The Survivors | Book 16 | New Lies

by Hystad, Nathan

  I stepped aside as a fight broke out, hopping past the altercation, and the bar turned into a gladiator ring, with the patrons forming a circle around the two huge opponents. “Does this happen a lot?” I asked Sergo over the noise.

  His big black eyes reflected the fighters as he watched them. “Not often. Just every hour or so.”

  We stopped at the table where Fuzz remained still, the raucous fight doing nothing to wake him. Sergo motioned to the bartender, lifting three fingers, and the guy nodded, sending a bot over with a steady tray in its grip.

  “I’m not drinking that,” I whispered.

  “They’re for our friend.” Sergo slid the three full drinks in front of Fuzz, and sent the bot away with the empty mugs.

  Fuzz began sniffing, his left eye propping open before the other. Without looking up at us, he emptied one of the drinks and slammed the mug down. He finally peered at the Padlog, then at me, and motioned for us to have a seat.

  I made Sergo slide in first. I had no desire to be trapped in a booth at this establishment.

  Fuzz reached for the second glass. “Sergo.”

  “Fuzz. Thanks for the meeting.”

  “I have nothing to say.” He spoke slower, and it was easier to make out his words than those of the guys outside.

  “Are you forgetting that you owe me one? That shipment from Yol Sixteen? You’d still be sweeping the floors at the docks if we hadn’t struck big on it.” Sergo set his hands on the table, and I knew this was his way of telling Fuzz he wasn’t here for a duel.

  Fuzz nodded and wiped his lips with a warty finger. “I haven’t seen the one you seek.”

  “We know his captors were coming. We traced him this far,” I said.

  Red-rimmed eyes blinked and slowly glanced in my direction. “Who is this pale creature?”

  “This is my apprentice,” Sergo said.

  We’d assumed telling anyone I was Dean Parker would only risk our mission. Someone like Fuzz would love to get his grubby paws on me and demand a hefty payout for my return.

  “You let him speak for you?” Fuzz asked.

  “We have a common interest. The Toquil’s a friend. We’re invested.” Sergo was doing well, and I didn’t think I could have made it this far without him. With Slate and Loweck on Light, and Suma supporting her father on Shimmal, I needed someone to watch my back.

  Magnus would have been a good choice, but he was stationed with Jules and Dean at the Alliance Institute. Thinking of my daughter made me wonder how the first few weeks were going. I’d been chasing after Regnig for months, and I was out of touch with things at home.

  “What do you offer for information?” Fuzz downed the second mug, spilling half of it on his own lap.

  “So you do have news?” Sergo asked.

  “Would I have bothered meeting you if I didn’t?” he asked angrily.

  “A hundred thousand Alliance credits,” I said without missing a beat.

  He laughed, and the sound was akin to a frog’s croak. “What do I want with marked Alliance credits? Bars. I want an Inlorian bar.”

  “Info first,” Sergo said.

  “The Wibox were here. Ugly guys,” Fuzz said, and I wondered what that meant to this man. He wasn’t exactly the epitome of beauty. “They were spotted at dock warehouse C18. Traded with a guy named Jomm. Word is they left two days ago.”

  We had our lead. I didn’t know what the Wibox wanted with Regnig, but when we reached out to their government, they’d denied any knowledge of an abduction. Not that I trusted this King Uvid character. Mary didn’t believe them and assumed their reticence to speak was connected to our Alliance’s expansion.

  The Wibox had been a thorn in a few neighboring systems’ sides, and we were in the process of bringing the Gretiol, one of those races, into the Alliance. At this moment, their first string of recruits would be joining Magnus at New Spero’s base, traveling through their own hidden portal to the sphere stone Jules had retrieved and placed at the Alliance Institute.

  “Anything else?” Sergo asked Fuzz.

  Fuzz picked up the last mug. “Be careful.”

  “Why?” I leaned in, seeing the fight in the bar was finished. One of the men lay unmoving in the middle of the floor, and people were drinking around him. The robot was frantic, trying to clean the mess up.

  “They aren’t to be trifled with. They’ll cut your head off while shaking your hand.”

