Trapped On Talonque: (A Sectors SF romance)

by Veronica Scott

  A new woman arrived, emerging from the palace and walking to join the noble, placing her arm possessively around his waist. Head tilted imperiously, her white-painted lips set in a thin, straight line, she listened to the discussion in silence. Nate met her eyes briefly before she contemptuously tossed her head and centered her attention on the gesticulating officer. She took a few steps forward, one hand raised to silence the ongoing briefing. Standing in front of Nate, forcing the protesting officer to move aside, she cupped Nate’s chin with one hand, nothing gentle about the gesture. Her long fingers were tipped like talons, with long, curved, purple-gray painted nails resting on his cheek with a clearly implied threat. He glared at her, attempting to communicate his defiance through his expression and stance. Still holding his chin, she asked the officer a question, which he hastily answered. The woman released Nate’s chin but ran one hand through his hair, caressingly, down the back of his neck and onto his bare chest. Her touch burned his skin. He wondered if she had poison painted on her nails.

  As if impatient with her inspection, the ruler fired a question at Nate in a dialect unlike anything he’d heard on this planet. Shaking his head, he said, “Sorry, not a language I speak.”

  There was an indrawn hiss of breath from those closest to the man in charge. He recoiled a few inches, wide-eyed, mouth open in excitement. Fear. Why would anyone be afraid of us, especially chained the way we are? How do I use this?

  The woman stalked in a circle, studying Thom and Harada, peering closely at their faces. When she came to Atletl, she laughed, shaking her head. Taking the officer by the elbow, she engaged him in rapid conversation.

  Atletl stood motionless, his demeanor proud. Obviously, he understood the discussion regarding their fate, but whether it was good or ill, he gave no sign. Nor did he speak.

  Finally, the soldier grabbed Atletl’s left arm and tugged the prisoner sideways a few steps, imploring the haughty noblewoman to examine him more closely. Nate tried to see what the item of interest might be. A tattoo on Atletl’s well-muscled bicep in the shape of a small, stylized reptilian creature in blue and scarlet inks was the focus of attention. The symbol matched the decoration on the young priestess’s dress. Rival deities perhaps?

  “T’naritza,” the officer said insistently, tapping one finger on the tattoo. He waved his other hand to take in Nate and his men, including them in this designation.

  Elegant eyebrows raised, the woman nodded. She spoke to the man in charge, and the two of them paced hand in hand to the thrones, seating themselves. Chin resting on his fist, the ruler took a pinch of a pale green substance from a platter at his side and chewed lazily as he studied Nate, Haranda and Thom for a long moment. Raising the staff, the dignitary made a lazy circle in the air above his head, a gesture of dismissal accompanied by one curt syllable from fleshy lips. The crowd filed silently out of the courtyard.

  “Wish I had a clue what they want from us,” Nate said, more to break the uncanny silence than for any other reason.

  “Maybe we don’t really want to know.” Thom straightened. “These primitive planets have pretty unpleasant ways of dealing with unexpected guests.”

  The black-clad ladies—the ones Nate thought of as birds of prey—conferred with the ruler. Face set in a disapproving frown, the lavender lady listened. After issuing a flurry of orders to the women, the queen gathered her skirts and departed. As she left, the noble rose, striding to the rear of the dais. He shoved aside the impressive black leather curtains, ruthlessly crumpling an embossed mountain scene, and disappeared. The guards pushed the prisoners to the rear of the dais and through the same curtains. Nate found himself in another narrow, whitewashed corridor. The guards administered rough encouragement to pick up the pace and follow the ruler more closely. The three women trailed along in the rear, the two in black whispering together unhappily.

  This new corridor twisted and turned. After two moments or so, the procession branched off into a smaller side hall, dead-ending in a chamber lit by sluggishly burning torches.

  “Must be deep inside the building by now,” Haranda said. “We’ve been descending steadily since we left the main corridor. These walls are like geological layers, remnants of older and older buildings. Typical, to place new construction on top of the original structures. Like going back in time.”

