard from the city square above ground into a passage obscured from view.

  Around the pile, which had since shrunken due to the laborers’ efforts, were stationed rows of guards. Towards the back were archers, tall arrows of impressive length jutting from the quivers on their backs. In front, dozens of well-muscled men stood in watch, brandishing spears with heads that looked like stars. Some of the tips glinted, crafted from precious metals, their owners standing taller and possessing an air of authority that the other soldiers lacked.

  A few of the men looked less hearty, their skin hanging from their bones, their postures slumped, wracked by either fatigue or illness.

  “What do you think those do?” Johnny pointed at the strange weapons.

  “Break every bone in your body,” Catarina said. “Let’s not find out.”

  “So we leave?”

  “That’s not what I said.”

  Rushing in would end in certain death, outnumbered as they were by on-edge and desperate people.

  “D-do you hear that?”

  Catarina nodded and brought a finger to her lips. In the square below, the workers kept moving, but the soldiers moved away from the gold, their ears cocked towards the noise. The distinct rattle of armor coming from the murky depths of the jungle seemed to fill the air with a thick menace. The warriors began to chatter in low tones as the clanging, heavy footsteps grew to a roaring crescendo. Bells joined the aural fray, along with the clomping clack of hooves.

  Great claps of thunder ripped through the air, accompanied by tremendous flashes of light from all over the jungle. A few of the warriors fell, dropped by the sudden attack. The rest crouched and hunched, their formerly tight ranks now scattered, full of weaknesses.

  Then the Spanish emerged from the jungle, aboard great four-legged beasts of tremendous power. Catarina’s eyes narrowed at the sight of these animals, both majestic and wild. How strange to see men on their backs, bending these huge, jet black creatures to their will.

  The warriors backed up at the sight, then realized that this was it. The last stand. Nowhere else to turn, even if the invaders carried weapons of mysterious power and rode muscular beasts as black as demons.

  They charged, the two forces meeting in a tremendous clash.

  Catarina withdrew the sabre she had lifted from the Spanish soldier, cutting herself by accident as she did.

  “No way you’re going down there.” Johnny’s whisper was almost swallowed by the din of the melee below.

  “I’m not.”

  The fight had spread out from the square, with skirmishes now taking place up the incline, towards where Catarina and Johnny were hidden. She held the blade out in front of her, blood trickling down the short edge, like a ward against evil.

  “Let’s go,” Johnny said.

  “There’s nowhere else.”

  “What are we doing here?”

  “There are people.”

  “Not friendly.”

  “Supplies. The beasts.”

  “How?” Johnny was frantic now. A group of five soldiers was clashing, their sparring taking them further and further up the hill.

  “Like this.” Catarina flung the balanced blade with startling accuracy, hitting one of the tan-skinned soldiers in the chest about ten yards away. He tumbled down the valley, out of view. This evened the odds of the two Spanish, who managed to cut down their surprised foes, who were somewhat emaciated and sickly, with little trouble.

  Catarina emerged from cover and nodded.

  The two soldiers stopped and came closer.

  “Hola?” They both called in unison. Catarina grabbed Johnny’s sword from his outstretched hand and walked forward, meeting them halfway. Her disguise wasn’t good enough to hide the fact that she was a woman, looking little like the grizzled Spanish soldiers before her. That hadn’t been her plan, however.

  Once they’d started to come closer, it was over for them.

  She felled the first one quickly, using the element of surprise to run him through. But the sword got stuck, and she was left without a weapon. The man grinned, showing a row of blackened nubby teeth. He charged, attempting to run her through with the blade’s point.

  Catarina rolled out of the way, down the hill, popping to her feet near the two dead Incas. Their skin was tight, eyes sunken. Clearly they had been fighting some sort of disease, and losing. Catarina snatched one of the spears with a star-shaped end and turned around to see the Spaniard running down the hill, sword raised.

  She swung at his ribs before he could bring the blade down, a crushing blow that brought dark blood spraying out of his mouth, into her face. He crumpled to the ground, choking. Catarina brought the end upon his head.

  She wiped her face and spit, tasting the nastiness of his blood on her tongue. Crimson droplets dripped from her nose, down into the ground, where they congealed with the fluids of the dead. A stiff breeze blew through the jungle, stirring up the leaves and fauna like a miniature cyclone.

  A minute later, Johnny walked by, his gait imperceptibly changed, marchi
ng towards the battle.

  “Where are you going?”

  “To join the fight,” he said, as if the answer was obvious. He broke into a run, gone so fast into the melee below that Catarina didn’t have an opportunity to tell him to stop. What had gotten into him, it was hard to tell. The fighting below seemed to rise in intensity.

  He’d die down there.

  She’d die down there if she followed.

  Frozen by indecision, Catarina found a half dozen bronze-skinned warriors closing in on her position. Exposed, out in the open, they’d spotted her.

  “I’m not with them.” But the language fell upon deaf ears. The muscular warriors gripped their bone-crushing weapons tight and advanced forward.

  There was too many of them.

  “Johnny?” She yelled the name over the clash of metal and the roar of the Spaniards’ strange beasts. But Johnny didn’t materialize. There was nothing she could do besides run away.

  Three weeks later, when she’d emerged from the jungle and upon a small Spanish settlement, she’d traded the armor for some fresh water and a few gold coins. She didn’t ask of the city of gold. It would be 443 years until she dared to seek it out again.

  The fighting stopped the next day. No one understood why, other than it seemed foolish to the surviving members of both factions. Protecting the city seemed to be all that mattered. Johnny, himself unable to explain the urge to join the fight, now found himself similarly unable to explain why he shared the sentiments of the rest of the fighters.

  Something had called to him down the hill, in the city below. Like a whisper from the stars, one he’d never heard before Catarina had killed those soldiers and the breeze had whipped by, blowing through his hair with gentle fury…

  The remaining Spaniards and Incas lay down arms against each other and set to defending Vilcabamba and its treasure. The rest of the gold was brought safely below ground. But as the weeks passed, the strange behavior grew. Men began disappearing down into the hidden chambers below, refusing to return again. Strange chants rumbled deep beneath the Earth’s surface. Those heading down to inspect the proceedings reported that their comrades no longer appeared to know who they were.

  Stranger, they seemed to be worshipping two circular objects, fashioning a silver case studded with jewels in which to house their new obsession. They’d been found in a Spaniard’s saddlebags soon after the fighting stopped. He had brought them from a distant land, covered in snow. But they now belonged to the group, something about their brilliance and seeming perfection captivating the men.