by S M Briscoe
“And what of this one?”
“An insurrectionist, my Lord,” the Head of State answered, appearing eager to deliver the news. “He has been aiding the Prophet. We have brought him before You, as commanded, to reveal her whereabouts and that of the infidels that continue to aid her. And . . . as a sacrifice to our Lords.”
“A sacrifice?” Turaus echoed. “That does please Us. Yet you have failed to grasp this one’s true value. Not its knowledge of betrayers or throat in sacrifice. Its blood. The mark which lies upon it. Branded and bonded it is, by the one who came first.”
“My Lord?” the Dorion queried, sounding as perplexed as Rho’uk felt.
The War God actually laughed, a terrible, guttural sound that Rho’uk felt reverberating in his bones. “Your ignorance amuses Us. Into Our midst have you delivered a Hybrid. The Prophet has chosen her allies well. Though its power is of no consequence. A pity. We would have enjoyed the confrontation. Perhaps We will even yet. We can taste its desire to destroy Us.”
Turaus faced the human again, leaning in towards him. “You desire this, Hybrid?” He asked. “It is in your blood to do so. It is your purpose. Your entire reason for existing. Will you act upon those instincts?”
The human, still restrained and tethered to the floor, actually looked as though he did want to lunge at the War God, as ridiculous and futile a prospect as that was. Rho’uk had been right to respect the man. It took the spirit of a great warrior, suicidal or not, to stand defiant before an immortal. Obviously Turaus saw something in the human as well. He did not know what the War God referred to in describing him, but guessed it had something to do with his unique abilities. The man was obviously more than just a simple human being, though, whatever he was, Rho’uk guessed it would not save him. Before the omnipotent power of a God, of the almighty Turaus, no mortal could prevail
“Your bindings stay your hand, perhaps? Turaus continued. “Such primitive methods of restraint should be beneath you. If We were to remove them, would you give in to your urges then?” The War God reached over His shoulder and pulled free a long bladed weapon from a sheath that appeared to be part of His body armor, bringing the long jagged sword down to rest before the human’s face briefly. Strangely, the weapon almost seemed to have a presence of its own, something akin to a cold chill coming over Rho’uk as his eyes followed it, along with a compulsion to do so. Turaus let the blade fall between the man’s bound hands, a slight movement, the solid bindings coming apart at the seem that connected its two halves. The cuffs fell, clanging to the floor, the human looking to his freed hands for a long moment, before returning his gaze to the Turaus.
“You are now free,” the War God went on. “What will you do with that freedom, Hybrid? Will you destroy Us?” When the human did not respond, with either words or action, Turaus continued. “No. It is as We knew. You will not act. You cannot . . . because you are weak. You will cower, as all other beings will cower before us. And you will suffer as they suffer. You will be no different. Hybrid or not, still only mortal. Powerless. Weak . . . as the rest.”
Turaus turned away from the human then, as though having lost interest in him, the War God’s sulfurous gaze drifting across the rest of the chamber’s occupants. And that was when the human moved. He leaped high, far higher than should have been possible, somersaulting over Turaus’ head, taking hold of the sword still in His hand and tearing it free as he came down in front of Him. Amazingly, the man held the long bladed weapon aloft at the War God, Turaus turning on him, slowly.
Rho’uk felt his mouth drop open with shock, guessing the rest of chamber’s occupants would be reacting similarly, though he could not tear his gaze away to confirm it.
Turaus simply laughed, sounding mildly amused. “You are stronger than We had thought.”
The War God had barely finished speaking when the human lashed out, swinging the long sword in an arc that would bring it down across His wide torso, Turaus catching the blade in His hand, mid slash. The human’s eyes grew wide with astonishment as Turaus pulled the weapon free of his hands.
“Though it is of no consequence,” Turaus continued, extending His free hand in a gesture toward the human’s chest. A ball of sulfurous energy manifested itself in His palm, before being hurled into the man, sending him soaring across the room to crash into the wall, the stone cracking from the impact.
