Fatal Accord

by Trevor Scott

  The crowded market spilled out from the alleyways where merchants traded vegetables and strips of meat for favors. From what Astrid had heard about the markets, most favors amounted to the straight trade of goods. It was only when one trader had nothing the other wanted that things got interesting. They were passing through a central square that connected two main roads of tightly-packed sand, a number of alleyways jutting out in a hub and spoke pattern from the center.

  In the middle of the square stood a bronzed statue of an Ansaran Caretaker, centuries removed from the present. Astrid recognized him immediately from her history lessons. He was Rheyll Ansara, the first Caretaker of Akaru Colony. Unlike his successors, he was universally regarded as just and fair by Ansarans and Dinari alike. He was said to walk among the Dinari without escort, helping to mend the wounded who returned from the long war. Though his exploits were remembered by the Ansarans, Astrid never knew why so few followed his example. Relations with the Dinari had never fared better than during his reign.

  Astrid broke free of a mass of Dinari and sped around the edge of the square, weaving between the stands and the gaggle of pedestrians until they were in the clear once more. Ju-Long tugged on the back of her cloak. He might have been yelling to her, but with the whipping wind and her thick hood it was difficult to make out anything but the whistle of the sandy air.

  Astrid pulled to the side of the road and decelerated, halting her vehicle next to a two-story clay building, windows boarded up with roughly cut planks. She turned and regarded Ju-Long, whose hand reached for the cloth covering his mouth. He pulled down his pallid red scarf and let it hang around his neck.

  “Did you see what I saw back there?”

  Astrid thought back. She had been focused on the statue of Rheyll, disregarding the rest of the square. She shook her head.

  “There were a thousand Dinari in that square but not a single Ansaran guard. Have you ever seen that?”

  “No,” Astrid said after a moment. “Where did they all go?”

  The hover bike’s console lit up and alerted Astrid to an incoming call with a series of loud beeps and flashing lights. She turned to it and flipped a narrow yellow switch below the screen. A stressed out Dinari stared back at her, his golden eyes sunken in and tired.

  “Nix,” Astrid said, surprised. She continued as professionally as she could, given their lack of rapport, “How can I be of service?”

  “I wouldn’t be calling if it weren’t urgent. I need your help,” the Dinari said reluctantly. “Ju-Long too. Zega’s made a request and we really shouldn’t refuse this one.”

  Ju-Long looked over Astrid’s shoulder at the Dinari and asked, “What do you need us to do?”

  “It will be dusk soon enough. Meet me near the Sector Eight spire in one hour. Keep out of sight until I arrive. I’ll explain everything then.”

  Astrid considered the Dinari carefully. His voice was hurried but his golden eyes betrayed a sense of fear and reticence. Finally, Astrid nodded and replied, “We’re on our way.”

  “Take the alleyways, avoid contact with Ansaran patrols.”

  Astrid and Ju-Long made eye contact and she told the Dinari, “We haven’t seen any in a while now. Too long.”

  “Then it’s already begun. Just get to that spire and make sure you’re armed.”

  Nix cut the feed, leaving Astrid staring at the console, bewildered. Whatever they were about to do, it didn’t sound like they were going to be keeping a low profile any longer. Not that they really had been in the first place.

  “Maybe we’ll finally get some action,” Ju-Long said.

  “You just beat the hell out of three Ansarans today.”

  “You’re right, it has been a bit slow.”

  •

  Nix fumbled around behind the bar, searching under the stone top with his clawed hands. He felt around until his fingers wrapped around a circular metal disc, about half the size of his palm and as flat as one of his scales. Nix examined it in his hand, flipping it over and pressing his thumb down on the center, releasing something mechanical within.

  The center of the disc spiraled out, projecting an orange hologram up above his hand. Nix had kept copious records while working in the Caretaker’s spire, all of which were stored on discs similar to the one which he now held. The image before him was one of the dozens of spires scattered around Akaru Colony. To the untrained eye it might have been any of them. Nix, however, knew how to tell them apart. It was one of the benefits of being a spy.