  “Let’s get out of here.” I removed an Inlorian bar from my pack. I’d only brought one, and I made that clear to Fuzz. I didn’t want them to ambush us later.

  The bar vanished into his greasy leather cloak, and he finished the third drink, letting out a belch.

  I hurried from the table, Sergo on my heels, and I’d never been so pleased to step outside in my life. The air was thick, but I could finally breathe without wanting to retch.

  “To the docks?”

  “I know a shortcut,” Sergo said, nodding at the end of the alley. It was pitch black, with no streetlights to be seen.

  The mud squelched under my boots as we strode along the buildings, trying to stay out of sight.

  “You ever heard of this Jomm character?” I asked Sergo.

  “Think so. Not a big player. Dealing in the unsavory. Mostly trade of the illegal kind.”

  “Like what?”

  “People.”

  My teeth gnashed together. This entire planet was a cesspool, and the only thing I hated more than being threatened in the street by ugly stinking monsters was slave traders.

  “Dean, you have that expression again,” Sergo said.

  “What expression?” I entered the narrow passageway at the edge of the road first and gripped my pulse pistol. It felt good to have protection.

  “You’re not going to do anything crazy, are you?” Sergo asked from behind me. The walls were oily, and rainwater dripped from old gutters to the top of my head.

  “Define ‘crazy’.”

  “Never mind,” Sergo muttered.

  “What do we know about the Wibox?” My research had only taken me so far, and I wanted to hear what Sergo the smuggler thought, not Sergo the straight-laced in-a-relationship pilot for the Alliance.

  “The Wibox are different. They’re not advanced like the Bhlat or the Arnap, but they have the same ruthless nature. They’ll gut you for fun or shackle you inside their Runners and make you work for them. They collect things, mostly junk, and fix them up, trading them at portside planets. Most of them are nomadic and only return home to their world when they’ve amassed enough fortune to buy one of the thousands of islands in their ocean, and retire with a retinue of slaves to do their bidding.” Sergo said it all matter-of-factly, but I could tell by the tinge of ache in his voice that he was as disgusted with them as I was. “There’s also rumors they’re linked to a secret organization, but I don’t have the details.”

  I was so used to the Alliance partners, with culinary class, culture, and arts, that it was easy to forget the universe was a vast and dark place, filled with danger in every corner. Suddenly, I wished I was on Haven, curled up by the fire with Mary, with Jules and Hugo in their pajamas as we watched a classic movie together.

  Mud reached up to my ankles as I escaped the tunnel into the open sky, and I tried to shake it off as the rain began falling again. It was late, and most of the dock workers were hanging out at the bar we’d recently fled. The entire region was quiet, with the odd braying of a sea creature searching for food near the coastline.

  “There it is.” Sergo jutted a finger at a series of dilapidated warehouses. They were staggered in an uneven row.

  Five big haulers sat parked near the water, dark and seemingly unoccupied. Our ship was nearby too, and I couldn’t wait to climb into it, hopefully with a clue to Regnig’s whereabouts. We picked up our pace as we escaped the mud, and jumped to the wooden trail running through the entire region.

  By the time we neared the warehouses labeled with Cs, it was pouring, and we rushed for the buil
ding marked C18. I stopped outside it, finding a light on in the structure. The exterior paint was peeling, and water rushed off the slanted roof onto the wooden walkway.

  Sergo lunged ahead, banging on the door. “Jomm! Open up!”

  We waited a moment, and just when I was ready to kick it down, a viewing slot spread wide. The Hileo man beyond was as repulsive as the rest of them. “Waddayawant?”

  “Open up. Fuzz sent us,” Sergo said.

  The guy glared at me for a moment, then at the Padlog, before sliding the slot closed. A second later, he relented and ushered us inside. The warehouse was open and airy, with a breeze rolling in through a pair of windows at the top of the wall.

  “Whatsthisabout?” Jomm asked. His lids were heavy, and he had a leather cloak on, undone above the waist.

  Sergo shut the door, and I lunged for him, shoving Jomm backwards into his place. He was the worst kind of scum. “What did the Wibox want?”