Turaus approached the human’s smoldering body as it slumped to the floor. “Still . . . only mortal.” Without turning from the man’s body He spoke to others in the chamber, sounding almost disappointed.
“Dispose of it.”
Chapter 42
“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” Kern said, for the third time since they had entered Gaia’s atmosphere.
Sierra couldn’t say she wasn’t silently echoing the sentiment herself. Jarred’s homing beacon had led them into the heart of the world’s capital city, specifically it’s large governance quarter, which was probably the most heavily fortified and security intensive locale in the system. Security, intelligence, policing agencies, all were headquartered in close proximity to one another in what was a veritable fortress of high rise towers and installations. Squadrons of security vessels zig zagged back and forth across the skyline and between the towers forming a flowing grid of constant patrol sweeps.
Their vessel’s cloaking system had allowed them to pass through Gaia’s orbital defenses without detection, and thus far, they had seen no signs of significant security buildup that would indicate any of the Sect forces had become aware of their presence here, but that didn’t put Sierra or the others at ease as they coasted through the city right under their noses.
And then there was, of course, their destination. The Usarion Temple itself. Getting close to it normally wouldn’t have been difficult. The Temple was a hub of activity for tourists and die hard believers alike. Right now their only advantage was this cloaked vessel. It was also their hinderance. Landing and exiting the craft to enter the Temple would require them to disengage the cloak. Even if they could do so without their reemergence into the visible spectrum being witnessed, doing so would forfeit that advantage. She also knew that any attempt to enter the Temple in order to extract Jarred would be suicide. She had no intention of doing either. If they were going to rescue him, he was going to have to find his way to them.
Sierra knew their chances were slim. She wasn’t a fool. She would not sacrifice their lives or her mission if it seemed there was no chance of success. She knew she was playing a dangerous game, already risking more than she should have, but she still had enough sense to know when to stop herself. If they got as close as they could to Jarred, and the opportunity to pull off their rescue didn’t present itself, she would have to pull the plug. Regardless of what it meant for Jarred or the protests she would surely face. If and when the time came, she would order Kern to turn about and get them out of here. But not until that time came.
“Well, we are,” Sierra returned. “So you can stop complaining. Just stay on course and try not to crash into anything.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Kern replied. “I’ve done this before, remember?”
“Yeah, I remember,” she said, glancing down at the navigational readouts. “Like I said, don’t crash into anything.” The nav display showed an overhead grid of the city, Jarred’s beacon registering as a flashing red icon, steadily drawing nearer to the center of the display, their own current location. Tapping a finger on the flashing beacon brought up a magnified and more detailed view of the city section with lane way and major structure identifiers. Another tap magnified the view once again, this time focusing on the building Jarred was being held in only.
“There it is,” Kern declared, not sounding pleased at the fact. “The Usarion Temple. You sure you don’t want to reconsider turning back?”
“Not on your life.” It was Elora that leaned forward in her control seat opposite Sierra’s to shoot down Kern’s suggestion.
“Just thought I would ask,�
�� he returned. Beneath the nervous front he was putting on, Sierra knew where his will lied. He would follow this through to the end, or until she ordered him not to.
Glancing up through the front viewport Sierra eyed the looming tower, steadily growing closer in the distance, and punched a quick command sequence into her console. “Bringing up holographic overlay,” she said, as the holo-schematic she prompted appeared on the interactive viewport canopy over the tower. The wireframe projection outlined the building’s numerous levels along with a basic floor grid layout, though minimally detailed through the upper levels, where Jarred’s flashing beacon was registering near the tower’s peak. Even at that, it was an impressive testament to Taliss’ expansive personal archives, considering the facility in question. The tower’s upper portion was well known for it’s security intensity and the highly classified information would not have been easy to come by.
“Jarred’s in there?” It was Ethan that asked the question, moving up to stand between Elora and Sierra.
