by Clayton Wood
She blinked, then pushed herself off of him, rising to her feet. She turned in a slow circle, her mouth forming a perfect “O.”
“Did I do that, she asked, “...or did you do that?”
“I did that,” Kyle replied. She turned to him, staring at him in disbelief.
“How?” she pressed. Kyle smiled grimly, putting pressure on the shallow wound on his right shoulder.
“They pissed me off.”
Ariana stared at him for a moment longer, then gazed at the ruins of the warship, shaking her head in disbelief.
“Holy shit, Kyle.”
“Yeah,” he muttered, pushing himself to his feet. Ariana turned to him again.
“Remind me not to get you mad.”
“Don’t get me mad,” he stated.
She gazed at the massive crater surrounding them, at the shattered masts. At the dismembered remains of sailors strewn across the deck, and in the shattered rooms exposed in the crater below.
“I won’t,” she replied.
Chapter 18
Sabin sighed inwardly as he broke away from his Chosen's mind, feeling a familiar bitterness come over him. It always amazed him how powerful negative memories were, how they maintained their hold over him. Two thousand years, and the shame he felt was no less vivid, no less painful. Long after his good memories had faded, the bad ones lived on.
It was no wonder that he had been shaped by them, these singular, tragic moments in his past. They, more than anything else, had made him who he was today.
He paused, then reached out to the Chosen again, searching for yet another memory. He found it easily, having visited it innumerable times...whenever he wavered in his resolve, or found himself doubting the importance of his grand plan.
The most painful memories were often the most valuable.
* * *
Sabin folds his arms over his chest, staring at the polished surface of Grand Runic Nespo's desk. Nespo, a tall, muscular man with jet-black hair, is a man he'd only spoken to in private a handful of times. The last time was to congratulate Sabin on his appointment as Elder Runic. At fifty, Nespo is one of the youngest Grand Runics in recent history. He looks considerably younger, with a rugged handsomeness that could be winsome or intimidating depending on his mood. Right now, it is the former.
“I understand your concerns,” Nespo states at last, leaning back in his chair. “Really, I do.”
“Do you?” Sabin counters, looking up from the table. He tries to keep his voice calm. “Four hundred thousand natives, Nespo. Working those mines sixteen hours a day, every day. Have you seen the working conditions there?”
“I have.”
“They're starving!” Sabin exclaims. “Living in their own filth, dying of easily preventable infections.”
“There is no modernized sewer system...” Nespo began.
“They're slaves, Nespo!” Sabin interrupts. “They're worse than slaves. They're...” He pauses, unable to think of the right word. “They're shit. Expendable. Worthless.” He shakes his head. “We're the Empire, Nero. We stand for freedom, justice...the sanctity of human life.” Sabin pauses, remembering the other mines he'd visited, after he'd recovered from the first. He'd spent a week exposing himself to the realities of those mines, and the concentration camps. Systematic enslavement and torture, all in the name of the glorious Empire.
It had been the single worst experience of his life.
“Sabin...”
“How can we dare to take other countries to task for their human rights violations when we commit crimes far worse than they?”
“Sabin, please,” Nespo insists. “Give me a chance to explain.” Sabin bites his tongue, then nods. Nespo sighs, leaning back in his chair and steepling his hands.
“The conditions at the mines are deplorable,” he agrees. “I cannot condone them personally. But the mines are not ours, and the miners are not under our jurisdiction.”
“What do you mean?”
“The Orjanian mines are owned by private companies,” Nespo explains. Companies created and maintained in Orja, by citizens of Verhan, not the Empire.”
“What?” Sabin asks, taken aback. “Every soldier I saw was wearing Imperial armor. Speaking Imperial Standard.”
“All employees of the mining companies,” Nespo continues, “...are required to forfeit their citizenship to the Empire as a term of employment. Therefore we have no jurisdiction over them, and they are not bound by our laws.”
“That's ludicrous!”
“It is the law,” Nespo counters calmly. “The mining companies therefore are subject to the laws of Verhan.”