  He raised a hand defensively, but I had my pulse pistol aimed directly for his chest. The room was cluttered, with dozens of overflowing shelving units along the walls. There were three doors, and I thought I heard clatter coming from one of them. Outside, the storm accelerated, mirroring my state of mind.

  “Wibox?”

  “Don’t play dumb, Jomm. Though with you, I doubt it’s playing,” Sergo confronted him. “Did you see the Toquil?”

  “IdontknowwhataToquilis,” he muttered.

  I lowered a finger to right above my knee. “About this tall. Feathers. One eye. A beak.”

  He flinched, and I struck him with the butt of my gun.

  “I didn’t seeanything.” His words became sharper.

  “What did they trade with you for?” Sergo asked.

  He shrugged. “Supplies.”

  “And what did you get in return?” I asked, stepping closer. He was twice my size, but he cowered. It helped that I was the one holding the gun.

  “Credits.”

  I noticed he peered toward the leftmost door. “Liar. Sergo, check the room.”

  “Dontgointhere!” Jomm shouted, and tried to block the Padlog from entering, but I shot the floor in front of him, stopping the Hileo in his tracks.

  Sergo tested the door and found it locked. “Keys.”

  Jomm sighed, pulling out a ring with a dozen metal keys on it. Apparently, he didn’t trust electronic devices like everyone else. He walked over and unlocked the door. “Thisisnotillegal.”

  “I don’t care.” I shoved past him, and what we discovered sickened me. The room had ten pens, because there was no other word for it. Half of them appeared occupied, and various beings called out as I stepped closer. “Watch Jomm.”

  The floor was covered in a hay-like mess, and I leaned above the first slimy half-door, finding a tall and thin Inlorian sitting on a bench. She barely acknowledged me. The next three held various beings, some familiar, others not, and the last on this side of the room jumped for the door, shouting in a language I didn’t know. “I’ll be back,” I assured it calmly.

  I spotted a feather on the ground before the next pen, and my heart sped up. “Regnig?”

  When I peered into the stall, relief flooded me. My old friend. The beak. Two wings gently folded over his belly.

  “Regnig! Wake up!” I fumbled with the lock, and Sergo tossed me the ring from the entrance. I tested the keys, finding the right one, and I hauled the door open, rushing to his side.

  The single eye blinked wide, and he scurried away from me, fearful. What do you want? I recognized the language as Regnig’s own, that of the Toquil people. He often slipped into it and had taught me the basics throughout the years.

  “Regnig, it’s me—”

  I am not Regnig. And I realized that he was telling the truth. This bird man was taller, leaner, and a darker color. His large single eye was whiter, less rheumy.

  I switched to English. “How long have you been here?”

  Human. Two days.

  “And where did you come from?” I helped him up, and he strode across the straw floor, flapping his wings in annoyance.

  I was abducted. I am Kallig, a Toquil emissary on Gretiol, and these brutes came seven months ago and seized me from my very home. His beak opened and closed, reminding me so much of my old friend.

  “Were they the Wibox?”

  Yes. I think they were after someone else. But they kept me caged nonetheless.

  “Regnig,” I muttered.

  No. That name is not familiar. It was Sager they called for. And from what I understand, they found him. They grilled me for a month, until this other arrived.

  What did this mean? Was Regnig long gone? Had we been wasting our time chasing after ghosts? “Sergo, tie up Jomm. Help me gather these people.” Once Jomm’s arms were secured behind his back, I began freeing the captives. One by one, they walked out, looks of confusion on their faces. “Don’t worry. We won’t harm you. You’re free now.” There were six of them in total, each more downtrodden than the last.

  If they understood English, they didn’t show it. I grabbed Jomm by the collar and threw him into the stable. “Where were they going?”

  “Idontknow!” He struggled to sit up in the straw. I aimed my gun at him and asked again. “TheymentionedMountCarve.”

  I peered at Sergo. “Mount Carve?”

  “Great. I’ll tell you later,” he told me.

  “Stay here with them. I’ll bring the ship.” I considered shooting Jomm, but in the end decided to shove him into one of the pens instead. I locked the gate, and he screamed like an animal. How fitting. His calls were muffled as I shut the main door and hurried to the warehouse exit.

  “Be fast,” Sergo urged, and I sprinted outside into the storm.