  Thanks for the archaeological footnote, kid. Wish any of that analysis would help me figure out a way for us to escape. Nate blinked and focused on the wall in front of them. As his overworked pupils expanded in the soothing balm of relatively dim light and the throbbing pain in his head eased, he perceived the wall had an elaborate set of designs carved into it. The two women in black elbowed their way past the prisoners and guards and chanted a sonorous set of phrases over and over. The noble walked to the wall and began placing his hands on various portions of the carving in a highly stylized, ritualistic manner in time with the rise and fall of the chanting. Making a double fist, he pressed on a portion of the carving.

  A chiming sound emanated from everywhere. A green glow shimmered over the whole party for a long moment. Fat snakes of pure light crawled over them all and winked out, reappearing elsewhere in the narrow space. The guards flinched apprehensively, although the ruler and all three women appeared comfortable with the phenomenon. They’ve obviously done this before. Nate blinked, flinching involuntarily as the green lights crawled over his face and scalp. He realized his headache was gone.

  “What the—”

  The carved white wall slid aside.

  Under pressure from the guards, he went farther downward, through a narrow, sloping, nearly pitch-black corridor. Nate wished for more room to maneuver, sure he and Thom could take the local men with a small amount of luck, but no chance presented itself.

  The narrow corridor opened into a bigger chamber, at first also only dimly lit, but Nate realized the light was increasing gradually, subtly. A smooth, darkly gleaming black stone wall faced them. About seven feet high and ten feet wide, it was translucent, but squint though he might, Nate couldn’t make out what lay behind.

  After clearing his throat, the ruler chanted three words, trying to artificially pitch his voice to an unnatural high note. When nothing happened, he and the two black-clad women exchanged resigned glances before he made another attempt, enunciating more clearly in an ear-splitting falsetto.

  Nothing.

  Wheeling to his right, the man grabbed the elbow of the young woman in lavender, shoving her to the front, inches from the wall blocking their way.

  She licked her thin lips nervously and launched into a chant. The syllables sounded the same, but her voice gave them clarity and a musical pitch, showing how far off the mark the ruler’s attempt must have been from the required tones.

  The stone door vibrated, emitting a musical hum, and then the black stone barrier vanished as if it had never been there in all its tons.

  Nate gasped at the sight before him.

  He stood on the edge of a high-tech chamber out of place on a primitive world such as this one. Ringing the room were strange displays, blinking lights, roving green beams, unknown instruments. The sophistication of the technology was well beyond anything the Sectors had achieved, let alone the dwellers of this planet. Nate spared only a second to glance at these wonders. His attention was caught and held by what occupied the center of a large alcove directly across the room.

  The cubicle was lined in shiny metallic material and from the floor rose a graceful pedestal of the same material, topped with a thin platform at waist level. Neatly arranged on a layer of dark purple padding lay a woman, apparently asleep. She certainly wasn’t from this planet, nor any world known to Nate. This mysterious female had ivory skin with the palest of lavender undertones in her cheeks.

  “I’ll be moon-damned.” Thom’s attention was riveted on the sleeper as well. “An Ancient Observer?”

  “Can’t be—no one’s ever found actual remains,” Haranda said from the other side. “Although this roo
m certainly suggests a high level of technology, it’s not AO. Another sophisticated, highly advanced forerunner civilization. The galaxy is a big place after all.” Roused from his state of funk, he studied the walls, apparently more interested in the devices and displays than in the woman. “I minored in AO studies at the Academy.”

  “I don’t think she’s a well-preserved corpse.” Nate couldn’t take his gaze from her, not even to watch what their captors were doing now. He took himself sharply to task for the lapse. What if we’ve been brought here as a sacrifice? He had to be mentally prepared to fight, not gawk at a pretty girl. But the next moment he found himself studying her again, unable to keep himself from indulging in another view.

  The woman was tall, probably his equal in height, definitely humanoid. She lay pillowed on her own hair, a thick, sweeping fall of glorious blue mixed with amethyst purple, set here and there with twinkling jewels. From his location across the room, he couldn’t see whether she was breathing, yet he had a definite sense of a living presence.