“Verhan has no government,” Sabin protests. “It was wiped out by the plague.” Nespo shrugs.
“And that,” he replies, “...is why everything they are doing – no matter how unseemly it is to you or I – is perfectly legal.”
“It can't be,” Sabin retorts. “Verhan and the entire eastern seaboard are colonies of the Empire,” he exclaims. “They're not a foreign power at all.”
“They were our colonies,” Nespo counters. “The Council – and my predecessor – voted to revoke colonial status.”
“So that we could keep our hands clean,” Sabin deduces. “...while our diamond industry benefits from rock-bottom trade prices with Orja.” He shakes his head at Nespo, dumbstruck. Nespo merely nods.
“That was the strategy, yes.”
“And you're okay with that?” Sabin asks incredulously. Nespo shrugs.
“I am merely continuing a lawful, established trade relationship with a very generous and strategically necessary foreign power,” he replies. “A relationship agreed upon by the Council, my predecessor, and the Grand Weaver.”
Sabin stares at Nespo, speechless. Nespo stands from his chair, walking to the large window in his office, offering an impressive view of the cityscape beyond the Secula Magna's verdant campus.
“Do you realize what this has made possible?” he asks. He gestures at the window. “The hovercars that carry you around the city? The hovership you flied in? Renval's floating islands?” He shook his head. “We never would have been able to make these advancements without that trade relationship.”
“At what price?” Sabin counters. “Nespo, there are children working and dying at those mines!”
“Our military depends on trade with Orja,” Nespo continues, unfazed. “Do you think our enemies have any qualms about doing whatever they can to gain an advantage over us?” He spreads his arms out wide. “If we hadn't stepped in, someone else would have...and that would have endangered the Empire.”
“So it's okay because someone else would have done it?” Sabin asks incredulously. “That's your justification?”
“I don't blame you for your naivete,” Nespo replies, walking back to his chair and sitting down. “You're just an academic, after all. You've never had a chance to understand the harsh realities of the world.”
Sabin stares at Nespo as if he's been slapped across the face.
“You haven't traveled the world, you haven't seen how very common this sort of thing is,” Nespo continues. “I can tell you that nearly every government does it. Those that don't cannot survive.” He shakes his head. “We insulate the citizens of the Empire from these realities. They are privileged to never know of them, but I can tell you they enjoy the fruits of these operations every day.”
“It isn't right,” Sabin insists.
“I understand how you feel,” Nespo insists. “Really, I do. It's common to feel this way when you first learn the truth...when the veil of innocence is lifted. The world is a cruel, dark place, Sabin. Our citizens have the best standard of living in the world, and for that we should be grateful.” He smiled. “That is a true accomplishment, one you should be proud of.”
“Not when we pay for it with our souls!”
“Nevertheless,” Nespo states calmly, “The operations are lawful, trade with Orja is necessary to our survival, and it will continue as is for the time being
.” He sighs. “I hope that conditions at the mines will improve, but that isn't up to us.”
“It is up to us,” Sabin retorts. “Demand change. Threaten to stop trade unless conditions improve.”
“That's an idea,” Nespo replies noncommittally. “I'll bring it up during the next Council meeting.”
“You're patronizing me,” Sabin accuses. Nespo sighs.
“Sabin, what do you want me to say?”
“I want you to publicly denounce the working conditions in Orja,” Sabin replies. “I want you to enact legislation that forces those companies to treat the natives like goddamn human beings!”
“The Council will not accept that.”
“I don't believe it,” Sabin retorted. “I can't believe that.”
“Sabin, this situation has become far more complicated than you seem to understand,” Nespo stated earnestly. “Remember that the natives murder our...former citizens every day. They associate those companies with the Empire-”
“Can't imagine why,” Sabin interjects sarcastically. Nero's eyes harden.
“You're proposing giving freedom and power to people that want us dead,” he states, his voice suddenly too calm.
“They'll never stop wanting us dead until we treat them like human beings!”