“Yes,” Elora returned. “Get back to your seat and strap in.”
The boy didn’t move. “We’re going in to get him, right?”
“You’re not going anywhere,” Elora shot back, sternly.
“Come on,” he argued. “You’re going to need my help.”
Elora shook her head, insistently. “It’s out of the question. You’re not taking one step off of this ship.”
“None of us are,” Sierra cut in, not surprised when all faces turned her way. “For anyone to go in after him we will need to set down and drop cloak, and give away our position in the process. That’s not going to happen.”
Elora’s look was incredulous. “Then how are we supposed to get him out of there?”
“We’re not,” Sierra answered her after a long moment, hardening herself for the inevitable argument to come. “We can’t get to him in there. We would need a tactical strike team and a whole lot more planning than we’ve put into this to even attempt it. Even then our chances would be less than slim. He’s going to have to get himself out to us.”
“And how is he supposed to do that?” Elora exclaimed, her eyes wide with disbelief. “He doesn’t even know we’re out here!”
“Well we can’t just bust in and start shooting up the place looking for him. We’d all be killed. Even if we got to him we would have nothing to come back to. The moment we dropped the cloak the ship would be picked up on every scanner in the quadrant and all those assault craft running security sweeps would come running. This ship is our only advantage and it’s only an advantage while it’s making us invisible to the security forces we don’t want seeing us. If we give that up this rescue will be over before it even begins.”
Elora seemed to take a moment to absorb everything Sierra had told her and, appearing to clam down slightly, let out the breath she was holding. “Then what is our plan?”
“I haven’t exactly come up with one yet. We’re winging it, remember? I’m open to any suggestions.”
“Whoa,” Kern blurted. “I don’t want to interrupt, but Jarred just fell off the grid.”
“What?” Sierra tore her gaze from Elora’s to look towards the viewport, or rather the holographic overlay of the Temple peak displayed on it. Nearly on the tower now, Kern slowing their momentum to hover in front of it, they could clearly make out the different levels and sections of the wireframe, Jarred’s signal having been registering on the highest multi-domed level which the overlay displayed as a single large chamber. As Kern had said, Jarred’s signal was no longer there. “Where did he go?”
“I don’t know,” Kern answered. “His beacon just vanished.”
“What does that mean?” Elora asked. “Is he . . .” She let the question hang, but Sierra knew what she was thinking, because she was thinking the same thing herself. There were only two reasons for why the signal would stop transmitting. Either it’s short life span had run out . . . or Jarred’s had. It had been nearly three days since he had injected himself with the tracer, so it was possible that the former was the cause, but there was really no way of knowing.
“The tracer may have just dissolved,” Kern suggested. “He might still be alive.”
“But we can’t know for sure,” Sierra said.
“Wait!” Elora exclaimed. “What about mine?”
“Yours?” she asked.
“The tracer Jarred put in me,” the other woman elaborated. “Check my signal.”
“I don’t know why I didn’t think of that,” Sierra said, turning to input a command sequence into her control console. Why hadn’t she thought of it? It should have come to her as soon as Jarred’s signal winked out, but it hadn’t. Was she slipping? She couldn’t allow for something so simple to go over her head. Not if she was going to keep them all alive. Her terminal chimed as her command went through and she quickly selected Elora’s frequency from the tracking device Jarred had left with her and sent the data through to the nav display. Immediately the beacon blinked on directly over their own location and Sierra felt the combined mood on the flight deck drop. The long silence that followed was nearly deafening as they all considered the gravity of the revelation and what it meant.
It was the boy who spoke first. “He’s not dead.” When no one responded to the comment he continued, his voice raising with each word. “He’s not! He can’t be.”
“Ethan,” Elora returned, her voice calm, but hollow.
“Don’t do that!” he almost shouted back at her. “Don’t talk to me like I’m a little kid! I’m not. I know what you’re all thinking, but he’s not . . .”
