by Trevor Scott
Nix absently approached the front door and stepped out into the sandy street, letting the door close behind him with a thud and a jangle of the loosely fitted lock. The warm midday sun was beating down on him, the yellow and orange hues blinding to his large, globular eyes. The street was deserted. Word of the Phage would have spread quickly and for good reason. On top of that, The Sand’s Edge had been buzzing with rumors of an uprising for weeks. A number of Dinari had seen graffiti on the clay porticos of homes and shops around Sector Seven.
Zega’s plan was progressing more rapidly than even Nix had anticipated, and Liam’s condition was a tragic distraction they couldn’t afford. Even thinking such thoughts made Nix feel overly callous, but it was the truth. He had to remember their faces, their piercing screams, or he wouldn’t be prepared for what might happen next. The sickness that took his mother and father was back. If there was a chance he could stop the spread, he’d take it, no matter the cost.
A strong gust of wind blew a swirl of sand past Nix. In the distance, a sandstorm was approaching the city. In truth, that might be the best news he’d heard all day. It meant everyone would be inside, lessening the chance of spreading the Phage. The sunlight dulled, blocked by intermittent plumes of sand on the horizon. It wouldn’t be long now.
Sector Seven was positioned near the edge of Akaru Colony, which looked a bit like a puffy cloud from above. The Colony was a series of circular sectors bunched together, each with a spire reaching a mile or more into the sky. Between Sectors Seven and Eight, the Caretaker’s massive tower rose slightly higher than the others, with a rigid metal pole at its peak to ensure it would always remain on top. None of that mattered. Soon, they would all be covered in sand regardless of how high in the sky one lived. The desert didn’t discriminate.
Nix didn’t have to wait more than a couple of minutes before two hover bikes approached, coming to a sudden halt before him. Saturn dismounted the back of Ju-Long’s bike with shaky legs, stress drawing color from her normally tanned face.
She staggered up to him and asked with a quivering hand grabbing at his outer cloak, “What happened? Tell me.”
Ju-Long and Astrid got off their hover bikes and joined Saturn at her side. Astrid was cloaked in roughly sewn Dinari garb, hooded and gloved to obscure her pale blue skin. Ju-Long cradled the hand cut by the broken glass, now wrapped with a blood-stained piece of tan cloth.
Nix shook his head and said with a muffled voice through his breathing mask, “Liam has contracted the Phage. It doesn’t look good.”
Astrid asked, “I thought the Phage Sickness could only affect Dinari?”
“Have the Ansarans ever tested it on a human before?” Nix replied scathingly.
Astrid averted Nix’s gaze and shook her head in silence.
The Dinari’s eyes traveled to the line of residences across the street, the windows of which had been shut and locked but the bulbous yellow eyes of dozens of Dinari still peeped out through the cracks. He held out the bag of masks and protective clothing and ordered, “Put these on and get inside. Watch where you step and don’t touch anything.”
9
Zega paced his flat, wringing his hands together anxiously. Luscious water plants hung down in front of the windows, sprayed intermittently with a fine mist. Their purple leaves were filled with the succulent nectar of the gods. Zega loved the Nerva plant. It was one of the few small luxuries he afforded himself.
Zega was filled with a nervous energy. This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen, he thought. Liam had become an important part of his operation. Now his plans were teetering on the brink of collapse. What was that mercenary thinking? The Phage? Where did he even get his hands on a sample? It was supposed to be wiped out of existence after the war. All the more reason they needed a change in leadership.
His apartment was on the topmost floor of a six-level building at the heart of Sector Seven. It was a nicer area, with armed guards posted at every entrance. In his business, Zega couldn’t be too careful. With the manner of slime that he worked with on a daily basis, it was a small wonder he was even alive.
Zega’s flat had minimal furniture, but what he did have was of the best quality in the colony. Many colorful rugs brought life to the cold ceramic floor. Zega approached his long wooden table and picked up the carcass of a small lizard from an ornate dish, freshly grilled by his servant. He could see the small Dinari boy hiding beyond his bedroom door, trying to remain out of sight and failing miserably.
The boy still had a long way to go, but it’d only been a few months since the child had replaced his last servant after he’d failed one too many times. His previous servant was lucky he was still alive after the embarrassment Zega suffered as a result of his incompetence. But, after all, he wasn’t a monster.
When Zega bit into the lizard’s head, its warm innards oozed out onto his tongue, salty and sweet. The small bit of charred skin was his favorite. He felt the juice from the flesh trail down his chin, but he was too busy savoring the flavor to brush it away. What his servant lacked in manners he more than made up for with his cooking ability. Maybe that’s why he’d been so easy on him.
Movement caught Zega’s attention out of the corner of his eye. He turned toward the balcony, dropping the remains of the lizard onto the plate at the center of the table. That was quick, he thought. He motioned to the boy in his bedroom and the door quickly shut.
The mercenary dropped down from the railing to the base of the balcony, entering the flat like he owned it and stopping when he reached the end of the table. His armor was made up of sharp segments that didn’t look safe to touch. Zega found himself inching away, intimidated by the man despite his smaller stature.