  With his left hand, he manipulated the image, zooming in on the upper levels. He turned the hologram until he saw it. The spire had a top level much like the Caretaker’s suite, with hardened glass covering every inch of the wall from floor to ceiling. Just above this, the tower started to curve inward, sloping up into a point. On this domed surface was the Mark of the Maker. The Ansaran symbol was a conglomeration of the glyph of House Ansara and the first name of the chief architect. Without this symbol, the outside of each tower was nearly indistinguishable from any other. It was only inside that the architects were usually allowed certain liberties. What better way to hide something than in plain sight?

  Nix pressed his thumb on the center once more and the hologram dissipated, the metal disc morphing back into its original state. The blueprints were there, just as he’d left them. Keeping them all in one place would be foolish. Nix was smarter than that. Not even Zega, with his thousand eyes and ears, would be able to find them all. And for good reason.

  Nix slipped the disc into the inside pocket of his roughly sewn cloak. As it always seemed to go, he was short on time. Zega sure had a way of telling Nix the important things when it was almost too late to make a difference. Surely it was on purpose this time. Still, if they hurried, they might stand a chance at dealing the crippling blow the Ansarans deserved.

  19

  Saturn stepped up to a circular platform in the center of a great hall, the floors and walls cut from worn stone. Above her, the high ceiling curved in, creating the semblance of a cathedral formed through sheer natural erosion. The building, if one could call it that, stood at the edge of the colony to the north near a rocky range of mountains that jutted from the desert like the fingers of a partially-buried giant. She couldn’t imagine how many years it took to carve the hall from the rock. It must have been in use for centuries, because every angle of the rock was smooth from wear and the passage of time.

  The platform before her stood at the top of a large set of stairs, a gap between it and another much larger platform that spread around her in a semi-circle. Seated at the stone table which rose up from the larger platform were twenty-three of the twenty-four elders, each a representative chosen from their sector. Only Zega was missing.

  Elder was a pleasant term for the muttering men sitting all around her, where ancient might have suited them better. Zega was far younger than the rest, leading Saturn to question how he’d come by the position in the first place if such advanced age appeared to be a prerequisite for holding office. She couldn’t help but note that there were no women on the Council of Elders. She’d hoped she would have been able to appeal to at least one of them by way of common ground. Sestra stood directly behind her, seemingly wary about being in the Hall of the Elders. Saturn felt like a child interrupting her parents’ dinner party.

  The aged Dinari at the center of the group stood, bracing his hands against the stone table for support as he rose. Saturn could hear his back crack several times as he stood upright. The other members fell silent, waiting in anticipation. As far as Saturn was aware, each of the elders was equal. However, a certain reverence was held for the Dinari before her. His scaled skin was leathery, even more so than Elder Bartle’s. His faint yellow eyes seemed to have lost all of their shimmer. He looked down on her skeptically and spoke with a frail voice that might once have boomed from his chest in the cavernous chamber.

  “Outsiders have never stepped foot inside these walls. What is the meaning of this?”

&nbs
p; Saturn looked around at the other elders, each as cynical and guarded as the one who had just spoken. She’d expected to see the worn-out medicine man Bartle, but he was not one of the twenty-four elders on the council. Perhaps, she thought, the term was an honorific for important members of society. Or, perhaps her translation chip was busted.

  “We’ve been sent as Zega’s envoys. He apologizes that he will not be in attendance today.”

  “He must take his role on this council seriously to send us such obviously qualified individuals,” he seethed with palpable sarcasm, “Could he find no man in his employ to deliver this message?”

  Several of the other council members laughed their feeble laughs. Saturn got the feeling the ones who didn’t were hard of hearing. Behind her, she heard a low hiss protesting the elder’s slight. Sestra wasn’t pleased. Saturn felt her fingertips instinctively gravitate toward the weapon at her hip, but thought better of it just as her fingers grazed the grip. She clenched her fist until it was shaking with her boundless fury. Perhaps worse than their bigotry, Zega must have known the elders would react in such a way and yet he had sent them anyway.