Nespo stares at Sabin for a long moment, then leans back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest.
“All right,” he replies. “Thank you for your suggestions. Is there anything else you wanted to discuss?”
Sabin stares at Nespo incredulously, realizing he's just been dismissed. He says nothing for a long moment, feeling an impotent rage building within him. He suddenly wants to hurt Nespo, to wipe that smug look right off of the bastard's face.
“So everyone on the Council knows the truth about Orja,” he states.
“Correct.”
“Even Ampir?” Sabin presses. Ampir is still the newest Councilman, mere weeks into his appointment. But already he holds tremendous influence, by virtue not only of his formidable power, but also the fact that he rarely speaks. When he does, everyone listens. Nespo regards Sabin silently for a few seconds, his expression unreadable.
“Ampir is...young,” he answers. “Idealistic. He still sees things in black and white, not shades of gray.” He shook his head. “He's not ready for these...unfortunate realities.”
“You mean he's not corrupt enough yet,” Sabin retorts. Nespo's jawline ripples, and his voice goes cold.
“Regardless of your opinion – or mine, for that matter – the Orjanian operations are classified,” he warns. “Ampir does not yet have the clearance to view them, and you do not have the authority to inform him.”
“How convenient.”
“Ampir is an anomaly,” Nespo continues, drumming his fingers on the desktop. “As it is, he's the Empire's single greatest asset...an assurance of continued national security.” He turns to stare out of the window, at the cityscape in the distance. “But it's unsafe to have so much power concentrated in one person,” he muses. “If Ampir were to decide that he no longer supported the Empire, he would represent a grave threat – the greatest single threat – to our nation.” Nespo turns back to Sabin. “I can't let that happen.”
“If he knew, he wouldn't attack the Empire,” Sabin counters. “He'd force you to stop selling our souls for profit.”
“As I said, that information is classified,” Nespo replies. “If you said anything to him – or anyone else for that matter – I would have no choice but to charge you with treason.”
Sabin stands up then, placing his palms on Nespo's desk and leaning forward to stare him right in the eye. He gives the Grand Runic a tight smile.
“I would consider that,” he replies, “...the greatest accomplishment of my life.”
* * *
Kyle and Ariana landed on the deck of the Defiance, a few feet from where the Captain stood. In the distance, the warship stood dead in the water, debris floating in the ocean all around it. Ariana separated from Kyle, and they faced the Captain, who was staring at them in disbelief.
“You don’t have to worry about that warship anymore,” Kyle stated. He rubbed his chest, the bruise there still smarting. Luckily the bullets that had struck his shoulders had only grazed them.
“I see that,” the Captain replied, glancing at the ruined warship. “I can’t believe it, but I see it.”
“We’re safe now,” Ariana declared, smiling at the Captain. But the Captain shook his head.
“I’m afraid not,” he countered grimly. “With two masts down, we’re dead in the water.”
Kyle looked up at the remaining mast. The lower portions of the sails were badly burnt, but the rest of them were whole.
“I can push wind into those sails,” he offered, pointing to the three sails on the rear mast.
“That may be,” the Captain conceded. “But it won’t do any good when we’re sinking to the bottom of the ocean.” He sighed heavily. “There aren’t enough lifeboats for all of my men,” he added. “And most of them can’t swim.”
“I can give your men gravity shields,” Kyle suggested, feeling the dozen quartz cubes in his pockets...the ones he’d gotten from Master Lee. He retrieved one, quickly inscribing the gravity shield pattern into it. “Take this,” he said, handing the cube to the Captain.
“What good will that do?” the Captain asked. “We’re not under attack anymore.”
“Give them to the men that can’t swim,” Kyle replied. “They’ll float on the water until we find a way to rescue them.”
The Captain nodded, taking the cube and placing it in the breast pocket of his uniform. Kyle streamed magic to the cube until it was full, and immediately a blue gravity shield appeared around him.
“How many of those do you have?” the Captain asked.
“About a dozen.”