  I sped across the walkway, to the spot where we’d parked our modified Kraski vessel. I couldn’t have been more thrilled to be leaving Ibarran D, and with more information than we’d arrived with. Helping free the slaves from the clutches of Jomm helped my mood too.

  As I activated the ramp, I heard the shuffling of feet, and the slap of a metal rod against a thick palm.

  I turned to see the same gang that had accosted us earlier. Clearly they’d returned from the valley empty-handed. We’d run out of time.

  Two

  Jules inhaled the fresh air, grateful for the respite from the heat. Terran Thirty was almost enjoyable this time of year. For most of the months, it was a desolate desert, with temperatures rarely falling below one hundred degrees. Now it was a cool eighty-three. It made her miss the chilly winter when she was a young girl in their farmhouse on Earth.

  She hoped the neighbors were caring for her and Hugo’s horses. Belle and Casper deserved more attention than the siblings were able to give them.

  “Penny for your thoughts?” Dean asked, his boots crunching the gravel behind her.

  She appraised him. He was twenty years old, with a chiseled handsome face, penetrating eyes, and dark brown hair. He’d grown out of his puppy stage into a striking man with a heart of gold. And he was all hers.

  Jules took his hands and kissed him. With enrollment, orientation for three thousand recruits, and several months of training, they’d hardly had a minute alone.

  “I’d give you a dime for that thought.” He smirked as they broke apart.

  This was her favorite spot at the base. It was a bit of a hike to climb the rocky walls, but well worth it when you could see the entire region in its glory. Dean’s ankles were covered in red shale from the journey up. She glanced down to see the dust on her pants had reached her shins.

  “Did they sort the issue with the simulators?” Jules asked him, staring at the building where they’d built twenty pods to facilitate flight training.

  “Suma’s coming tonight. Guess we fried something when we tried using them all at once. Growing pains,” Dean said.

  “Where’s Magnus?” Jules asked.

  They were still adjusting to the alternate version of Patty and Dean’s father leading their Alliance
Institute, but he and Dean had created a strong bond, despite it all. This Magnus would never replace his real father, but he admitted to Jules that he found the familiarity comforting nonetheless.

  Dean grinned. “He’s yelling at someone over the mix-up with the residences.”

  “Who would have known there would be so many issues with bunks?” Jules couldn’t believe the string of requests coming in from each of the Alliance partners’ liaisons about the bathrooms, bedding, food, and countless other demands.

  “We have the Bhlat, Keppe, Shimmali, Molarian, Padlog, not to mention the Gretiol are arriving tonight,” Dean said. “We’re bound to have some differences in cultures.”

  “I know, but we’re part of the Alliance, and Magnus wants to ensure our fleet crafts are comprised of varying crews. We’re no longer sending out Padlog vessels alongside Keppe warships. They’re Alliance craft now.” Jules started the walk to the training grounds.

  The hazy red star was low in the sky and would be setting in the next hour, reminding her she would be cutting it close for their appointment. “We need to hurry,” she told Dean, and once they were on level ground, she jogged. Jules had been distracted since Regnig’s kidnapping.

  She’d grown attached to the Toquil. Her dad had regaled her with stories of how she’d flap her arms and spin around in circles when she found out they were visiting his lair. Over the years, their relationship had matured, and now Regnig was a trusted confidant. His unique intelligence and research skills had assisted them on countless occasions. Now he was lost, and she wasn’t able to help.

  Dean stayed ahead of her, and they jogged by a string of recruits racing around a track that covered the entire base. Each lap was one and a half kilometers, and Magnus had the sergeants pushing everyone to do two laps a day. Jules and Dean weren’t officially training, but they ran the laps just the same, joining Squad Nine in the daily routines when possible.

  She slowed near their residence, the first building erected and completed at the Alliance Institute. The officers stayed there, with Suma, Magnus, and Rivo having their own rooms. Of course, they left a room for Jules’ parents to stay at when they came to visit. With Papa being gone so often, only Mary came to see her, but those were few and far between as the Alliance spread out, eager to bring more planets into their fold. Her mom had suggested they offer the suite to someone else, but it remained empty in the hopes of her return.