  “Perhaps all of the men have succumbed to the Phage, too weak to survive such a mild cold.”

  There was a collective gasp and the elder at the center of the table squinted his eyes with his loathing. That would leave a bad taste in his mouth, Saturn thought.

  “You make light of a serious affliction, Outsider. The sickness has been gone for decades. Your lies will not stand in this chamber.”

  Saturn took a step forward so that one of the glowing orbs overhead cast light directly down onto her face, casting shadows beneath her high cheekbones.

  “The Ansarans have made their move while you cower in this chamber. The only one who’s got the guts to act is the one not present.”

  Saturn felt disgusted with herself. She was emboldening a revulsive person and lying for him as well. The only thing that made her keep talking was seeing the shocked looks on the elders’ faces. She feared the lengths she would go to shock them.

  “The Dinari Phage is no more. Go peddle your lies someplace else,” an elder to Saturn’s right said in a feeble voice.

  “It is back and I’ve seen it with my own eyes,” Saturn said, this time more adamantly because she really had seen it firsthand. “Not just that, it’s crossed species and infected one of my race. Elder Bartle is treating him now.”

  Several of the elders murmured to one another. Saturn heard Elder Bartle’s name thrown around under the breath of many of the council members. His name seemed to carry some weight.

  The elder at the center finally asked, “If true, why could Zega not join us on this day of all days?”

  Sestra stepped up beside Saturn and said, “Zega is busy dealing with the outbreak in Sector Seven. Quarantines have been put in place. He has asked us to bring forward a proposal for your consideration.”

  “What proposal?”

  Sestra continued, “The streets have been littered with violence for the past several months. The Caretaker’s hold on this colony is slipping. Soon, whether you’d have it or not, that growing violence will turn to an extended conflict, even outright war. Toras’ regime will topple. If the Dinari aren’t strong and united, those faceless masses will cause chaos beyond reckoning.”

  The council’s spokesperson grew increasingly agitated.

  “For one so young, you presume much. There has always been violence in Akaru Colony. Give the criminals a voice and a face and they will only create more trouble.”

  “You lot would hide in this chamber while the colony burns,” Sestra seethed before rasping in a tone of finality, “Cowards.”

  The elders moved uncomfortably in their seats, and Sestra continued relentlessly, “Zega proposes another way. Whatever you think of the man, hear this. There are twenty-four elders in Akaru Colony and not a Dinari among them that can lead all of the sectors from this crisis. Save one.”

  Saturn turned toward Sestra, eyes wide. Sestra hated Zega, but her argument in his favor was vehement. She didn’t sound like she was pretending, for the greater good or otherwise. That, or she was the best actress Saturn had ever seen.

  Sestra continued to berate the elders, “Who before me could lead the twenty-four? You, Elder Vurn? You, Elder Rane? Only one Dinari has the ear of all the people. Only one is willing to stand before the spires’ might. This council must vote to elect Zega as the face of the Dinari of Akaru Colony. Elect Zega as the Consul of the people.”

  Saturn’s mouth was agape. She’d only meant to fulfil her obligation, perhaps teaching the elders a lesson in the process. Nothing more. Sestra, it seemed, had her own motives. What had changed? The zealous Dinari standing before her was not as she remembered. Her hatred for Zega can’t have run as deeply as Sestra had let on. Saturn’s heart pumped quickly and she grew hot from her chest to each of her extremities. She felt the sweat bead on her forehead as the Council of Elders chattered amongst themselves.

  The elder at the center raised one clawed hand and the room was silenced.

  “You’ve overreached your place young one. Still, these matters are worrisome. Leave us. We will send for you when we’re ready to hand down our judgment.”

  Sestra crossed her arms defiantly and replied, “Should I come back in a week’s time? Perhaps a month? I’m sure you’ll make the right decision, even if the colony is destroyed by the time you reach it.”