  Her clothing was a simple, silvery white and lavender sheath, like finely woven metallic thread had been spun to make the dress. Thin jeweled straps held the garment at her shoulders. The finely pleated fabric clung to her curves sensuously. She lay on her back, arms stretched out a little on each side, her graceful, six-fingered hands spread open on the cushion. She wore no jewelry save for an elaborate bracelet on her left wrist, studded with colorful stones whose facets caught and amplified the lights in the main room.

  Grimacing, the woman arched her spine as if in pain, moving her head on the pillow restlessly.

  “What the—” Nate swiveled his head and saw the noble flipping small jeweled medallions set into one of the wall panels.

  Apparently remaining unconscious, the woman struggled to raise her hands from the bedding, her face contorted. A harsh chiming emanated from the walls, as if warning against whatever procedure he’d initiated. Undeterred despite a second sirenlike sound joining the cacophony, the noble finished his task with a satisfied grunt. The black-clad priestesses seemed to want him to stop, one going so far as to touch his sleeve before being impatiently shaken off.

  The lavender-clad lady cowered at the far wall, covering her ears and crouching pathetically.

  Nate’s head suddenly filled with fire, and then icy cold replaced the heat, a piercing pain shooting through his entire nervous system from the top of his brain, along his spine and out to peripheral nerve endings. He fell to his knees, dragging the other three prisoners with him, exclaiming curses in their surprise. Barely hanging on to consciousness, Nate fought the alternating hot and cold waves and the associated pain in his head. Dazzling streaks and multicolored pinwheels obscured his vision, staying even though he screwed his eyes tightly shut.

  “Sicondame sliquon…” came a deep, female voice from all around them.

  Nate raised his head, eyes tearing, staring at the woman on the table. Is that her voice? How can she sound so calm under apparent torture?

  The alarms and klaxons abruptly shut off. Nate’s ears rang with the aftereffects of the discordant noises.

  Hands on his hips, the noble nodded and made a declaration to the priestesses in a tone conveying satisfaction.

  Nate shook his head again as the guards impatiently yanked him to his feet. The soldiers tugged at him and the other three prisoners, indicating their time in the chamber of the sleeping lady was at an end. He twisted to catch one last glimpse of her in the gradually fading light.

  She opened her eyes, looked directly at him, and in his head he heard two words.

  I’m sorry.

  “She must have been lying there for centuries, maybe thousands of years, judging from the multiple layers of building remnants we passed through on our downward trek. You expect us to believe she spoke to you? And apologized in Basic?” Haranda’s voice conveyed his skepticism. “Captain, whatever equipment was running in the room obviously affected you—”

  “I know what I heard.” Nate decided to ignore the edge of insubordination in the cadet pilot’s voice in the interest of discussing the phenomenon. “The private communication was the same female voice speaking out loud in the room, so what I heard in my head had to be her.”

  “Maybe close to a language you were hypnotrained for on a past mission?” Thom asked. “I admit this local stuff don’t activate any of my stored files.”

  Nate shook his head. “Basic. She spoke Basic to me. Now how could an alien woman entombed here all this time know Basic?”

  Thom shrugged. “I got no answers. She’s a mystery stashed in a puzzle box, but we don’t exactly have the luxury of studying her. We gotta concentrate on our own problems. Better get some rest. No telling what new surprise they’ll have for us in the morning. Are you going to finish your bowl of mush?”

  “No, you’re welcome to it.” Nate pushed the offending red clay bowl along the stony floor to Thom, straining against the chains binding him to the wall. They were in a big room with enough space for fifty more captives without crowding. The only light came through widely spaced, narrow slits in the wall near the ceiling as the sun set.

  Nate sighed and tried to get comfortable, leaning against the rough stone wall. At least his headache was gone, possibly cured by the restorative effect of the few crumbs of dinner, or the mildly alcoholic beverage served with it. Nate drank his fair share once he realized it was an intoxicant, however low a dose. Anything to ward off a rebound of the pounding in his head. Not to mention the excruciating pain of returning circulation in his arms once he’d been freed from the restrictive bindings and locked into a looser set of chains attached to the prison wall.