“Give them to Grotes,” he ordered. “He’ll redistribute them.” Kyle nodded, sprinting across the deck to the scowling First Mate. He inscribed another cube, handing it to the man.
“Take this,” Kyle instructed. The brawny man frowned at the cube.
“What the hell is this?”
“It’ll put gravity shields around your men that can’t swim,” Kyle explained. “If they fall in the water, they’ll float.” He inscribed the other cubes quickly, handing them all to Grotes. “Give them out, then bring each man to me.”
Grotes nodded, doing as Kyle ordered. Sailors lined up in front of Kyle, and he filled their cubes one-by-one, gravity shields appearing around each man. When he was done, Kyle returned to the Captain, who was talking to Grotes.
“The floor below-deck is half-flooded,” Grotes was saying. “...and filling fast. I'd say we have a half-hour till we're sunk.”
“Damn,” the Captain swore. He lowered his head, staring at his feet. Then he looked up at Grotes. “Get as many of the men to the lifeboats,” he ordered, his voice subdued. “I'll stay with a skeleton crew while you escape.”
“Captain!” Grotes protested.
“That's an order, First Mate,” the Captain stated icily. “Consider it my last.” Grotes stared at the Captain for a long moment, then saluted sharply, his eyes moist.
“Yes Captain.”
He sprinted off, and the Captain turned to Kyle.
“Thank you for your help,” he said, waving Kyle away. “Go with the others...you are no longer required.”
“But...”
“Go!” the Captain shouted, waving Kyle away. Kyle stared mutely at the man, then turned around, looking across the deck of the Defiance. The once-immaculate ship was battered almost beyond recognition. The rear of the deck was nearly level with the ocean beyond, the front of the ship rising steadily up into the air. Kyle turned to the crew members running for the remaining lifeboats on the right side of the ship, feeling hopelessness come over him.
It was over, he realized. The only option left was to run.
Or was it?
Kyle turned to the Captain.
“What are you talking about?”
“The leak,” Kyle repeated. “Where are we taking on water?”
“It has to be the hull,” the Captain replied. “Rear port-side.”
“We still might have a chance,” Kyle declared. “I just need a few men...and a hammer, and some wood...and nails.”
“I can get you those,” the Captain replied. “What are you thinking?”
“Just get me what I need,” Kyle replied.
“Alright,” the Captain agreed. “Guns! Slim! Get your asses over here!” he shouted. A short man with impressively large biceps ran up to the Captain, as did Slim. They saluted sharply. “Get hammers, wood, and nails,” the Captain instructed. He pointed at Kyle. “Whatever he says, you do. Understand?” Both men glanced at Kyle, then nodded.
“Come on,” Kyle said, running toward the cabin at the rear of the ship. “Follow me until we get to the water, then wait until my signal.” Both men nodded again, and Kyle led them through to the cabin. He opened the door to the hallway beyond, sprinting down the stairwell he'd come through only a short time before. He came to the bottom of the stairs, and found the last set of stairs to be submerged in water. The entire hallway beyond was flooded.
“Stay here,” he ordered. “Where's the wood?”
“Cargo hold,” Slim replied. “Damn Guts, you're really a Weaver?”
“When the water goes down, get as much wood as you can,” Kyle instructed, ignoring Slim's question. “My room is the...eleventh door on the right.”
“Eleventh door on the right,” Slim repeated. Kyle nodded.
“When you hear me yelling, go to my room. There's a hole there into the hull. Go to the hole and wait for me to help you down.”
“Got it,” Guns replied. Slim frowned.
“What you up to, Guts?”
“You'll see,” Kyle answered. He wove magic then, generating a gravity shield...but not the usual kind. He created one spherical gravity sphere pushing outward, then a slightly smaller one pushing inward. The result was like a gravity shield, but there was no gap allowing air in and out. He felt his boots rise above the floor as the lower pole of the shield pushed up against the ground. He activated his gravity boots, then flew forward over the rippling water beyond the landing. He took a deep breath, then shot downward, plunging through the water.