“I thought I was clear you wouldn’t question my methods,” he said in his metallic, filtered voice.
Zega worked himself up thinking about the mercenary’s actions, his anger building.
“I paid Vidu off as you instructed. I’ve fulfilled my part of the bargain, but what you’ve done is madness. The Phage? A line must be drawn. He could have infected the whole colony!”
The mercenary laughed, ambling around the side of the table until he and Zega were across from one another. He placed either hand down on the smooth table, examining the exquisite drawings etched into the surface. The beasts of legend were scrawled out along the edges, hand carved by the finest woodworkers in the colony. The man’s gaze rose up from the artwork to meet Zega’s worried eyes.
“When you agreed to my terms, you knew there’d be risks.”
Zega clenched his fists, shaking under his ornamental red and blue robes. He looked into the mercenary’s black visor, seeing only his reflection. The man’s armor appeared sharper up close, as though even a grazing touch would slice open his hand. Zega wasn’t about to get that close to him.
“Death Wish,” Zega began, terrified of using his name. “Maybe we can—”
Death Wish interrupted him, pointing at his face, “Are you going back on our deal?”
The mercenary’s other hand had drifted to the holster at his right hip, his fingers grazing the handle of a chrome laser pistol. Zega’s bulbous eyes widened, his heart pounding against his ribcage. No one would be so brazen as to kill him. Everyone knew what kind of power he held. Still, Death Wish was an unknown entity. He didn’t care about station or how many people Zega had under his claws. His motives were a mystery. One thing, however, was certain. If there was one person in the Ansara System who had the guts to take him out, he was standing right there in front of him.
“Of course not,” Zega replied, voice shaking. “I would never.”
“I should hope not. With the information I just leaked, you’ll be rid of your Caretaker troubles shortly.”
Death Wish let his hand fall to his side. When the mercenary continued in his grating tone, his dark voice caused a shiver to crawl up Zega’s spine and his insides to turn to jelly.
“Your fate is in my hands. You’d be wise to remember that.”
10
Nix pointed out the blood stains to avoid on their way into The Sand’s Edge bar. He told the crew, “The Sickness spreads by contact with bodily fluids, possibly even from skin-to-skin. Careful what you touch.”
“Where is he?” Saturn asked, her shaky voice stifled by her breathing apparatus.
“Upstairs, quarantined.”
Saturn started to make for the stairs but Nix gripped her upper arm tight. He shook his head and said, “I have a contact that is on his way. He’s a Dinari doctor who’s dealt with this before.”
“He won’t be able to help,” Astrid said softly, the sound barely escaping her mask, tinny and meek through her mask’s filter.
Saturn broke Nix’s grasp and lunged at her, grabbing the Ansaran’s cloak at her chest and lifting Astrid up onto the tips of her toes, fury winning out over the worry in Saturn’s eyes. “What do you mean?” she seethed.
Astrid was struggling to speak when Ju-Long broke them up, the Ansaran regaining her footing and taking several steps back.
“That’s enough, Saturn,” Ju-Long said, his voice deadened as it fled his mask. “Astrid isn’t responsible for this.”
Ju-Long turned to Nix and continued, “But who or what is?”
Nix turned toward the stone bar and hung his head. His hands found their way onto the cold rock and his grip tightened on the edge of the flat surface. For a moment he wished he had the strength to break off a chunk of the bar to quell his anger. It wouldn’t have helped, he thought. Physical strength was meaningless where the disease was concerned.
“It appears it was an assassination attempt. I saw it happen. A sick Dinari charged him as Liam was exiting a spire. The man fell down at Liam’s feet and when he knelt down to check on him it was too late, the Dinari had infected him with his blood.”
“What was Liam doing at a spire?” Astrid asked.
“And how did you see it happen?” Ju-Long added.
Nix turned and looked at Saturn empathetically, bracing her shoulders with both of his hands. There were several things he wanted to say, but none of them would be able to take back what had been done. There was no delicate way to go about the truth.
“I was keeping tabs on Liam. I followed him to the spire because I was worried about what Zega might be having him do. Liam delivered a large bag to someone at that spire. I don’t know what was in it, but it looked heavy.”
Nix released her and stepped back, shaking his head.
“I couldn’t stop it, Saturn. I’m so sorry.”
Saturn approached him and put a comforting hand on his shoulder. “There was nothing you could have done.”
“Saturn, I’m the one who killed the Dinari. I shot him dead. But it wasn’t enough. I wasn’t fast enough.”
Saturn embraced him, holding him awkwardly as Nix’s body shivered. He continued darkly, “There’s something else.”
Saturn leaned back, holding him at arm’s length and scrutinizing his face with her glossy brown eyes. She asked, “What is it?”
“There was someone else there. He wore blue scaled armor that covered his entire body, but he was wearing a mask so I couldn’t see his face. He sped off on a hover bike right after Liam was infected. I spoke to Liam on the way back, and he confirmed he saw a blue blur speed away.”
Saturn said, “I’ve heard rumors of a hired gun floating around the colony since we returned from Narra. They say he’s a ghost.”
“He’s real.”