  Battered and bruised, he drifted into a troubled sleep.

  He stood wreathed in gray-green mists coiling around him like the ghosts of snakes before falling away to reveal the mysterious subterranean room deep under the palace. He faced the sleeping woman. Finding himself unrestrained, Nate descended the three stairs and walked across the chamber until he stubbed his toe against an invisible but potent barrier. Trying to reach through or past this obstacle, Nate saw his hands outlined in pale green light. He shoved harder. If he could just reach her, wake her, ask her a few pointed questions… As if sensing his efforts, she moved her head on the mattress and opened her eyes, revealing dark lavender irises flecked with gold.

  “I am sorry,” she said, clear as day, in Basic.

  But no, Nate realized, he heard the words in his mind, not with his ears. Her lips moved, but not to shape the syllables he heard.

  “Sarbordon thinks you and I are of the same people. Therefore, what he wants lies outside your power to provide,” she said, as if the piece of confusing information would help him navigate the perilous situation.

  “Why are you sorry?” Nate stayed with her first words to him. “You’ve done nothing to harm us.”

  “I pity anyone trapped here on this cursed planet. The king will sacrifice you to his hungry gods when you don’t produce the miracles he expects. Demands. I—I didn’t tell him the truth when he asked.” Brow furrowed, she studied Nate’s face. Biting her lower lip, she said, “Honesty on my part would have brought instant death for you. He believes you’re my father’s warriors, come to rescue me, so I agreed with his conclusion. I said you were also sent to retrieve certain possessions. He’s desperate to acquire the marvels my father wielded. My deception may give you time, perhaps a chance to save yourselves.” She studied him from head to toe, and her lips curved into a slight smile. “You have the attitude of a warrior, one able to survive. You must play the game.” After a moment, she averted her gaze, but Nate still heard her next words. “Sarbordon will bring you here again if you earn the privilege. If you can survive to that point, I may have a plan, a chance for you to seize freedom. I can’t promise.”

  He was woozy, possibly an aftereffect of the wine with dinner. Maybe the drink had been laced with a primitive drug. His powers of concentration were affected, and frustration with his uncha
racteristic lack of focus built. “What’s your name?”

  This vision he was having was dangerously fascinating, and he wished it were real. No one had ever even seen a representation of a living Ancient Observer, much less conversed with one. He accepted Haranda’s educated assessment that she wasn’t a member of the mysterious race of galactic forerunners from a million years ago, but the way her chamber was encapsulated deep in the palace, as if the building had grown organically to house her, spoke of centuries, if not millennia, passing since she was placed in her high-tech prison. The equipment must have kept her alive, but why was she here in the first place?

  The incongruity of trying to solve her puzzle while his life and the lives of his men hung in the balance made him shake his head. This was one hell of a dream, built on his fascination with her earlier in the day.

  “We’re not dreaming.” Seizing on his unspoken thought, she denied his conclusion scornfully, staring at him with wide-eyed contempt. “I dream only of death. We’re communicating. Perhaps your people are too primitive for the concept, fallen from the sky or not.”

  She was fading in front of his eyes, the edges of the scene going fuzzy and black. Nate focused on the pale oval of her face. “Tell me your name.” He wanted the conversation to continue, intent on coaxing her to keep her eyes open. He feared when she slept, his dream would end.

  “These fools call me T’naritza, the Sleeping Goddess.” The woman’s tone held disdain and dislike. “It will do—”

  “Tell me your real name.” If there was any chance this encounter was real, rather than a dream, he wanted to make a connection with her, convert her view of them from unfortunate beings to be pitied into allies. He’d clearly lost ground with her when he called their link a dream. She might represent a slim chance of escape. Apparently, she’d already interceded for them to a limited extent.

  His use of his command voice to issue an order brought her back for a second from the brink of nodding off. Blinking, she focused on Nate’s face. “What will my name do for you, unfortunate one?”