When the boy’s words seemed to get caught in his throat, Sierra turned to face him. “I’m sorry, Ethan. None of us want this. But he’s gone. We can’t help him now. We tried, but there’s nothing more we can do. Jarred wouldn’t want us to-”
“Jarred wouldn’t leave us behind!” Ethan cut in, so sharply Sierra found herself shocked back into silence. Or maybe it was the validity of his words that had shaken her so strongly. Jarred had put himself in harms way, almost consistently, since she had met him, and for people he hardly knew, including herself. And though she had easily detected his reluctance to do so, the end result was that he had repeatedly put them all before himself and his own safety and goals over the passed week. But he was gone. And there was nothing she or any of them could do to change that. Continuing down this path would only put all of their lives at risk, without any real purpose.
“No,” Sierra replied, finding her voice again. “I guess you’re right. He wouldn’t have. He came back for you. He even came back for us.” She spared a glance towards Kern to emphasize her point. “But he’s gone now. And he wouldn’t want you to risk yourself for him. Not after everything he did to make sure you were safe.” She made eye contact with Kern and Elora to find they all seemed to be in agreement on her point, though their expressions mirrored Ethan’s own displeasure with it. They had tried. She had tried. Now she had to think about getting them and Orna to safety.
“Kern,” she said, solemnly, not wanting to give the order, but having known deep down it was the one she would need to give in the end. “Turn us about.”
Across from her, Elora reached out to her brother, who pulled away and slumped down into the control seat next to her, angrily. She met the woman’s gaze again and gave her a reassuring nod, or her best attempt at one.
Kern said nothing from his flight seat, but turned to carry out her instructions, altering their course in a slow arc away from the tower. “Wait!” he almost cried, before completing the maneuver.
Sierra instinctively spun around to face her control console, her battle instincts taking over. “What is it? Have we been spotted?”
“Jarred’s signal!” he answered her, excitedly. “It’s back!”
“What?” she said, in unison with Elora and Ethan both.
“It just . . . reappeared,” Kern clarified. “Close to the area it was when he vanished.”
Sierra looked towar
ds the front viewscreen, as Kern had righted their course to face the tower again. As he had said, Jarred’s signal was registering from the top level of the Temple.
“I knew it!” Ethan exclaimed. “I knew he wasn’t gone!”
“He’s on the move,” Kern said.
“Or being moved,” Sierra suggested, watching the beacon as it was indeed tracking across the level.
“But he’s alive,” Elora said, as though the point changed everything. Sierra was in agreement, but they were still left with their original problem. “Granted. But how do we let him know we’re out here?”
“And help him get free of whoever’s probably moving him,” Elora added.
The long silence didn’t fill Sierra with confidence, but it was Kern who finally spoke.
“I might have an idea.”
* * *
It was a strange sensation, being removed from one’s own body.
At least, that was what Jarred thought was happening to him. He had felt the energy blast that the dark being, that bore an uncanny resemblance to a Usarion God, had conjured and hurled at him, but had also watched himself being thrown across the large audience chamber by it. He had been acutely aware of his singed skin as tendrils of smoke rose from his body, and though he was able to feel his burned flesh, it did not pain him. He had heard the Usarion impersonator’s orders to have him removed and destroyed, orders that were also heard and comprehended by their intended recipients, much as Jarred had understood the dark being’s alien words when it had spoken to him. He had watched himself being dragged back to the cell he had been taken from only a short time earlier and was now currently watching them string him back up to its ceiling mounted restraints.
It was a strange sensation to be sure. Was he dead? He didn’t believe so. He could feel what was happening to him. He could feel his own heart beating, though so slowly that to anyone checking it would appear he had expired. He could feel his wounds repairing themselves, his cells regenerating. No, he was not dead. He was very much alive. Though he wouldn’t be for long if he didn’t awaken from this peculiar state and take action.