  She turned on her heels and stormed down the stairs through a massive stone archway, leaving Saturn to fend off the blank stares of the council. Their shocked faces made Saturn smile inside, despite the implications should their decision favor Zega. She gestured to the elder at the center of the table and jibed, “And you thought I was difficult.”

  Saturn nearly tripped down the stairs on her way out, descending the stairs too quickly to maintain proper balance. It’d been a long time since she’d felt so humiliated, but at least her part in this was done. Her agreement with Zega wasn’t contingent on the council reaching a specific verdict.

  Outside the Great Hall, Saturn walked quickly down a well-lit corridor that narrowed the farther she trekked from the main chamber. The stone hallway finally tapered until the rock was only a few feet above her head and on each side of her. The many glowing orbs of light jostled along the top of the hallway from the outside breeze that funneled its way through. She started to feel grains of sand bombard her face and she covered her eyes with the off-white sleeve of her form-fitting upper garment.

  The entrance to the cave was just ahead and Sestra stood at the edge looking out over the colony below. Saturn stepped up next to her and saw what had Sestra looking so upset. A massive sandstorm was approaching from the west and moving in fast. The colony would be enveloped in under an hour.

  Saturn’s eyes turned to her Dinari cohort. Sestra’s arms were crossed and a scowl spanned her rounded face.

  “Care to explain?” Saturn asked her.

  Sestra’s voice was harsher than ever, as though water hadn’t touched her lips in days. “The elders need to realize that their power is derived from us. Ultimately, we decide what’s best for the colony. Not them.”

  “What if their decision doesn’t come back in Zega’s favor?”

  Saturn hoped, in fact, that it wouldn’t. Sestra on the other hand looked distressed at the mention of the possibility.

  “The Dinari are strong. They are only now remembering that fact. If the elders can’t see it then they are blind.”

  “You didn’t answer the question.”

  Sestra raised a piece of cloth over her mouth and her blunt nose to repel the swirling sand.

  “We best move our vehicle inside. Don’t want to risk a faulty start when the sandstorm has cleared. We might be here a while.”

  20

  With the approaching squall, Sector Eight’s streets were emptied. Ju-Long watched an older Dinari female shutter her windows and stuff a sheet in the crack beneath her door. Despite her eff
orts, he could still see light from a glowing orb behind her windows. There were no perfect seals on Surya. Down the stretch of road, he could see that the rest of the Dinari were in the same frame of mind, preparing to hole up until the storm had passed.

  “How long has it been?” he asked Astrid, who was using the nearby wall of a Dinari residence to shield herself from the sand.

  “He’s late,” she replied. “Should have been here ten minutes ago.”

  Across from the Dinari residence was a large break in the buildings, a trail which led to a circular expanse and a massive spire housed at the center a hundred yards away. From that distance, Ju-Long couldn’t crane his neck far enough to see up to the top, even if it was the clearest of days. With the encroaching sandstorm he couldn’t see more than a few stories of the spire, but for its shadow behind the wall of particles.

  Ju-Long was growing impatient. “If he doesn’t get here soon, we’ll need to take shelter.”

  The growing howl of the wind was beginning to make it difficult to hear. Stray gusts whistled in Ju-Long’s ears and he brought his pale red scarf up higher to cover them.

  “Worried?”

  “I like my skin the way it is: intact and covering my body.”

  Astrid kicked her boot at the packed sand and watched the dust rise and then settle. Against the backdrop of the clay building she might have blended in if she could stay still long enough. Ju-Long couldn’t blame her. He was getting antsy as well.

  “Some Ansarans pay for such a treatment to slough off dead scales.”

  “For the man who has everything.”

  “Rough scales signify hard work. An Ansaran in such a state would not be seen as very desirable.”

  Ju-Long looked at her with his head cocked to the side. Astrid had a smirk curling up the side of her mouth. An image of Toras receiving a spa treatment entered his mind, but the thought seemed ridiculous. She must have been messing with him.