“Great,” Ju-Long said, his sarcastic tone audible even through his breathing apparatus. “Another baddie to add to the list. Does anyone else think we should maybe rethink this whole hero idea? We should at least cross a few of them off. You know, clean house.”
Saturn regarded Ju-Long scathingly.
“You think parading yourself around Surya has made you less of a target?”
“Let’s not forget that I’m not the one with a price on my head. Someone hired that guy in blue for a reason.”
“Enough,” Nix declared, hardening his glare. “Now is not the time. Our top priorities need to be treating Liam and preventing this thing from spreading. The Dinari don’t speak of the Phage lightly, so you probably don’t know the extent of the danger we’re in. We can worry about assassins and revolutions soon enough, but the first day after infection is critical.”
“What do you need from us?” Saturn asked.
“We need to get rid of this blood carefully. It seems like most of it is on the stone, which means we can fry it with lasers. It’ll leave a mark but it’s better than the alternative.”
•
“Thank you for coming so quickly, Elder Bartle.”
Nix led an aged Dinari through the front door of The Sand’s Edge, taking the old man’s leather bag from his flimsy hands. Nix’s breathing mask lay abandoned on a far table, the crew’s decontamination efforts complete. Saturn looked up from the bar and climbed off her stool. She’d been growing more distressed with every passing minute and medicating with the remnants of a strong bottle from Riken’s private liquor stash. The barkeep would never know the bottle was gone, she hoped. Saturn waited expectantly for the elder to speak, fighting to focus on his face.
The elder Dinari appeared to be permanently hunched over, detracting from his already slight stature. His scales had turned softer with age, with wrinkles that made his skin look like poorly-maintained leather that had cracked in the potent sun. The Dinari’s golden eyes seemed tired, more tired than Nix had remembered during their last encounter years prior. He hadn’t come around much since his last disagreement with Zega. The elderly man leaned most of his weight onto a thick branch that Nix knew only grew near Surya’s great lake, flexing slightly with each careful step.
“How long has it been since infection?” Elder Bartle asked in a quivering voice that was barely more audible than a whisper.
“About three hours,” Nix replied, taking the elder’s over-cloak and folding it neatly over his forearm.
“Has he been quarantined?”
Nix spoke to Elder Bartle with a reverence reserved for seldom few, and with sincerity that was even less common.
“Yes, Elder. I’ve seen to it personally.”
“Good. And the decontamination procedures?”
“Finished. Ju-Long and Astrid are out back burning everything that’s come into contact with him since the event.”
The old Dinari looked up at Nix and nodded his approval. Elder Bartle’s sagging features jostled as he continued toward Saturn. He examined her face briefly, but Nix could see the old man take in far more than he let on. The Elder had a way of seeing which left boundaries behind and transcended into some deeper meaning.
“You are his lover?”
Saturn blushed, her mouth unable to form a response.
“Do not fear, child. We all must bear our burdens. It just so happens that now is your time to do so. One way or another, it will pass.”
“Will he die?” Saturn struggled to ask, trying to hide the alcohol on her breath.
Elder Bartle considered the question momentarily before replying, “Someday, but if we act quickly, not this day.”
Nix put a ginger hand on the elder’s shoulder. The old man nodded and said, “Take me to him.”
“We should get you a mask,” Nix suggested, picking up his own from the edge of the bar and preparing to strap it over his face.
“That won’t be necessary.”
Nix froze.
When the elder noticed the look of shock coming over Nix’s face, he continued, “The Phage was no match for me as a boy, and I’d wager my body remembers a thing or two about its old foe.”
11
The door creaked and groaned as it swung inward. Saturn stepped through and was presented with a clear sheet that spanned the length of the room, leaving only a few feet in front of it in which to walk. Elder Bartle and Nix followed her inside, their feet causing the floor to groan in protest, the dusty floorboards sending up particles only visible thr
ough the thin bands of light that pierced the sheet. Saturn and Nix had elected to wear their masks and gloves as a precaution, but the elder had stayed true to his bold statement and wore only his thin brown cloak, cut off partway up his arm in a swooping curl with the tiniest ornate golden inlays, a sign of his elevated status.
Elder Bartle’s thick cane thumped against the floor as he leaned his weight into it with every measured step. He ran his fingers along the sheet until he found a slit and pushed through, advancing on the blurry figure resting on the floor within. Saturn noticed tiny flecks of blood had found their way onto the sheet, making the scene appear more like that of a homicide than that of a hospital room. Liam’s silence behind the sheet had her worried. She couldn’t even make out the movement of his blurred chest. For all she knew, he might have been passed out from the pain, or worse.
The elder sat his bag down beside Liam and removed several articles. He prepared a glass syringe, filling it with a liquid that glowed an eerie green, and delicately injected it into Liam’s arm. Liam grunted his discomfort and half-heartedly swatted at the elder. The old Dinari ignored Liam’s objections and finished administering the cocktail. Liam was still once more, his Dinari Death Shroud mask casting a curious shadow along the floor, visible only by the rays of the partly open window. The mask was a grotesque, ancient thing, that made Liam resemble something innately evil. The deep, swirling grooves of the mask were clear even through the clear sheet, his matted blond hair sticking out at angles under the veil.
